My son and I attended a small church in north east Borneo. Interestingly this church produced 43 pastors and missionaries over the past 40 years or so.
They are very fortunate to own two pieces of land, on one stands a church with two sanctuaries which functions as a vibrant kindergarten on weekdays; the other is a bigger tract of land with a preaching point. Two years ago they made some plans to build but found the estimate too high. This year they talked about building something more modest on the second site with bigger land.
Listening to that brought to mind what I heard maybe eight or nine years ago. A speaker during my church camp shared about his church's adventure in building. This actually happened to his church north of Ipoh. I may be vague in dates and figures but the essence is there. After forming the building committee, the entire church was mobilised into fund raising. A year later, the committee had $13,000 in hand. It is not a miserly figure, lots of work went into it. They baked lots of cakes to sell to church members, friends, relatives, neighbours, contacts ... The youth cleaned and waxed hundreds of cars. The building committee prayed, they felt it was impossible to reach the 6-digit goal. Everyone was tired and much discouraged.
People who prayed seriously often heard unexpected replies, there many of them heard clearly God telling them to donate the money away. They took it literally and fasted, listening to details on whom to give and how much to give. Once they came to a unanimous consensus, they wrote the cheques and mailed them. The building committee ceased meeting. Strangely enough, once the dream was allowed to die, money came from every direction. Always just enough and timely to pay for the next stage of the building project. When the four-storey building was dedicated, it was all paid for. That church does not owe anyone one cent. The strange thing is: no letters nor appeals were made for funds. It is a clear cut case that God builds His church His way if we listen to Him and let Him.
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
(1098) Where Rainbows end by Cecelia Ahern
My youngest borrowed this book from a mobile library near her place of work. I was surprised to learn that this book came before "If You Could See Me Now"
I have cried reading her "PS, I Love You". I have laughed reading the one where missing socks end up in, can't quite recall the title. The author is very good at tugging at the readers' heart strings. "Where Rainbows End" does not sound like fiction, somehow.
Isn't it life that those who suit each other to a "t" would be parted by circumstances? Somehow, some would do all the right things and end up living their dreams, yet another might just by one bad decision end up paying and paying for that one slip for life?
I have a neighbour who lives for eight years on my right. Vaguely I know her as a single mother tenant who moved in after she sold a house jointly owned by her and her husband. Years later she told me that as a virtual stranger, I shared with her that she had a choice to forgive her husband for gambling and losing everything they had worked for. It might sound unfair, but if she does not choose forgiveness, she would be bitter and poisoned for life. Over the years she chose to forgive and let go. She raised her two children on meagre pay with some help from her parents. It was a great deal of sacrifice but I am happy to say that her two children grew up well taught and are working now. She is a cheerful, vibrant and productive member on the upward path, a good neighbour and a loyal friend. I was a little taken aback when I heard about what I said years ago. Over the years, I have learnt to listen more and talk less. I am glad that I took the risk then to say what concerns I had in my heart, and it turned out to be a timely word which did her good.
I have cried reading her "PS, I Love You". I have laughed reading the one where missing socks end up in, can't quite recall the title. The author is very good at tugging at the readers' heart strings. "Where Rainbows End" does not sound like fiction, somehow.
Isn't it life that those who suit each other to a "t" would be parted by circumstances? Somehow, some would do all the right things and end up living their dreams, yet another might just by one bad decision end up paying and paying for that one slip for life?
I have a neighbour who lives for eight years on my right. Vaguely I know her as a single mother tenant who moved in after she sold a house jointly owned by her and her husband. Years later she told me that as a virtual stranger, I shared with her that she had a choice to forgive her husband for gambling and losing everything they had worked for. It might sound unfair, but if she does not choose forgiveness, she would be bitter and poisoned for life. Over the years she chose to forgive and let go. She raised her two children on meagre pay with some help from her parents. It was a great deal of sacrifice but I am happy to say that her two children grew up well taught and are working now. She is a cheerful, vibrant and productive member on the upward path, a good neighbour and a loyal friend. I was a little taken aback when I heard about what I said years ago. Over the years, I have learnt to listen more and talk less. I am glad that I took the risk then to say what concerns I had in my heart, and it turned out to be a timely word which did her good.
(1097) Economy after imposing consumption tax
Since the former Government implemented the consumption tax, the Malaysian economy has been affected adversely. Around that time, I was still residing in Sabah. I heard of wage earners unable to meet their repayment of the not fully paid cars. There were car owners who drove their newer cars back to the place they purchased their cars from and give up repaying. Then my son and I saw smaller mom and pop shops closing, it was not the fact that they have insufficient business. But more like they balked at the fact that they could not afford the computer, printer and the monthly accounting service they need to keep the tax authorities at bay. Then we saw a spate of fires around the time the new tax figures were due. After that mid-range restaurants closed shop. While the very poor who do not cook still eat at the market stalls, the middle class eat out less to keep their finances solvent. Of course, the rich still fly to Hong Kong and Singapore often to eat or load up on luxury goods.
I have been back in Peninsular Malaysia for slightly more than two years. Two years ago, I see my favourite mix rice stall having two distinct intervals for business: 10:00 - 12:30 pm and 4:00 - 6:30 pm. Now, starting at 9:45 am one could eat mix rice if you are a meat eater and do not miss having vegetables. The cook probably left to take a nap between 1:30 - 3:30 pm. Lately I was able find food at odd time like 3:00 pm when I took the LRT (train) back from my hospital check-up. Without asking the seller, I realize that he was maximizing business to make up for any lack. Gone were the days of niche market of selling food to the moms of school going children. By lengthening business hours in the middle of the day, he benefits by closing earlier at 5:15 pm.
This year, I have been to the Ramadan market only three times. Honestly I can't see how each stall could earn enough to pay for the M$8,000 license. The Muslim calendar month is lunar, it is at most 28 days. Even if the new moon is not sighted on the crucial night, that makes fasting lasts 29 days, each day the license cost M$274.45, quite an overkill.
Tuesday, May 21, 2019
(1096) The Formula by Luke Dormehl
This is a non-fiction book dealing with the third wave - the algorithm.
I just finished reading the book a few moments ago. Interestingly I could no longer find the exact page to quote what I remember as the highlight. Well, I will attempt to paraphrase what I absorbed. If you are using social media extensively and have purchased a lot of products from on-line sources over time, then there is an extensive file somewhere in the cyberspace documenting your profile base on your likes. Imagine if you have purchased the entire Harry Potter series and maybe also Sabrina the Teenage Witch, supposing Amazon was then recommending you to purchase Hunger Games as an e-book when it was "hot off the press". Based on your on-line history, the algorithm predicted that you are most likely to go for it, then it is likely that you may end up paying up to 4 times the absolute low price offered to another netizen who is most unlikely to purchase it upon initial offer.
In the US a poor woman had been made homeless through a program that replaced human social welfare officer, it followed that she lost her Medicaid benefits as well because the algorithm did not replicate the complex steps that a human decision maker normally goes through deciding who should be given what. It was after much hue and cry that the injustice was righted.
Perhaps I was being biased in quoting back to back two instances that the computer program run afoul of what we perceive to be right or just. Of course the algorithm is here to stay, permeating from one field to another like osmosis. Jobs are taken over, professions could be obsoleted overnight. After reading the book which the last chapter document what the algorithm has achieved in the arts - whether in paintings, plays, movies, TV series - probably a year or two ago, I begin to wonder if someday the profession of writing will be taken over by machines.
I just finished reading the book a few moments ago. Interestingly I could no longer find the exact page to quote what I remember as the highlight. Well, I will attempt to paraphrase what I absorbed. If you are using social media extensively and have purchased a lot of products from on-line sources over time, then there is an extensive file somewhere in the cyberspace documenting your profile base on your likes. Imagine if you have purchased the entire Harry Potter series and maybe also Sabrina the Teenage Witch, supposing Amazon was then recommending you to purchase Hunger Games as an e-book when it was "hot off the press". Based on your on-line history, the algorithm predicted that you are most likely to go for it, then it is likely that you may end up paying up to 4 times the absolute low price offered to another netizen who is most unlikely to purchase it upon initial offer.
In the US a poor woman had been made homeless through a program that replaced human social welfare officer, it followed that she lost her Medicaid benefits as well because the algorithm did not replicate the complex steps that a human decision maker normally goes through deciding who should be given what. It was after much hue and cry that the injustice was righted.
Perhaps I was being biased in quoting back to back two instances that the computer program run afoul of what we perceive to be right or just. Of course the algorithm is here to stay, permeating from one field to another like osmosis. Jobs are taken over, professions could be obsoleted overnight. After reading the book which the last chapter document what the algorithm has achieved in the arts - whether in paintings, plays, movies, TV series - probably a year or two ago, I begin to wonder if someday the profession of writing will be taken over by machines.
Sunday, May 19, 2019
(1095) Long Service Reward
I have followed a friend's long term maid for many years. She is a single Filipina and she sends all her wages home to her parents who used her hard-earned money to bring up a bunch of grandchildren whose parents (siblings of the maid) escaped from their responsibilities.
My friend is a woman of independent means. I know she is quietly planning to keep aside a lump sum that is not part of the maid's legal wage which is stated in the contractual document. Should the maid leave after proper notice and she is pleasant, she will then get the secret gratuity.
Now we will look at an Indonesian maid who stole one golden item every seven weeks or so from her mistress who has dementia. Interestingly this kind of quiet theft went on for three years or so until the death of the mistress. It was discovered by the children of the deceased after the maid returned to her home country. It is also a long serving maid of eighteen years. All these jewels were pawned at the nearby pawn shops. Interestingly, most of them were recovered with the threat of law suits aimed at the small pawn shops - at least the items which have not been resold.
One day I was relating both the above to my mum. What my mum said was eye-opening to me. I have never thought about the employers' moral responsibilities towards contractual workers. According to my mum, it is an unwritten rule that in Asia, long serving maids would be given suitably calculated sums when they retired. Suppose the single maid decides to stay on (assuming legally such a maid could stay on), such a faithful maid would be treated as a family member, any illness, upkeep and all funeral expense would be borne by the employer's children as a matter of course.
My mum said that while she does not condone thefts, she said that the second employer's children probably (being Western educated) do not know of their moral responsibilities and only follow the letter of the law. From an old fashion view, the maid was merely extracting her unwritten due with her wit. Perhaps I am lucky that for most of my adult life, I did not have any maid for domestic service. I did have one helper when I was sick for one year or so. Imagine if I similarly have had a maid for twenty years or so, how was I going to find the large amount to pay out a long service reward?
My friend is a woman of independent means. I know she is quietly planning to keep aside a lump sum that is not part of the maid's legal wage which is stated in the contractual document. Should the maid leave after proper notice and she is pleasant, she will then get the secret gratuity.
Now we will look at an Indonesian maid who stole one golden item every seven weeks or so from her mistress who has dementia. Interestingly this kind of quiet theft went on for three years or so until the death of the mistress. It was discovered by the children of the deceased after the maid returned to her home country. It is also a long serving maid of eighteen years. All these jewels were pawned at the nearby pawn shops. Interestingly, most of them were recovered with the threat of law suits aimed at the small pawn shops - at least the items which have not been resold.
One day I was relating both the above to my mum. What my mum said was eye-opening to me. I have never thought about the employers' moral responsibilities towards contractual workers. According to my mum, it is an unwritten rule that in Asia, long serving maids would be given suitably calculated sums when they retired. Suppose the single maid decides to stay on (assuming legally such a maid could stay on), such a faithful maid would be treated as a family member, any illness, upkeep and all funeral expense would be borne by the employer's children as a matter of course.
My mum said that while she does not condone thefts, she said that the second employer's children probably (being Western educated) do not know of their moral responsibilities and only follow the letter of the law. From an old fashion view, the maid was merely extracting her unwritten due with her wit. Perhaps I am lucky that for most of my adult life, I did not have any maid for domestic service. I did have one helper when I was sick for one year or so. Imagine if I similarly have had a maid for twenty years or so, how was I going to find the large amount to pay out a long service reward?
(1094) Letting out AB&B apartments
A few days ago my daughter and I ate mix rice near my house. It is a stall selling white rice with a wide choice of meat, fish and vegetables in a coffee shop.
I chose a piece of ikan kurau (local name for a sea fish, Chinese call it ma yau) with lots of cooked melon. The price of my lunch came up to $9.00. It is considered expensive hereabouts. A young lady sat down with us as all the tables were occupied. She smiled sweetly before she sat down. I commented that she smiled like one of our friends. My daughter, who is vey friendly, asked if she is from Sabah or Sarawak. It turned out that she is from Ranau, Sabah.
We chatted as we ate lunch, she revealed that she studied and practised as an accountant. Actually she lives in Serdang, quite a distance away. Once a week, her accountant company sent her to audit the accounts of a management company nearby. By the way, it was her last time visiting my neighbourhood as she has resigned. We asked if she has found a new job. No, she owns a little firm letting out homestay apartments.
I ended up telling her that after AB&B became popular, I came across three households infected with bed bugs. One of the families brought in pest control twice, the second ended up spending about $15,000 renovating upstairs as the bed bugs multiplied exponentially and inhabit the ceiling and the beams. The third bought bed bug sprays from on-line sources and diligently killed the bugs nightly and every morning by spray and by hand for months before they declared I could safely sleep in their bed whenever I house sit.
Sometimes, the steps of a person could be ordained by God, this sort of lunch time conversation does not come often. You may think it a co-incidence. But I suggest it is meant to be. If she sat anywhere else, or if my daughter was not there, we may not have had the interesting conversation. She learnt something new from me that may save her thousands in the long run. We talked about cat flea whose eggs could survive a few years in any building. It never occur to her that local visitors would or could smuggle in cats when they stay in AB&B.
I chose a piece of ikan kurau (local name for a sea fish, Chinese call it ma yau) with lots of cooked melon. The price of my lunch came up to $9.00. It is considered expensive hereabouts. A young lady sat down with us as all the tables were occupied. She smiled sweetly before she sat down. I commented that she smiled like one of our friends. My daughter, who is vey friendly, asked if she is from Sabah or Sarawak. It turned out that she is from Ranau, Sabah.
We chatted as we ate lunch, she revealed that she studied and practised as an accountant. Actually she lives in Serdang, quite a distance away. Once a week, her accountant company sent her to audit the accounts of a management company nearby. By the way, it was her last time visiting my neighbourhood as she has resigned. We asked if she has found a new job. No, she owns a little firm letting out homestay apartments.
I ended up telling her that after AB&B became popular, I came across three households infected with bed bugs. One of the families brought in pest control twice, the second ended up spending about $15,000 renovating upstairs as the bed bugs multiplied exponentially and inhabit the ceiling and the beams. The third bought bed bug sprays from on-line sources and diligently killed the bugs nightly and every morning by spray and by hand for months before they declared I could safely sleep in their bed whenever I house sit.
Sometimes, the steps of a person could be ordained by God, this sort of lunch time conversation does not come often. You may think it a co-incidence. But I suggest it is meant to be. If she sat anywhere else, or if my daughter was not there, we may not have had the interesting conversation. She learnt something new from me that may save her thousands in the long run. We talked about cat flea whose eggs could survive a few years in any building. It never occur to her that local visitors would or could smuggle in cats when they stay in AB&B.
(1093) How could a lawyer not read?
This blog is inspired by my daughter's comment: " But how could a lawyer not read?!"
Well, that is very interesting! My old friend happened to be a lawyer, in fact she won 96% of her cases in her chosen area in one particular year. What I meant is this particular lawyer does not read in her leisure time.
After I returned from the States, and before I got married, I used to spend a lot of time with her. We jogged, swam, played tennis and watched plays in the city hall - we were too poor to watch any plays that collect money for tickets. As a lawyer, she would send her dispatch boy to queue for free tickets in the district office. In the process of watching those Saturday night free plays, we two former pure science students learnt much about literary dramas.
One day, we were eating in the Mamak shop (Indian Muslim eatery). I picked up an English newspaper and flipped it to open on the back page. Leisurely I flipped from the back to the front admiring the colour sports photos. She was very surprised! She thought she was the only one who read the papers this way. Well, I was not really reading, I was glancing through the photos and speed reading the head lines that caught my eyes.
She went on to tell me she never read outside of her job as a lawyer. Now, I became very surprised. But, I objected, how could it be that she was so very knowledgeable about everything under the sun? Well, she was and still is a good listener, moreover she could ask relevant questions and patiently dig information out of the many readers who surrounded her. Then I realised how I was one of her info mules, since she asked so prettily, I often summarised principles I learnt after many hours of reading. Since she gave me new info in exchange, I never thought much about imparting hard earned knowledge to her.
Much later, she confessed that she had never finished reading any one book of fiction or non-fiction. I was shocked! By then I realized that reading is an activity that is very tiring for her, she employed it because of her chosen profession, not because she enjoyed it. Years later, she immigrated with her young family to Canada. Until today, I have not visited her. It is not because I don't like her or do not value her as a friend. A return ticket to Canada could not be any less than $5,000 local currency, for some one who has not worked at a paying job for most of the past 25 years, that is an astronomical amount. The last time I met her a few years back, she was planning to become a landlady and a guardian to foreign students who were legally minors in her school district. Though I could see pit falls in her career change, I did not really discourage her much, as I could see that in the new role would mean much less reading of documents during working hours.
Well, that is very interesting! My old friend happened to be a lawyer, in fact she won 96% of her cases in her chosen area in one particular year. What I meant is this particular lawyer does not read in her leisure time.
After I returned from the States, and before I got married, I used to spend a lot of time with her. We jogged, swam, played tennis and watched plays in the city hall - we were too poor to watch any plays that collect money for tickets. As a lawyer, she would send her dispatch boy to queue for free tickets in the district office. In the process of watching those Saturday night free plays, we two former pure science students learnt much about literary dramas.
One day, we were eating in the Mamak shop (Indian Muslim eatery). I picked up an English newspaper and flipped it to open on the back page. Leisurely I flipped from the back to the front admiring the colour sports photos. She was very surprised! She thought she was the only one who read the papers this way. Well, I was not really reading, I was glancing through the photos and speed reading the head lines that caught my eyes.
She went on to tell me she never read outside of her job as a lawyer. Now, I became very surprised. But, I objected, how could it be that she was so very knowledgeable about everything under the sun? Well, she was and still is a good listener, moreover she could ask relevant questions and patiently dig information out of the many readers who surrounded her. Then I realised how I was one of her info mules, since she asked so prettily, I often summarised principles I learnt after many hours of reading. Since she gave me new info in exchange, I never thought much about imparting hard earned knowledge to her.
Much later, she confessed that she had never finished reading any one book of fiction or non-fiction. I was shocked! By then I realized that reading is an activity that is very tiring for her, she employed it because of her chosen profession, not because she enjoyed it. Years later, she immigrated with her young family to Canada. Until today, I have not visited her. It is not because I don't like her or do not value her as a friend. A return ticket to Canada could not be any less than $5,000 local currency, for some one who has not worked at a paying job for most of the past 25 years, that is an astronomical amount. The last time I met her a few years back, she was planning to become a landlady and a guardian to foreign students who were legally minors in her school district. Though I could see pit falls in her career change, I did not really discourage her much, as I could see that in the new role would mean much less reading of documents during working hours.
Thursday, May 16, 2019
(1092) Birds of a feather flock together
Many years ago, my husband and I owned a house in Kuala Lumpur. It has been sold. While we stayed there, I had a friend with children roughly the same ages as mine.
My youngest was two years old, her younger was four. For whatever reason, I tried to tell her about my interest with dyslexia. Whatever little I learned about it in the States, I tried to intervene in my children. She was absolutely not interested and probably thought that I imagined up the whole thing.
At some point, my family moved away to Silver City. There I spent 12 happy years poking my nose into the lives of a few children who came to my house to be taught. Most of them have already missed the academic train and were failing miserably in most subjects. I had some successes and quite a few did not stay long enough to be helped.
Meanwhile, my friend's younger child had a tough, tough time from Standard One to Four. It was really in the pits, apparently the child could not even see words in lines. For her, words flew all over the place. She could no more learn the letters nor could she read in English or Malay. Both of these languages use the letters a to z and the phonetic sounds vary totally.
My friend was tortured by the entire situation, she tried to help. She went to school to talk to her child's teachers. We must admit that the educational system is still comparably backward here. Though we inherited an excellent educational system in 1957 from the British, by the 1990s so much detrimental changes had been made that the entire educational landscape had altered for the worse. Many teachers had never heard of dyslexia. Instead, children were thought to be disobedient, lazy or trouble makers. While the child struggled on, the mum was suffering from an autoimmune disorder that caused great physical pain daily.
She asked me how did I know she would need the kind of knowledge I was trying to impart to her, though she didn't take me seriously. Well, I had to think for a while before I could answer that question. Well, I know she excelled in Chinese primary school. She struggled valiantly in English and did reasonably well in her O-levels. But she failed her Malay and retained a whole year in order to pass one subject. In the process, she took the entire examination again before she joined pre-university. That, in itself said a lot to me about her whole educational history and her linguistic abilities. While I compromised and scored c5 in Chinese, c3 in Malay and a2 in English, She scored a1 in Chinese, a2 in English and f9 in Malay. Later I heard that her daughter majored in psychology. That often happened among children of my friends who tried to make sense of their earlier struggles.
My youngest was two years old, her younger was four. For whatever reason, I tried to tell her about my interest with dyslexia. Whatever little I learned about it in the States, I tried to intervene in my children. She was absolutely not interested and probably thought that I imagined up the whole thing.
At some point, my family moved away to Silver City. There I spent 12 happy years poking my nose into the lives of a few children who came to my house to be taught. Most of them have already missed the academic train and were failing miserably in most subjects. I had some successes and quite a few did not stay long enough to be helped.
Meanwhile, my friend's younger child had a tough, tough time from Standard One to Four. It was really in the pits, apparently the child could not even see words in lines. For her, words flew all over the place. She could no more learn the letters nor could she read in English or Malay. Both of these languages use the letters a to z and the phonetic sounds vary totally.
My friend was tortured by the entire situation, she tried to help. She went to school to talk to her child's teachers. We must admit that the educational system is still comparably backward here. Though we inherited an excellent educational system in 1957 from the British, by the 1990s so much detrimental changes had been made that the entire educational landscape had altered for the worse. Many teachers had never heard of dyslexia. Instead, children were thought to be disobedient, lazy or trouble makers. While the child struggled on, the mum was suffering from an autoimmune disorder that caused great physical pain daily.
She asked me how did I know she would need the kind of knowledge I was trying to impart to her, though she didn't take me seriously. Well, I had to think for a while before I could answer that question. Well, I know she excelled in Chinese primary school. She struggled valiantly in English and did reasonably well in her O-levels. But she failed her Malay and retained a whole year in order to pass one subject. In the process, she took the entire examination again before she joined pre-university. That, in itself said a lot to me about her whole educational history and her linguistic abilities. While I compromised and scored c5 in Chinese, c3 in Malay and a2 in English, She scored a1 in Chinese, a2 in English and f9 in Malay. Later I heard that her daughter majored in psychology. That often happened among children of my friends who tried to make sense of their earlier struggles.
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
(1091) Millennium Trilogy by Stieg Larsson
I borrowed "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" maybe five years ago. Lately all three books fall into my ownership. Therefore I read "The Girl Who Played with Fire" and "The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest" back to back. All in I read more than a thousand pages within four days.
As in reading crime and detection genre of books, one could hardly put it down. Yet I have another interest reading them: for the Asperger angle. I suspect I have quite a few former Asperger's syndrome family members, both in my extended family and my husband's side.
As I was reading the first book in the Trilogy a second time, I was looking back into my own childhood to examine my own interactions with my suspected childhood playmate. Years ago I knew he was weird and different from most children. Now I see much broad similarities between him and Salander. I run all four children of my playmates through my mind's eye, two of the next generation display fewer traits, yet they too may be high functioning as well. One is in pre-university at age 14, the other was a straight A scorer throughout school life; yet both are somewhat socially inept.
I know dyslexic folks have a hard time overcoming their obstacles, yet out of the many close friends of mine whom I later found to be co-sufferers when their children were diagnosed, they seem to do better than Asperger folks. I know one really cannot choose, if the parent showed up with symptoms on the Autism spectrum, then nobody could guess how each child would turn out. I am relatively lucky that I did not have to deal with a full-blown autistic child.
As in reading crime and detection genre of books, one could hardly put it down. Yet I have another interest reading them: for the Asperger angle. I suspect I have quite a few former Asperger's syndrome family members, both in my extended family and my husband's side.
As I was reading the first book in the Trilogy a second time, I was looking back into my own childhood to examine my own interactions with my suspected childhood playmate. Years ago I knew he was weird and different from most children. Now I see much broad similarities between him and Salander. I run all four children of my playmates through my mind's eye, two of the next generation display fewer traits, yet they too may be high functioning as well. One is in pre-university at age 14, the other was a straight A scorer throughout school life; yet both are somewhat socially inept.
I know dyslexic folks have a hard time overcoming their obstacles, yet out of the many close friends of mine whom I later found to be co-sufferers when their children were diagnosed, they seem to do better than Asperger folks. I know one really cannot choose, if the parent showed up with symptoms on the Autism spectrum, then nobody could guess how each child would turn out. I am relatively lucky that I did not have to deal with a full-blown autistic child.
Saturday, May 11, 2019
(1090) A happy carer is one who is well fed
A neighbour I had in Borneo came to town to babysit her grandson. I thought I caught up with her by having dinner nearby.
She called up and talked for at least an hour. I suppose she settled on me because I spent at least two and a half years listening to her and her husband during all the yummy dinners cooked by their devoted maid. So I know all the ins and outs of her family dynamics and circumstances.
I found it hard to believe that a woman more than sixty years old could spent many days of the two months having one or two meals a day. I managed to swallow it because many years ago I met a young woman who actually woke up at 6:00am but could not find time to eat anything by 2:00pm because she was so busy looking after a bunch of toddlers.
Recently the young woman (not so young anymore now) shared that I opened my big mouth many years ago quoting how on an airplane, should the cabin decompresses, an adult should put on her own oxygen mask before tending to dependents. I could not remember saying such pearls of wisdom. But she is a most truthful person, if she say so with an earnest face, then it was probably so.
This time I suggested that my former neighbour buy a bag of instant oat and a tin of 23 grain protein powder. No matter how busy she was cleaning, playing, feeding or teaching the grandson, it is imperative she make herself a glass of instant oat with hot water and drink it in the morning as early as possible. Then at 12:00pm, she should make herself a thick glass of liquid protein and drink it before 1:00pm.
Perhaps if this lady really adopt my suggestion, she may even lose some unwanted weight. I still remember her gastric pills while working in her contract job in Borneo. It is rather amazing that she has not suffered from gastric so far. Perhaps child care is pure joy, not stressful like supervising 67 subordinates minding a huge store and delivering goods all over the town.
While my acquaintance from many years ago is a tip-top cook and my ex-neighbour is an able administrator, I am pretty hopeless in either province. I barely get by cooking to raise a family and did some simple administrative tasks monitoring student grades and keeping accurate time sheets as a part-time lecturer. I thank God that I am logical and have a few ounces of common sense. No one would ever find me starving because I was too busy caring for infants or toddlers.
She called up and talked for at least an hour. I suppose she settled on me because I spent at least two and a half years listening to her and her husband during all the yummy dinners cooked by their devoted maid. So I know all the ins and outs of her family dynamics and circumstances.
I found it hard to believe that a woman more than sixty years old could spent many days of the two months having one or two meals a day. I managed to swallow it because many years ago I met a young woman who actually woke up at 6:00am but could not find time to eat anything by 2:00pm because she was so busy looking after a bunch of toddlers.
Recently the young woman (not so young anymore now) shared that I opened my big mouth many years ago quoting how on an airplane, should the cabin decompresses, an adult should put on her own oxygen mask before tending to dependents. I could not remember saying such pearls of wisdom. But she is a most truthful person, if she say so with an earnest face, then it was probably so.
This time I suggested that my former neighbour buy a bag of instant oat and a tin of 23 grain protein powder. No matter how busy she was cleaning, playing, feeding or teaching the grandson, it is imperative she make herself a glass of instant oat with hot water and drink it in the morning as early as possible. Then at 12:00pm, she should make herself a thick glass of liquid protein and drink it before 1:00pm.
Perhaps if this lady really adopt my suggestion, she may even lose some unwanted weight. I still remember her gastric pills while working in her contract job in Borneo. It is rather amazing that she has not suffered from gastric so far. Perhaps child care is pure joy, not stressful like supervising 67 subordinates minding a huge store and delivering goods all over the town.
While my acquaintance from many years ago is a tip-top cook and my ex-neighbour is an able administrator, I am pretty hopeless in either province. I barely get by cooking to raise a family and did some simple administrative tasks monitoring student grades and keeping accurate time sheets as a part-time lecturer. I thank God that I am logical and have a few ounces of common sense. No one would ever find me starving because I was too busy caring for infants or toddlers.
Monday, April 29, 2019
(1089) Borneo, here I come
About five weeks ago, I recorded two windows of time that I could travel to northern Borneo. I jotted down estimated airfare, calculated the number of weeks I could stay and have a unique amount for each of the unequal time period.
I then prayed that God in His sovereign way would show me which time I should fly, whether it is on May 19 or July 12. If the amount of money received is equal to or more than x which is linked to May 19, then I would leave on that date. However, if the amount received is equal to or more than y, which is significantly more than x, then I should leave on July 12 which is linked to y.
My intelligent youngest daughter, who is mathematical, asked what if the amount is more than or equal to x+y. Well, would it then not be clear cut that I would be going twice?
If by now you, my poor reader, is totally confused, read on: the rest of the blog has nothing much to do with complicated numbers.
Less than half an hour ago, my husband heard from his old friends that they have banked in some funds from overseas. The amount remitted clearly indicated that I should go on July 12. I thank God for these wonderful people.
This adventure started on the last Sunday of September, 1984. I walked down the aisle of a church in New Braunfels, Texas, fully convicted that I should accept Jesus as my personal saviour. As I was still walking, a thought asked: are you accepting me as your saviour or lord? I asked, what is lord? You should do as your lord asks you. Then, I said I would accept God as my Saviour and Lord. The thought went on to say, would you then be willing to go to a place with no pipe water or electricity supply with two bags to serve me? Without hesitation, I said yes.
Five years ago, after a series of improbable answers to specific prayers, I went to northern Borneo. First trip was to use a hotel voucher bought by my husband during a Christmas charity fund drive. Second trip was sponsored by my mum. The night after I returned from the second trip, I had a vivid dream in colours (most times I dream in black and white) which led to an interpretation that said: if you choose northern Borneo, I will give you a new life there. Of course I want a God-given new life. I therefore prayed and received a whole year's rental money. Next I prayed for an apartment at a rate well below market value and ended up renting a two-storey three-room house with a nice piece of land behind the house. I made a number of trips there to add enough things to make the empty house a home. On the last week of that calendar year, I found the job as a contract English teacher in a government college. Hence, after hearing a call in a dream the first trip, I had a dream promising me a new life there after the second trip. A year later, I had a job there. My eldest son chose to accompany me there to work as a special education tutor.
I was there two and a half years exactly when the door closed. My work permit expired. The land lord wanted to increase rental significantly, and God said return to Peninsular Malaysia. I stayed on long enough to move my son to a suite of two rooms. Gave away loads to things to a good friend's maid. I returned home to hospitalization and I fought to live. July 12, 2019 is a very meaningful date, I left the hospital exactly two years ago to the day. If you were to ask me: what next? I really cannot tell you. But I know that I could communicate with my would be illustrator to the will be published book and tell her the project is on.
Few weeks back, I was much privileged to meet up with an at least 35-year veteran missionary director who spent almost his entire working life in the far east working with the aborigines in North Borneo. He gave me long, long list of things to look out for and to do: if I will "run the marathon" in researching and preparing a book on the aborigines' children games. It will be a project that may take more than 10 years as my access to the really rural area is restricted. Anyway, wherever the hand phone coverage reaches, no children would play old games anymore. But he did say it is a very interesting assignment, if those games are to be recorded and published as a resource to be used as therapy for children with learning disabilities. I quipped that if the task takes 14 years, his answer is he still wants to buy a copy - it must be the first edition - when he is 75 years old. Interesting!
If you have been following this blog the last few years, you probably know that I claimed to be a dyslexic who first heard of the condition after age 21. For 12 years as my children were growing up in Silver City, I worked at home as a special education tutor. The following 12 years I was an unpaid listener to depressed and suicidal friends. I started recycling all sorts of things and stopped buying clothes or house hold things. According to my children, I prayed and received whatever I need. God is a very present help in my house. Folks in church either thought I was nuts or they cannot help but have respect for me. I am a graduate who is reasonably intellectual but I live a life that is simple to the point that is strange in this affluent society. For many years I have survived on one pair of slippers and another pair of formal shoes.
Here, I'll end with my favourite quotation : If you restrict earthly things, you set your thoughts free for the spiritual. Peter Hoeg in Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow
I then prayed that God in His sovereign way would show me which time I should fly, whether it is on May 19 or July 12. If the amount of money received is equal to or more than x which is linked to May 19, then I would leave on that date. However, if the amount received is equal to or more than y, which is significantly more than x, then I should leave on July 12 which is linked to y.
My intelligent youngest daughter, who is mathematical, asked what if the amount is more than or equal to x+y. Well, would it then not be clear cut that I would be going twice?
If by now you, my poor reader, is totally confused, read on: the rest of the blog has nothing much to do with complicated numbers.
Less than half an hour ago, my husband heard from his old friends that they have banked in some funds from overseas. The amount remitted clearly indicated that I should go on July 12. I thank God for these wonderful people.
This adventure started on the last Sunday of September, 1984. I walked down the aisle of a church in New Braunfels, Texas, fully convicted that I should accept Jesus as my personal saviour. As I was still walking, a thought asked: are you accepting me as your saviour or lord? I asked, what is lord? You should do as your lord asks you. Then, I said I would accept God as my Saviour and Lord. The thought went on to say, would you then be willing to go to a place with no pipe water or electricity supply with two bags to serve me? Without hesitation, I said yes.
Five years ago, after a series of improbable answers to specific prayers, I went to northern Borneo. First trip was to use a hotel voucher bought by my husband during a Christmas charity fund drive. Second trip was sponsored by my mum. The night after I returned from the second trip, I had a vivid dream in colours (most times I dream in black and white) which led to an interpretation that said: if you choose northern Borneo, I will give you a new life there. Of course I want a God-given new life. I therefore prayed and received a whole year's rental money. Next I prayed for an apartment at a rate well below market value and ended up renting a two-storey three-room house with a nice piece of land behind the house. I made a number of trips there to add enough things to make the empty house a home. On the last week of that calendar year, I found the job as a contract English teacher in a government college. Hence, after hearing a call in a dream the first trip, I had a dream promising me a new life there after the second trip. A year later, I had a job there. My eldest son chose to accompany me there to work as a special education tutor.
I was there two and a half years exactly when the door closed. My work permit expired. The land lord wanted to increase rental significantly, and God said return to Peninsular Malaysia. I stayed on long enough to move my son to a suite of two rooms. Gave away loads to things to a good friend's maid. I returned home to hospitalization and I fought to live. July 12, 2019 is a very meaningful date, I left the hospital exactly two years ago to the day. If you were to ask me: what next? I really cannot tell you. But I know that I could communicate with my would be illustrator to the will be published book and tell her the project is on.
Few weeks back, I was much privileged to meet up with an at least 35-year veteran missionary director who spent almost his entire working life in the far east working with the aborigines in North Borneo. He gave me long, long list of things to look out for and to do: if I will "run the marathon" in researching and preparing a book on the aborigines' children games. It will be a project that may take more than 10 years as my access to the really rural area is restricted. Anyway, wherever the hand phone coverage reaches, no children would play old games anymore. But he did say it is a very interesting assignment, if those games are to be recorded and published as a resource to be used as therapy for children with learning disabilities. I quipped that if the task takes 14 years, his answer is he still wants to buy a copy - it must be the first edition - when he is 75 years old. Interesting!
If you have been following this blog the last few years, you probably know that I claimed to be a dyslexic who first heard of the condition after age 21. For 12 years as my children were growing up in Silver City, I worked at home as a special education tutor. The following 12 years I was an unpaid listener to depressed and suicidal friends. I started recycling all sorts of things and stopped buying clothes or house hold things. According to my children, I prayed and received whatever I need. God is a very present help in my house. Folks in church either thought I was nuts or they cannot help but have respect for me. I am a graduate who is reasonably intellectual but I live a life that is simple to the point that is strange in this affluent society. For many years I have survived on one pair of slippers and another pair of formal shoes.
Here, I'll end with my favourite quotation : If you restrict earthly things, you set your thoughts free for the spiritual. Peter Hoeg in Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow
Saturday, April 27, 2019
(1088) Comfort food
I had claypot yee mee (wheat noodle fried dry cooked in meat broth with vege, egg, meat ball and fish cake.) for dinner.
During my silver city days, my family and I would eat in Stadium claypot noodle stall. Quite a number of locals had protested that there were many other noodle stalls with more delicious items which cost the same amount. What they said is true, yet there is something about the above food that feeds more than an empty stomach. It is a comfort food, like college students in USA ordering pizza at midnight after many hours of wringing the brains in producing papers for submission.
Another similar situation is to enjoy a bowl of thick Manhattan clam chowder when it was snowing outside. Perhaps it was the heat, maybe it was the carbohydrate that was immediately available for burning to warm the freezing body parts. Of course the hot climate here does not call for calorie laden food like that. Yet on a cool rainy night, a glass of hot Milo (chocolate drink from Nestle) does hit certain spot head on.
For my children, there was nothing better than French fries whenever I do not eat with them. For most of my life I could not stomach any fried food without suffering from oral ulcers. Even when my child was having a birthday party in McDonald's, I could not eat more than three fries. It is strange that after a life-threatening disease and certain treatments, now the first food I turn to when I start coughing is French fries.
During my silver city days, my family and I would eat in Stadium claypot noodle stall. Quite a number of locals had protested that there were many other noodle stalls with more delicious items which cost the same amount. What they said is true, yet there is something about the above food that feeds more than an empty stomach. It is a comfort food, like college students in USA ordering pizza at midnight after many hours of wringing the brains in producing papers for submission.
Another similar situation is to enjoy a bowl of thick Manhattan clam chowder when it was snowing outside. Perhaps it was the heat, maybe it was the carbohydrate that was immediately available for burning to warm the freezing body parts. Of course the hot climate here does not call for calorie laden food like that. Yet on a cool rainy night, a glass of hot Milo (chocolate drink from Nestle) does hit certain spot head on.
For my children, there was nothing better than French fries whenever I do not eat with them. For most of my life I could not stomach any fried food without suffering from oral ulcers. Even when my child was having a birthday party in McDonald's, I could not eat more than three fries. It is strange that after a life-threatening disease and certain treatments, now the first food I turn to when I start coughing is French fries.
Friday, April 26, 2019
(1087) Teenage depression
Last blog I recorded woes of my contemporaries as moms of children in their twenties. This blog I will try to say something about teenagers' perspective.
By chance I heard of depression and suicidal thoughts of two teenagers: one who has passed the phase and the other who just got into the middle of it. Since I don't work with that age group, the info came from adults who are aware of it.
That reminded me of a lady I have heard about. As a student, she attempted suicide in Australia. It was not successful. She graduated and returned to her hometown and managed to get a job and later got married. We would imagine good things from then on... No, she left her husband with her infant daughter for about a year. Lots of prayers were said from well wishers, the impossible happened: she returned to her husband and they have a second child.
Life often is more than just career and child rearing. Both the lady's family and the husband's family play a part too. I have attended the husband's care group once and therefore know him vaguely. I can well imagine how he has to tread carefully as if he is stepping on thin ice. I have much sympathies for him. But still, he must be either very brave or simple minded to marry her in spite of her past history. As far as I can see, the lady came from moneyed back ground and finance is not a factor in most of the conflict. If the lady's parents are not loving to her, I honestly don't think they would spend hundreds of thousands to send her studying abroad. If the lady lacked extra cash, she would not be able to live in a house of her own when she moved out of her marital home. As to whether the misunderstandings, conflicts, quarrels and any ill feelings were merely storms in a teacup, only the key players themselves know.
Interestingly all three suicidal females came from comfortable backgrounds and small families. Perhaps if they were poor, they would be spending all their time and energy on climbing the economic ladder. Feelings would take a second seat to practical things like supplementing one's allowance. When a person needs to plot and plan to work her way out of poverty, there is little incentive to wallow in depressive thoughts. Perhaps that is why when people have more material things, their emotional well being may be more vulnerable.
By chance I heard of depression and suicidal thoughts of two teenagers: one who has passed the phase and the other who just got into the middle of it. Since I don't work with that age group, the info came from adults who are aware of it.
That reminded me of a lady I have heard about. As a student, she attempted suicide in Australia. It was not successful. She graduated and returned to her hometown and managed to get a job and later got married. We would imagine good things from then on... No, she left her husband with her infant daughter for about a year. Lots of prayers were said from well wishers, the impossible happened: she returned to her husband and they have a second child.
Life often is more than just career and child rearing. Both the lady's family and the husband's family play a part too. I have attended the husband's care group once and therefore know him vaguely. I can well imagine how he has to tread carefully as if he is stepping on thin ice. I have much sympathies for him. But still, he must be either very brave or simple minded to marry her in spite of her past history. As far as I can see, the lady came from moneyed back ground and finance is not a factor in most of the conflict. If the lady's parents are not loving to her, I honestly don't think they would spend hundreds of thousands to send her studying abroad. If the lady lacked extra cash, she would not be able to live in a house of her own when she moved out of her marital home. As to whether the misunderstandings, conflicts, quarrels and any ill feelings were merely storms in a teacup, only the key players themselves know.
Interestingly all three suicidal females came from comfortable backgrounds and small families. Perhaps if they were poor, they would be spending all their time and energy on climbing the economic ladder. Feelings would take a second seat to practical things like supplementing one's allowance. When a person needs to plot and plan to work her way out of poverty, there is little incentive to wallow in depressive thoughts. Perhaps that is why when people have more material things, their emotional well being may be more vulnerable.
Monday, April 22, 2019
(1086) The hazards of bringing up children
On the way back from Penang I stopped by my old haunt and visited with three old friends from my mothers' group eons ago.
We had lunch at a new noodle joint and chatted. Aida just came back from Harbin. She has had long standing problem with depression. Lately she is much better than many years ago. After all, her husband has chosen to return to this country after being away for at least 25 years abroad as an ex-pat manager.
Sheila was an IT expert turned homemaker since her husband makes a good living. She is a meticulous house keeper. While she was on the way to Aida's house after lunch, the latter mentioned that Sheila takes prescription drug to ward against panic attacks. I was shocked. While I have known for some time that she has had neurological concerns, I didn't realize that she was not coping with prolong stress.
Carrie is a very vocal and sociable person. She is bubbly and cheerful. However, my husband and I had lunch with her hubby not too long ago and Carrie's darling mentioned that she was having fits over the elder son's sabbatical break. We know that the young man was working while waiting to be accepted into graduate school. He was working in a completely different field to earn money for further studies. I can well understand the kind of strain he was under, working long hours in something he has absolutely no interest in. If he wanted a three-month break before another job or continuing his education, it is to be expected.
While I want to know how Carrie's elder son is doing, I did not want to bring up the explosive topic. I asked Aida and Sheila instead. Neither of them knew about the issue. Aida mentioned that her own problem was much worse than what Carrie faced. Aida's elder daughter has been working at a job that does not pay a living wage even though the young lady graduated as a medical tech. After much advertisement Aida sent to her daughter, the latter summoned Aida and husband for a conference. The daughter lives in a house the parents owned three hours away from the family home. For Chinese, such family meetings usually centred around a meal. The three some had lunch in a private room in a nice restaurant. Mom Aida walked out of the room to take an important call, she came back and saw her daughter crying.
The long and short of it was darling daughter wanted to leave that town and get a job in Singapore. She complained that her mum had been harassing her about resigning from her much loved job. Dad has been subsidising where her pay was not enough for her living standard. She has given notice and would leave that job at the end of the month. Now mom is the bad person that caused all the problem. Aida was very cool about it, she encouraged her husband to take a vacation with the daughter concerned. After all, the person who brought up children is usually the bad guy, the parent away seemed the good guy. She seemed to take all these in her stride, it is all in a day's work. It's quite ok her daughter is without a job. It's quite ok for her daughter to work any where she fancies, after all the girl is twenty five years old.
What I can't understand is why three women I spent 12 years with, relatively stable persons, all end up needing psychiatric medication after age 50. They are all good wives, good mothers and good friends to me. I suppose I am very fortunate that I have no complaints about any of my children. Neither do I need tranquilizer to get through the day and sleeping pill at night. Parenting could be hazardous.
We had lunch at a new noodle joint and chatted. Aida just came back from Harbin. She has had long standing problem with depression. Lately she is much better than many years ago. After all, her husband has chosen to return to this country after being away for at least 25 years abroad as an ex-pat manager.
Sheila was an IT expert turned homemaker since her husband makes a good living. She is a meticulous house keeper. While she was on the way to Aida's house after lunch, the latter mentioned that Sheila takes prescription drug to ward against panic attacks. I was shocked. While I have known for some time that she has had neurological concerns, I didn't realize that she was not coping with prolong stress.
Carrie is a very vocal and sociable person. She is bubbly and cheerful. However, my husband and I had lunch with her hubby not too long ago and Carrie's darling mentioned that she was having fits over the elder son's sabbatical break. We know that the young man was working while waiting to be accepted into graduate school. He was working in a completely different field to earn money for further studies. I can well understand the kind of strain he was under, working long hours in something he has absolutely no interest in. If he wanted a three-month break before another job or continuing his education, it is to be expected.
While I want to know how Carrie's elder son is doing, I did not want to bring up the explosive topic. I asked Aida and Sheila instead. Neither of them knew about the issue. Aida mentioned that her own problem was much worse than what Carrie faced. Aida's elder daughter has been working at a job that does not pay a living wage even though the young lady graduated as a medical tech. After much advertisement Aida sent to her daughter, the latter summoned Aida and husband for a conference. The daughter lives in a house the parents owned three hours away from the family home. For Chinese, such family meetings usually centred around a meal. The three some had lunch in a private room in a nice restaurant. Mom Aida walked out of the room to take an important call, she came back and saw her daughter crying.
The long and short of it was darling daughter wanted to leave that town and get a job in Singapore. She complained that her mum had been harassing her about resigning from her much loved job. Dad has been subsidising where her pay was not enough for her living standard. She has given notice and would leave that job at the end of the month. Now mom is the bad person that caused all the problem. Aida was very cool about it, she encouraged her husband to take a vacation with the daughter concerned. After all, the person who brought up children is usually the bad guy, the parent away seemed the good guy. She seemed to take all these in her stride, it is all in a day's work. It's quite ok her daughter is without a job. It's quite ok for her daughter to work any where she fancies, after all the girl is twenty five years old.
What I can't understand is why three women I spent 12 years with, relatively stable persons, all end up needing psychiatric medication after age 50. They are all good wives, good mothers and good friends to me. I suppose I am very fortunate that I have no complaints about any of my children. Neither do I need tranquilizer to get through the day and sleeping pill at night. Parenting could be hazardous.
(1085) Sweet, sour and spicy fish
Place: Sungai Bakap rest stop on the North-south Highway, South bound
Food: Nasi Gulai Ikan
Cook: Encik Ahmad
I've enjoyed the sweet and sour and slightly spicy fried fish in red sauce with white rice.
This blog is not about food. This dish brought back memories during my stint as a software trainer in the centre of Kuala Lumpur. I was paid one thousand two hundred in 1984-1985. During those days I commuted to work on pink mini buses. It was customary to stuff in as many passengers as possible in the tiny bus. Any one taller than 5 feet 2 inches could not stand up straight in the bus. Many dashing young males would hang on as "heroes" at the door so that they need not bend their lanky frames. These mini bus drivers were often as fast as grand prix drivers, each journey was more exciting than the last. Strange that I had not seen nor experienced any accident involving mini buses for a period of a few years.
It was difficult to survive on that amount of money for the first six months. I had to be very careful with lunches so as to save money to buy the right type of working outfits. Transportation cost was fixed. Most days I would pack cheap lunches from the food stalls in the side lanes. Malay food was a good choice. A pack of white rice with fried egg, one veg and some spicy sauce would cost $2.50. Once a week, usually on a Friday, I would treat myself to Gulai Ikan. It was the high light of the week. After all, on Saturday and Sunday my parents would feed me.
I was above 21, single and enjoyed my work. Once I accumulated five sets of working attire, life is a little easier. I just had to watch my court shoes (close toe) and make sure I purchase the next pair before the only pair I owned expired.
During this period of time, I met my husband when I went to train a bunch of engineers in a factory in the free trade zone. Thinking back, I wondered why I have not had the opportunity of eating Gulai Ikan since 1985. Perhaps because once I got married, I started my cooking adventure in the different kitchens through the years. Perhaps, cost was no longer a factor on the rare occasions we ate out.
Food: Nasi Gulai Ikan
Cook: Encik Ahmad
I've enjoyed the sweet and sour and slightly spicy fried fish in red sauce with white rice.
This blog is not about food. This dish brought back memories during my stint as a software trainer in the centre of Kuala Lumpur. I was paid one thousand two hundred in 1984-1985. During those days I commuted to work on pink mini buses. It was customary to stuff in as many passengers as possible in the tiny bus. Any one taller than 5 feet 2 inches could not stand up straight in the bus. Many dashing young males would hang on as "heroes" at the door so that they need not bend their lanky frames. These mini bus drivers were often as fast as grand prix drivers, each journey was more exciting than the last. Strange that I had not seen nor experienced any accident involving mini buses for a period of a few years.
It was difficult to survive on that amount of money for the first six months. I had to be very careful with lunches so as to save money to buy the right type of working outfits. Transportation cost was fixed. Most days I would pack cheap lunches from the food stalls in the side lanes. Malay food was a good choice. A pack of white rice with fried egg, one veg and some spicy sauce would cost $2.50. Once a week, usually on a Friday, I would treat myself to Gulai Ikan. It was the high light of the week. After all, on Saturday and Sunday my parents would feed me.
I was above 21, single and enjoyed my work. Once I accumulated five sets of working attire, life is a little easier. I just had to watch my court shoes (close toe) and make sure I purchase the next pair before the only pair I owned expired.
During this period of time, I met my husband when I went to train a bunch of engineers in a factory in the free trade zone. Thinking back, I wondered why I have not had the opportunity of eating Gulai Ikan since 1985. Perhaps because once I got married, I started my cooking adventure in the different kitchens through the years. Perhaps, cost was no longer a factor on the rare occasions we ate out.
Tuesday, April 9, 2019
(1084) Eating the right food as medical therapy
Noodle Town
No 15 Jalan USJ 1/1A
Regalia Business Centre
Subang Jaya
I had bitter melon noodle there this evening. It happened to be one of the best I have had in the Klang valley.
No. I did not go into the business of drumming business for restaurants. Ever since the month I started to work in north eastern Borneo, I have been eating bitter melon at least twice a week. While I was working as a contract lecturer there, I was having chest pain. Since I dread going for check up, I prayed that God would send an "angel" to tell me what to eat to get rid of the pain.
That very Sunday, I was having lunch with a bunch of church members. The English Pastor's elderly widowed aunt talked to me out of the blue about the efficacy of bitter melon. She was a prayer warrior in her mid-eighties. Her idea of leisure is to read Chinese medical books. She gave me a comprehensive lecture on what bitter melon could do for my good health, the talk lasted more than an hour.
I may be a lazy person, but I am very obedient. From that day onward, I have been consuming bitter melon in different forms. In Sabah, one could eat bitter melon stuffed with fresh fish meat -- called yong tau foo as a collective name-- every morning in many places. So, I started out eating two pieces every morning with whatever breakfast I chose: rice, porridge or noodle. Lo and behold, two weeks later, the pain was gone. As long as I eat four pieces of bitter melon stuffed with fish meat every week, there was no pain.
A few years later, I found out from taking cat scan and MRI that there was scarring tissue in my lungs, probably due to excessive coughing caused by haze. I still eat bitter melon a few times a week in my home state. And I know that I would probably have better health and live longer in a rural area than in a polluted metropolitan city.
Hence, Borneo is a very attractive place for me now.
No 15 Jalan USJ 1/1A
Regalia Business Centre
Subang Jaya
I had bitter melon noodle there this evening. It happened to be one of the best I have had in the Klang valley.
No. I did not go into the business of drumming business for restaurants. Ever since the month I started to work in north eastern Borneo, I have been eating bitter melon at least twice a week. While I was working as a contract lecturer there, I was having chest pain. Since I dread going for check up, I prayed that God would send an "angel" to tell me what to eat to get rid of the pain.
That very Sunday, I was having lunch with a bunch of church members. The English Pastor's elderly widowed aunt talked to me out of the blue about the efficacy of bitter melon. She was a prayer warrior in her mid-eighties. Her idea of leisure is to read Chinese medical books. She gave me a comprehensive lecture on what bitter melon could do for my good health, the talk lasted more than an hour.
I may be a lazy person, but I am very obedient. From that day onward, I have been consuming bitter melon in different forms. In Sabah, one could eat bitter melon stuffed with fresh fish meat -- called yong tau foo as a collective name-- every morning in many places. So, I started out eating two pieces every morning with whatever breakfast I chose: rice, porridge or noodle. Lo and behold, two weeks later, the pain was gone. As long as I eat four pieces of bitter melon stuffed with fish meat every week, there was no pain.
A few years later, I found out from taking cat scan and MRI that there was scarring tissue in my lungs, probably due to excessive coughing caused by haze. I still eat bitter melon a few times a week in my home state. And I know that I would probably have better health and live longer in a rural area than in a polluted metropolitan city.
Hence, Borneo is a very attractive place for me now.
Monday, April 8, 2019
(1083) Life's challenges
The first few years I came back to the capital city, I was listening to two ladies. One you have read about in the last blog.
The other travels between Thailand and my city. I guess any person who marries a foreigner takes a chance of having to choose between two countries. I almost did that. Had I stayed on in Texas after college, I could have ended up marrying a naval pilot many years ago.
My friend seemed to have improved from her difficult days for years. She reconciled with her husband and children. She was lucky to be able to keep her own home in her hometown and divide her time between her marital and her personal home.
Her son is working and her daughter will be going to work on her second tertiary qualification. Things sound ideal. Yet she is unhappy. After 34 years, I was shocked when I realized she was not even a permanent resident of her husband's country today. She did not renew it after some misunderstanding.
After thousands of hours of listening, I finally realized her real problem is not her husband. I am not saying that he is perfect. But the central issue is her clinginess to her children. Until she is happy with herself and builds her own life apart from her husband and children, she would be lost.
Yet, I don't know how to tell her without hurting her. After all, I am not a counsellor. My policy is I listen and I empathize, I don't give advice. Therefore I do not plan to tell her anything. It is a good thing that she has other friends. Once I fly to Borneo for a few months, she probably would not call me. I have come so far with her, she has to advance with others from now on.
The other travels between Thailand and my city. I guess any person who marries a foreigner takes a chance of having to choose between two countries. I almost did that. Had I stayed on in Texas after college, I could have ended up marrying a naval pilot many years ago.
My friend seemed to have improved from her difficult days for years. She reconciled with her husband and children. She was lucky to be able to keep her own home in her hometown and divide her time between her marital and her personal home.
Her son is working and her daughter will be going to work on her second tertiary qualification. Things sound ideal. Yet she is unhappy. After 34 years, I was shocked when I realized she was not even a permanent resident of her husband's country today. She did not renew it after some misunderstanding.
After thousands of hours of listening, I finally realized her real problem is not her husband. I am not saying that he is perfect. But the central issue is her clinginess to her children. Until she is happy with herself and builds her own life apart from her husband and children, she would be lost.
Yet, I don't know how to tell her without hurting her. After all, I am not a counsellor. My policy is I listen and I empathize, I don't give advice. Therefore I do not plan to tell her anything. It is a good thing that she has other friends. Once I fly to Borneo for a few months, she probably would not call me. I have come so far with her, she has to advance with others from now on.
(1082) Getting ready to return to Borneo
I just had a 48 hour visit with a long time friend. I listened to her for at least seven years through her darkest hours.
She is happy. Her life is full. I enjoyed the peace and comfort I felt in the old double storey link house she slowly converted into a rooming house. Her son who worked in Singapore sent her a stipend. She stays for free as her tenants more than covered her rental, water and electric bills. She is 18 credits away from obtaining her Masters Degree. Not bad for a 53 year old single mother. I am very pleased for her progress. As I am waiting for a sign to go for a writing break in Borneo, I want to be sure she is alright.
When I was in hospital recovering from a serious illness, I met this lady (who was a perfect stranger up to that moment) who transports special children in her van. When she heard that I blog about special children, she asked me if I have a Chinese blog site. I don't. That was two years ago. I felt bad about denying the Chinese speaking community a chance to read my blogs. Yet I am totally out of touch. For I don't even sms in Chinese because I don't know much about Han Yu Pin Yin.
Recently I thought of the idea of pod-casting in Mandarin. My technical advisor is in Borneo. In a few days' time I may be able to get some much needed advice from a friendly software engineer. Who knows, I may be able to slowly provide a listening side to this blog.
My dear friend from the hospital in Putrajaya or her daughter who is English speaking, by August I hope to have a voice translation of my special education blog. When that happens, I hope that what little I know might be of help to the Chinese speaking community at large.
She is happy. Her life is full. I enjoyed the peace and comfort I felt in the old double storey link house she slowly converted into a rooming house. Her son who worked in Singapore sent her a stipend. She stays for free as her tenants more than covered her rental, water and electric bills. She is 18 credits away from obtaining her Masters Degree. Not bad for a 53 year old single mother. I am very pleased for her progress. As I am waiting for a sign to go for a writing break in Borneo, I want to be sure she is alright.
When I was in hospital recovering from a serious illness, I met this lady (who was a perfect stranger up to that moment) who transports special children in her van. When she heard that I blog about special children, she asked me if I have a Chinese blog site. I don't. That was two years ago. I felt bad about denying the Chinese speaking community a chance to read my blogs. Yet I am totally out of touch. For I don't even sms in Chinese because I don't know much about Han Yu Pin Yin.
Recently I thought of the idea of pod-casting in Mandarin. My technical advisor is in Borneo. In a few days' time I may be able to get some much needed advice from a friendly software engineer. Who knows, I may be able to slowly provide a listening side to this blog.
My dear friend from the hospital in Putrajaya or her daughter who is English speaking, by August I hope to have a voice translation of my special education blog. When that happens, I hope that what little I know might be of help to the Chinese speaking community at large.
Thursday, April 4, 2019
(1081) Human Nature
A friend from Singapore mentioned she stopped volunteering at a second hand store after two years.
There is politics involved in the management and cliques among the volunteers. She helped there because she had free time and liked working with one particular volunteer for her choice of time-slot.
When she realized how a group ganged up against her because she was naïve and assumed everyone was as honest as she was, she ran away like a bolt of lightning.
She remembered how a middle-age man walked in and had a look on all the items offered. My friend's buddy asked if he found anything he liked. He said in an even tone of voice, " Well. As I expected, there is really nothing worth buying. If anything good comes in, it would have been snapped up by some volunteers."
My friend's buddy was equal to any accusation. She answered sweetly, " No. That is not true. I live in a tiny little apartment, if what you said is so, my pad would be filled to overflowing. Thank you for visiting." She opened the door very politely and smiled at him as he walked out.
What my friend learned is that human nature is such that often what others thought the worst is really true. What I learned from my 10 hours of volunteering is when items which are exceptionally good come through my hands, I would take the trouble to give it to the poor directly rather than dropping them at the recycling centre. Therefore I would go through lots of trouble to ensure that such items would not fall into the hands of some Mrs BMW.
There is politics involved in the management and cliques among the volunteers. She helped there because she had free time and liked working with one particular volunteer for her choice of time-slot.
When she realized how a group ganged up against her because she was naïve and assumed everyone was as honest as she was, she ran away like a bolt of lightning.
She remembered how a middle-age man walked in and had a look on all the items offered. My friend's buddy asked if he found anything he liked. He said in an even tone of voice, " Well. As I expected, there is really nothing worth buying. If anything good comes in, it would have been snapped up by some volunteers."
My friend's buddy was equal to any accusation. She answered sweetly, " No. That is not true. I live in a tiny little apartment, if what you said is so, my pad would be filled to overflowing. Thank you for visiting." She opened the door very politely and smiled at him as he walked out.
What my friend learned is that human nature is such that often what others thought the worst is really true. What I learned from my 10 hours of volunteering is when items which are exceptionally good come through my hands, I would take the trouble to give it to the poor directly rather than dropping them at the recycling centre. Therefore I would go through lots of trouble to ensure that such items would not fall into the hands of some Mrs BMW.
(1080) Volunteering at a community recycling centre
When my youngest daughter went to volunteer at a recycling centre to fulfil her 10 hour community service requirement of a university course, I tagged along and served out of partly being curious and a little of "nosy parkerism".
Here I must state that I greatly admire the work these dedicated volunteers do in my neighbourhood. They sell donated clothes at nominal prices to refugees and illegal immigrants. There is a van that sell second hand but serviceable shoes and slippers in poor areas of town during week day working hours. I heard that volunteers would drive to other states in poor little towns to sell whatever items donated but not saleable in the city. Interestingly such items include clothes, shoes, household tools, kitchen implements, travel cases, children's toys ...
It was quite a few years ago, at least six. As far as I remember I worked three 4 hour shifts in the mornings. Most volunteers appeared promptly at eight am in front of the shop lot. The key holder opened up the place and assigned the various volunteers to different stations. I was placed in the section to process white and black paper. All the other ladies are regulars and for them it was a social occasion. At 8:30am a big size commanding looking woman got out of a big BMW with an Indonesian maid in tow. She was assigned next to me working coloured printed glossy paper. We tore the donated paper into small shreds with gloved hands. Each of us wore masks over our noses and mouths for hygienic reasons.
After an hour or so different things came in from the locked recycle boxes after they were sorted by the leader (key holder) and his team. (My daughter as a university student was placed there for an overview of the entire recycling effort) A small bag of clothes came in, the holder gave it to me to put in the bin right behind me in the shelves. Before I could throw it in, Mrs BMW asked for it. She threw the content out and looked over all the items. They were lovely and expensive sports wear: tennis skirts, golf shirts, yoga tights, leotards for ballet ... all kinds of colours and of well-known brands, every single one of them in small size. She took eight of the twelve items for various individuals of her vast extended family as a matter of her right. Nobody in the room bat an eye lid. I was watching closely every movement and listening avidly to every word uttered and inferring expressions not verbalised.
At 11:30 am the car came for the duo and the lady in charged of food deferentially invited her to pack fried beehoon (a form of rice noodle) and liquid dessert (red bean soup) before leaving. For the rest of us mortals, tea break is at 12 pm. As a total stranger, I must say that the people in charged are extremely polite and nice to me and my daughter. My daughter and I enjoyed the treats tremendously. This organisation is an off shoot from a group in Taiwan. They are serious Buddhists and life long vegetarians.
This event happened so very long ago that I have well forgotten it. What triggered the memory I will write as the next blog.
Here I must state that I greatly admire the work these dedicated volunteers do in my neighbourhood. They sell donated clothes at nominal prices to refugees and illegal immigrants. There is a van that sell second hand but serviceable shoes and slippers in poor areas of town during week day working hours. I heard that volunteers would drive to other states in poor little towns to sell whatever items donated but not saleable in the city. Interestingly such items include clothes, shoes, household tools, kitchen implements, travel cases, children's toys ...
It was quite a few years ago, at least six. As far as I remember I worked three 4 hour shifts in the mornings. Most volunteers appeared promptly at eight am in front of the shop lot. The key holder opened up the place and assigned the various volunteers to different stations. I was placed in the section to process white and black paper. All the other ladies are regulars and for them it was a social occasion. At 8:30am a big size commanding looking woman got out of a big BMW with an Indonesian maid in tow. She was assigned next to me working coloured printed glossy paper. We tore the donated paper into small shreds with gloved hands. Each of us wore masks over our noses and mouths for hygienic reasons.
After an hour or so different things came in from the locked recycle boxes after they were sorted by the leader (key holder) and his team. (My daughter as a university student was placed there for an overview of the entire recycling effort) A small bag of clothes came in, the holder gave it to me to put in the bin right behind me in the shelves. Before I could throw it in, Mrs BMW asked for it. She threw the content out and looked over all the items. They were lovely and expensive sports wear: tennis skirts, golf shirts, yoga tights, leotards for ballet ... all kinds of colours and of well-known brands, every single one of them in small size. She took eight of the twelve items for various individuals of her vast extended family as a matter of her right. Nobody in the room bat an eye lid. I was watching closely every movement and listening avidly to every word uttered and inferring expressions not verbalised.
At 11:30 am the car came for the duo and the lady in charged of food deferentially invited her to pack fried beehoon (a form of rice noodle) and liquid dessert (red bean soup) before leaving. For the rest of us mortals, tea break is at 12 pm. As a total stranger, I must say that the people in charged are extremely polite and nice to me and my daughter. My daughter and I enjoyed the treats tremendously. This organisation is an off shoot from a group in Taiwan. They are serious Buddhists and life long vegetarians.
This event happened so very long ago that I have well forgotten it. What triggered the memory I will write as the next blog.
Thursday, March 21, 2019
(1079) A place dedicated to prayers in Negri Sembilan
A friend's daughter came back from a prayer retreat south of the capital. I have heard of this place at least 6 years ago.
I find it interesting that a country like mine with the present economy could still support a place like what I will describe below.
1. If it accepts my booking, there will be no charge for a believer to stay there up to three weeks as a visitor. Gifts are accepted from willing visitors.
2. Breakfasts and dinners are served, simple and healthy meals, seconds are available for visitors who desire it.
3. On Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday nights, there are worship meetings 8-11pm.
4. On Wednesday nights, there are prayer meetings in the main church.
5. Visitors are encouraged to study the bible in the afternoons with full-time staffers.
6. There is a full-time staff member who has been working there for seven years.
In Trengganu and Kelantan, the two northern states near the Thai border, a visitor who could not afford hotels could spend a night in the local mosque free of charge.
My brother, in his blameless youth, travelled up a hill station during a three-day weekend with a few guy friends. They missed the last bus and found no room in every single inn. In the end they stayed in the tiny police station. There was no charge.
While befriending a harmless homeless man in the state of Perak, I heard that he and a few fellow homeless men stayed in a local Taoist temple where the care-taker allowed them to wash clothes and take bath there.
According my husband, a year or two ago he met a group of believers who flew to Jordan, This group of people were on their way to Israel to celebrate the country's 70th anniversary. Quite a big number of them were young (20s) and they play the harp.
From the meeting, my husband heard that this church group run ten centres in different countries such as what I tried to outline above, these centres focus on worship and 24-7 prayers.
I find it interesting that a country like mine with the present economy could still support a place like what I will describe below.
1. If it accepts my booking, there will be no charge for a believer to stay there up to three weeks as a visitor. Gifts are accepted from willing visitors.
2. Breakfasts and dinners are served, simple and healthy meals, seconds are available for visitors who desire it.
3. On Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday nights, there are worship meetings 8-11pm.
4. On Wednesday nights, there are prayer meetings in the main church.
5. Visitors are encouraged to study the bible in the afternoons with full-time staffers.
6. There is a full-time staff member who has been working there for seven years.
In Trengganu and Kelantan, the two northern states near the Thai border, a visitor who could not afford hotels could spend a night in the local mosque free of charge.
My brother, in his blameless youth, travelled up a hill station during a three-day weekend with a few guy friends. They missed the last bus and found no room in every single inn. In the end they stayed in the tiny police station. There was no charge.
While befriending a harmless homeless man in the state of Perak, I heard that he and a few fellow homeless men stayed in a local Taoist temple where the care-taker allowed them to wash clothes and take bath there.
According my husband, a year or two ago he met a group of believers who flew to Jordan, This group of people were on their way to Israel to celebrate the country's 70th anniversary. Quite a big number of them were young (20s) and they play the harp.
From the meeting, my husband heard that this church group run ten centres in different countries such as what I tried to outline above, these centres focus on worship and 24-7 prayers.
Monday, February 4, 2019
(1078) Seasonal light disorder
Seasonal light disorder is one of the 27 physical symptoms related to the dyslexic-autism spectrum. I remember writing about it many years ago.
I'll cover it again because it came as a thought at least twice the last 24 hours. For me, who grew up very near the equator, it did not affect me for 21 years. The first spring I spent in Virginia, I became a totally different person. During the plum rain, or peach (couldn't be sure, as in Taiwan I read about 'mei' rain which mean plum. But in North and South Carolina, I saw lots of peach blossoms along the highway during spring breaks.), I was snapping at all my close friends, a number of them joked about PMS. One was astute enough to mark my out bursts and note down the weather of that day. After the rains were over, she confronted me and asked about my family medical history.
Around that time, I read about my cousin's suicide attempt in Northern China. My cousin grew up in a small town one hour north of Canton or Kwangchow in Southern China. When he went to a University up north, he became clinically depressed. My uncle, a urinary surgeon, had him diagnosed and managed to move him back south to save his life.
On the same side of the family, I have a girl cousin who became weepy during the infamous haze season due to the burning forest in Sumatra many years ago. She did not spend any extended period out of Malaysia, therefore her experience was limited to that few weeks of limited inconvenience. I remember that was the only year when visibility was affected enough to bring in a poor harvest of guava( a tropical fruit).
The generation after mine: only my eldest brother's two children went abroad for studies. My nephew fared alright in the dark winters in UK. My niece failed and was depressed for quite a while after returning to sunny Malaysia. According to my nephew, he thinks she was reclusive and clinically depressed in the winter semester of September-January.
If a person knows that he or she has the disorder but needs to stay for extended period in a place of limited sunlight, then the simple solution of a tanning lamp emitting light of the correct wavelengths and a few hours of being exposed to such light daily would take care of the brain's need of light.
I'll cover it again because it came as a thought at least twice the last 24 hours. For me, who grew up very near the equator, it did not affect me for 21 years. The first spring I spent in Virginia, I became a totally different person. During the plum rain, or peach (couldn't be sure, as in Taiwan I read about 'mei' rain which mean plum. But in North and South Carolina, I saw lots of peach blossoms along the highway during spring breaks.), I was snapping at all my close friends, a number of them joked about PMS. One was astute enough to mark my out bursts and note down the weather of that day. After the rains were over, she confronted me and asked about my family medical history.
Around that time, I read about my cousin's suicide attempt in Northern China. My cousin grew up in a small town one hour north of Canton or Kwangchow in Southern China. When he went to a University up north, he became clinically depressed. My uncle, a urinary surgeon, had him diagnosed and managed to move him back south to save his life.
On the same side of the family, I have a girl cousin who became weepy during the infamous haze season due to the burning forest in Sumatra many years ago. She did not spend any extended period out of Malaysia, therefore her experience was limited to that few weeks of limited inconvenience. I remember that was the only year when visibility was affected enough to bring in a poor harvest of guava( a tropical fruit).
The generation after mine: only my eldest brother's two children went abroad for studies. My nephew fared alright in the dark winters in UK. My niece failed and was depressed for quite a while after returning to sunny Malaysia. According to my nephew, he thinks she was reclusive and clinically depressed in the winter semester of September-January.
If a person knows that he or she has the disorder but needs to stay for extended period in a place of limited sunlight, then the simple solution of a tanning lamp emitting light of the correct wavelengths and a few hours of being exposed to such light daily would take care of the brain's need of light.
Friday, February 1, 2019
(1077) Being naive
Last week I passed some rojak (spicy fruit salad) to my neighbour's daughter. My daughter happened to have come back from work, she shared some cashew nuts with the young lady, we'll call her Vivien here.
A day later, Vivien came to me to ask where the cashew nuts were from. When I said Thailand, she seemed unaccountably excited. She told me the cashew nuts were very tasty. I have always bought such nuts whenever I go to Thailand. After the exchange, I felt unease without knowing why. It is just one of those episodes with a warning bell.
The next episode came when I was chatting with Vivien's mum in their sitting room. The mum mentioned that Vivien wanted to take advantage of Taiwan's free tertiary education. I shook my head because three years of elementary Chinese education would not qualify Vivien a place in any universities or colleges there. Vivien broke into our conversation saying that she wanted to tour Taiwan, not study there. Vivien is eighteen years old, just left one job and looking for another. Her mum and I both said that she needs to get a more stable job, save up money as well as leave as it does not take that much money to visit Taiwan for five days four night. At that point, Vivien looked at me as if I were a simpleton and smiled. That uncomfortable moment passed when her mum brought up another topic.
The next day, I talked to Vivien's mum and she mentioned that the former's ex colleague who is a college student invited Vivien to a movie. Somehow, that piece of information does not ring true. It is a few days before Chinese New Year, any girl worth some fashion sense should be shopping for outfits, not spending money on cinema shows. Anyway, a private college student who needs to work part time as a waitress would not blow precious cash seeing a show so close to CNY. Maybe after collecting Chinese red packets (money in ang pows Chinese children get), she may go see shows.
As I told my daughter my misgivings, I was hanging up laundry. The three incidences lined up in my mind and I decided to text my neighbour my concerns. She came over to ask how I know, was it someone who told me Vivien was being targeted. Well, I have no hard evidence. It was some nebulous feeling: excitement about Thailand that is not easily explained away, a chance to tour Taiwan that does not require months of saving up cash and social activity that does not ring true. There may not be anything in it, yet if the girl is desperate about new experiences like a new job in Taiwan that entails flying there with a girl friend, she may go to great lengths to hide it from her mum.
Both my husband and my son said "drug mule" when I related all the above. Well, I have alerted the mum. But if an eighteen year old is naïve enough to go behind her family's back to trust a girl friend whom she only met three to four weeks ago, there is not much anyone can do for her. I hope I am wrong, and she would not end up in death row in Malaysia or Taiwan
because she yearns above all to travel when she was young and pretty to the land of her singing idol.
A day later, Vivien came to me to ask where the cashew nuts were from. When I said Thailand, she seemed unaccountably excited. She told me the cashew nuts were very tasty. I have always bought such nuts whenever I go to Thailand. After the exchange, I felt unease without knowing why. It is just one of those episodes with a warning bell.
The next episode came when I was chatting with Vivien's mum in their sitting room. The mum mentioned that Vivien wanted to take advantage of Taiwan's free tertiary education. I shook my head because three years of elementary Chinese education would not qualify Vivien a place in any universities or colleges there. Vivien broke into our conversation saying that she wanted to tour Taiwan, not study there. Vivien is eighteen years old, just left one job and looking for another. Her mum and I both said that she needs to get a more stable job, save up money as well as leave as it does not take that much money to visit Taiwan for five days four night. At that point, Vivien looked at me as if I were a simpleton and smiled. That uncomfortable moment passed when her mum brought up another topic.
The next day, I talked to Vivien's mum and she mentioned that the former's ex colleague who is a college student invited Vivien to a movie. Somehow, that piece of information does not ring true. It is a few days before Chinese New Year, any girl worth some fashion sense should be shopping for outfits, not spending money on cinema shows. Anyway, a private college student who needs to work part time as a waitress would not blow precious cash seeing a show so close to CNY. Maybe after collecting Chinese red packets (money in ang pows Chinese children get), she may go see shows.
As I told my daughter my misgivings, I was hanging up laundry. The three incidences lined up in my mind and I decided to text my neighbour my concerns. She came over to ask how I know, was it someone who told me Vivien was being targeted. Well, I have no hard evidence. It was some nebulous feeling: excitement about Thailand that is not easily explained away, a chance to tour Taiwan that does not require months of saving up cash and social activity that does not ring true. There may not be anything in it, yet if the girl is desperate about new experiences like a new job in Taiwan that entails flying there with a girl friend, she may go to great lengths to hide it from her mum.
Both my husband and my son said "drug mule" when I related all the above. Well, I have alerted the mum. But if an eighteen year old is naïve enough to go behind her family's back to trust a girl friend whom she only met three to four weeks ago, there is not much anyone can do for her. I hope I am wrong, and she would not end up in death row in Malaysia or Taiwan
because she yearns above all to travel when she was young and pretty to the land of her singing idol.
Friday, January 18, 2019
(1076) Snail Hop-scocth
Recently I have been putting my prodigious memory on an over drive to try to recall what I did with my children in 1997.
It was not easy. The life of a homemaker is dull, boring, everyday repeats the one before... In 1997, from January to March I almost pulled my hair out because of the frustration I had with a child I tutored in exchange for transportation rendered to fetch my youngest to and from school.
When it seemed almost impossible to teach a 7 year old girl to add any two numbers which amount to more than 10, I started praying nightly for wisdom and God given inspiration. The first break through came when I had fuzzy recall of my own childhood: at age 4 or 5, I was labelled lazy or stupid or forgetful for failing to do 2 or 3 things my mum or grandmother asked. Vaguely I recalled that few months the neighbourhood children were playing star hop-scotch. A few months later I no longer have problem holding on to 2 or 3 pieces of information and carry them out in a timely manner. You see, in those days even childhood games come in seasons. Once a game took hold and become popular, it had its run for two to three months, then another game took over.
God is very good in giving me prompts. This thought caused me to look for chalks and drew the star hop-scotch and taught my brood to play it during the evenings when the sun is not hot. Star hop-scotch gave way to airplane hop-scotch. The girl improved slightly. She was then able to score 50% or so in her mathematics tests. One day as I spent my usual hour in selecting my 34 books in the town council library, a book of children's games from around the world was opened and lie on a littered reading desk. Ah, I read: snail hop-scotch. I snapped a picture of the drawing in a hurry and mentally scanned and memorised all the 7 layers of rules to vary the game. The next day, walla! I introduced the snail hop-scotch and test drove it with my testing inspectors: my children. That Saturday we introduced it to our poor victim (the 7 year-old girl) as the world's coolest game.
Believe you me, it was a hit! This crazy clan played the game for a solid three months. I had to reduce the game to its four component simple forms before she was able to attempt the entry level. For a long while she competed against me, a fat and clumsy old lady of 38, while my children cheered and clapped whenever she did anything correctly. We can all see her struggling. She forgot to close her month. In moments of great concentration, she could not swallow her saliva. My youngest could be quite mean, she teased her classmate for drooling and was chased round and round the courtyard until both wrestled on the cemented dusty courtyard.
Lo and behold, when the victim of all these games learnt to hold her own and began to win against one or the other of my children, she did alright in all her math topics. The day she could consistently win over her classmate, she began to get above 95% in maths.
It was not easy. The life of a homemaker is dull, boring, everyday repeats the one before... In 1997, from January to March I almost pulled my hair out because of the frustration I had with a child I tutored in exchange for transportation rendered to fetch my youngest to and from school.
When it seemed almost impossible to teach a 7 year old girl to add any two numbers which amount to more than 10, I started praying nightly for wisdom and God given inspiration. The first break through came when I had fuzzy recall of my own childhood: at age 4 or 5, I was labelled lazy or stupid or forgetful for failing to do 2 or 3 things my mum or grandmother asked. Vaguely I recalled that few months the neighbourhood children were playing star hop-scotch. A few months later I no longer have problem holding on to 2 or 3 pieces of information and carry them out in a timely manner. You see, in those days even childhood games come in seasons. Once a game took hold and become popular, it had its run for two to three months, then another game took over.
God is very good in giving me prompts. This thought caused me to look for chalks and drew the star hop-scotch and taught my brood to play it during the evenings when the sun is not hot. Star hop-scotch gave way to airplane hop-scotch. The girl improved slightly. She was then able to score 50% or so in her mathematics tests. One day as I spent my usual hour in selecting my 34 books in the town council library, a book of children's games from around the world was opened and lie on a littered reading desk. Ah, I read: snail hop-scotch. I snapped a picture of the drawing in a hurry and mentally scanned and memorised all the 7 layers of rules to vary the game. The next day, walla! I introduced the snail hop-scotch and test drove it with my testing inspectors: my children. That Saturday we introduced it to our poor victim (the 7 year-old girl) as the world's coolest game.
Believe you me, it was a hit! This crazy clan played the game for a solid three months. I had to reduce the game to its four component simple forms before she was able to attempt the entry level. For a long while she competed against me, a fat and clumsy old lady of 38, while my children cheered and clapped whenever she did anything correctly. We can all see her struggling. She forgot to close her month. In moments of great concentration, she could not swallow her saliva. My youngest could be quite mean, she teased her classmate for drooling and was chased round and round the courtyard until both wrestled on the cemented dusty courtyard.
Lo and behold, when the victim of all these games learnt to hold her own and began to win against one or the other of my children, she did alright in all her math topics. The day she could consistently win over her classmate, she began to get above 95% in maths.
Tuesday, January 15, 2019
(1075) Traditional red seed shooting game
During the same trip as in blog no. 1074, I had a long chat with our cook. She is a few years younger than I. She grew up in Pahang in the village and I grew up in the city in Selangor, probably a distance of at least 200 km apart. The funny part is that we share a number of childhood games. Of course the Chinese called the game a certain name; she is a member of the Jakun tribe and she knew the same game with another name. Some rules vary, but we both agreed that we shared mostly the same games.
The sad part is that in the village near Tasik Cini, the children no longer play such games. They watched a lot of TV. Those who have access to old hand phones actually play hand phone games. While we may argue that games are meant to entertain children: what does it matter if one child play traditional games and another play electronic games?
I just came back from packing my lunch. On the way back I collected fifty red seeds from the ground around a certain tropical tree. Those seeds are red and kind of round. When I was a child. I spent hours playing a finger shooting game trying to win red seeds. Three girls of ages 6-8 would sit on the ground or floor outside of a house. The owner of the red seeds would release them gently to spread them out in the space in the middle of the three players. Since we could pick the seeds in school, we do not fight about losing the seeds to others.
Then one by one we would use our little finger to draw a line between two chosen seeds. One must be careful not to touch any red seeds at this point. Then one aims, and then using the index finger brushing against the thumb to shoot one particular seed towards a direction of many seeds. One successful shoot may net the shooter twenty over seeds. Or a failure may cause one to lose what one already won. A failure could be one inadvertent touch against an unintended seed. Or the seed shot away touched no other seed. Such a game required many skills and judgement, it builds fine motor co-ordination. It may also create memory spaces, hooks or what I used to call registers.
Another thing that participants learned is negotiation skills. Three players may disagree on how many seeds moved, so it is up to the shooter to convince the other two that she actually managed to dislodge that many seeds. One friend I remember could recreate the former position of red seeds before the shooting, she would draw the diagram using a stick on the sandy ground in school. She was much sought after as a judge in this game. Looking back, I realized now that she had the perfect recall. After a while, we all asked her to sit in to adjudicate on the number of seeds moved. But as a player, she was pretty hopeless, she could not shoot to win seeds, turn after turn she would fail and touched seeds she should not touch. It was fun that should we play enough games, every child excel in at least one game so no one feels left out.
The sad part is that in the village near Tasik Cini, the children no longer play such games. They watched a lot of TV. Those who have access to old hand phones actually play hand phone games. While we may argue that games are meant to entertain children: what does it matter if one child play traditional games and another play electronic games?
I just came back from packing my lunch. On the way back I collected fifty red seeds from the ground around a certain tropical tree. Those seeds are red and kind of round. When I was a child. I spent hours playing a finger shooting game trying to win red seeds. Three girls of ages 6-8 would sit on the ground or floor outside of a house. The owner of the red seeds would release them gently to spread them out in the space in the middle of the three players. Since we could pick the seeds in school, we do not fight about losing the seeds to others.
Then one by one we would use our little finger to draw a line between two chosen seeds. One must be careful not to touch any red seeds at this point. Then one aims, and then using the index finger brushing against the thumb to shoot one particular seed towards a direction of many seeds. One successful shoot may net the shooter twenty over seeds. Or a failure may cause one to lose what one already won. A failure could be one inadvertent touch against an unintended seed. Or the seed shot away touched no other seed. Such a game required many skills and judgement, it builds fine motor co-ordination. It may also create memory spaces, hooks or what I used to call registers.
Another thing that participants learned is negotiation skills. Three players may disagree on how many seeds moved, so it is up to the shooter to convince the other two that she actually managed to dislodge that many seeds. One friend I remember could recreate the former position of red seeds before the shooting, she would draw the diagram using a stick on the sandy ground in school. She was much sought after as a judge in this game. Looking back, I realized now that she had the perfect recall. After a while, we all asked her to sit in to adjudicate on the number of seeds moved. But as a player, she was pretty hopeless, she could not shoot to win seeds, turn after turn she would fail and touched seeds she should not touch. It was fun that should we play enough games, every child excel in at least one game so no one feels left out.
(1074) Financial Training for Aboriginal people
In December I tagged along to a village in Pahang for an overnight trip.
The trainer Ms Jacqui was a pro in getting the village farmers to discuss in groups on the topic of "Living in the city working for people versus living in the home town growing vegetables".
The training was done in the village Head's(Pak Kuyu) house. Pak Kuyu, his wife and son were in the living room. The women were punctual. The others drifted in according to our elastic rubber time. We can see that this group of folks were knowledgeable and gave pertinent information for the scribes to write down ideas on the mahjong paper with marker pens.
They were able to give the reasons for their poverty : 1. attitude 2. low education level 3. lack of opportunities in the village. Someone mentioned the word "malas" which could mean lazy, shy, low confidence to meet and talk to outsiders, lack of confidence to tackle challenges... The fear of interacting with outsiders meant they remained uninformed, ignorant and unable to progress with new ideas. The vegetable farming project gave them a better understanding of the cash economy. Now they are better equipped to find solutions for their problems.
Every single group concluded they are better off working on the land in their village than working for fixed wages in the city or towns.
The trainer Ms Jacqui was a pro in getting the village farmers to discuss in groups on the topic of "Living in the city working for people versus living in the home town growing vegetables".
The training was done in the village Head's(Pak Kuyu) house. Pak Kuyu, his wife and son were in the living room. The women were punctual. The others drifted in according to our elastic rubber time. We can see that this group of folks were knowledgeable and gave pertinent information for the scribes to write down ideas on the mahjong paper with marker pens.
They were able to give the reasons for their poverty : 1. attitude 2. low education level 3. lack of opportunities in the village. Someone mentioned the word "malas" which could mean lazy, shy, low confidence to meet and talk to outsiders, lack of confidence to tackle challenges... The fear of interacting with outsiders meant they remained uninformed, ignorant and unable to progress with new ideas. The vegetable farming project gave them a better understanding of the cash economy. Now they are better equipped to find solutions for their problems.
Every single group concluded they are better off working on the land in their village than working for fixed wages in the city or towns.
Friday, December 28, 2018
(1073) Humility
This is the Christmas season. I kept hearing one person after another telling me they are tired. Perhaps it is the many activities in church. Maybe it is the Christmas party or the family dinner. The shopping for gifts that one wants to bestow on one's loved ones...
The deco that make a street Christmas looking, the carols that bring nostalgia to one's heart, the presents one gives and receives, the yummy feast that one partakes yearly, and more than anything else, the gratefulness for one's love ones around, health, a reasonable amount of surplus that enables a person to be generous, they all contribute to a blessed Christmas.
Yet what does God requires of us? In Micah 6 verse eight it says "To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."
It sounded very simple. Yet it is indeed profound and very difficult to carry out. I will probably use this as my vision for the rest of my life.
The deco that make a street Christmas looking, the carols that bring nostalgia to one's heart, the presents one gives and receives, the yummy feast that one partakes yearly, and more than anything else, the gratefulness for one's love ones around, health, a reasonable amount of surplus that enables a person to be generous, they all contribute to a blessed Christmas.
Yet what does God requires of us? In Micah 6 verse eight it says "To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."
It sounded very simple. Yet it is indeed profound and very difficult to carry out. I will probably use this as my vision for the rest of my life.
(1072) Physical activities
As memories of my childhood came back, I was reflecting on how my children did while they were young in Silver City.
None of my children was co-ordinated enough to play sports that involved eye-hand co-ordination. In a big city, such children would end up glued to the TV or books. However, in a small town, there are lots of opportunities for all sort of physical and fun activities.
I think of the many fun afternoons I spent with my children, after 4pm, at the public swimming pool. They were not real swimmers, not skilful enough to save their own lives without life jackets. But hours of paddling and floating must have done wonders to connect their left and right hemispheres for certain essential tasks for school and their future jobs.
My children were blessed with playmates who are the children of my close friends. Running round a spacious garden and climbing the rambutan tree trained the body to respond to instructions from the overworked brains from the overwhelming classroom work. They would walk with their lighted lanterns on moon cake festival year after year in different neighbourhoods at night. It was fun and educational. For children who are clumsy, ability to walk without falling down as well as keeping the lantern lighted but not burning the cellophane body is no easy task.
From a small town with nothing much to do, we used to organise short day trips to nearby hot spring and lake resort during public holidays. Even sitting on rocks trying to make a picnic meal took real effort. By the time parents were brave enough to take the rambunctious group to a waterfall for an afternoon, it was a survival course on how not to fall on the big rocks.
On top of all that, music lessons were affordable. Piano and guitar were the popular choices for boys and girls in Silver City. Two of my children had at least two years of ballet. It did wonders for posture and upper-lower limbs co-ordination.
Looking back, it was no accident that we relocated to a small town long enough to provide a chance of the outdoor lifestyle for the children. God is good, he doth all things well.
None of my children was co-ordinated enough to play sports that involved eye-hand co-ordination. In a big city, such children would end up glued to the TV or books. However, in a small town, there are lots of opportunities for all sort of physical and fun activities.
I think of the many fun afternoons I spent with my children, after 4pm, at the public swimming pool. They were not real swimmers, not skilful enough to save their own lives without life jackets. But hours of paddling and floating must have done wonders to connect their left and right hemispheres for certain essential tasks for school and their future jobs.
My children were blessed with playmates who are the children of my close friends. Running round a spacious garden and climbing the rambutan tree trained the body to respond to instructions from the overworked brains from the overwhelming classroom work. They would walk with their lighted lanterns on moon cake festival year after year in different neighbourhoods at night. It was fun and educational. For children who are clumsy, ability to walk without falling down as well as keeping the lantern lighted but not burning the cellophane body is no easy task.
From a small town with nothing much to do, we used to organise short day trips to nearby hot spring and lake resort during public holidays. Even sitting on rocks trying to make a picnic meal took real effort. By the time parents were brave enough to take the rambunctious group to a waterfall for an afternoon, it was a survival course on how not to fall on the big rocks.
On top of all that, music lessons were affordable. Piano and guitar were the popular choices for boys and girls in Silver City. Two of my children had at least two years of ballet. It did wonders for posture and upper-lower limbs co-ordination.
Looking back, it was no accident that we relocated to a small town long enough to provide a chance of the outdoor lifestyle for the children. God is good, he doth all things well.
(1071) Sprains and fractures
Two months back, a friend of mine fell down and had to be wheel chair bound for 50 over days. A few days after the friend no 2 fell and moved around on two crutches for at least 30 days. Five days ago friend no 3 fell and was in a full splint, overdid the moving up and down stairs and now is in bed 24 hours a day.
All three are wonderful persons, perhaps a notch too friendly and helpful. Friend no 1 was busy organising some adventure camp for a big group of folks. Friend no 2 was a busy career woman with four children. Friend no 3 was running round organising a perfect Christmas celebration. They are all overworked and generally has too much on their platter to tend to.
Nature is good at providing rest for the weary. In a sprain, at least a week or two of resting on the sofa would help force the person involved to slow down. In a fracture, all activities ceased and the person has to involve others in helping the invalid to tend to daily necessities.
I think of crutches, walking frames, ice packs, disposable diapers... that the invalids use in the sick rooms. When my mum fell down three years ago, I practically lived in the hospital for the two operations and the next few days after the anaesthesia wore off. For months after that, I was at my brother's house early morning till after 5 pm. Little did I know that experience came in helpful later. I was there wheeling my friend no 3 into the hospital emergency department. A few days after her condition worsened, I went up to her bedroom and helped with advice and tips both for the patient and her niece. It is ironic that all and any experience is beneficial in some ways, no matter how sad or tiring it might have been.
All three are wonderful persons, perhaps a notch too friendly and helpful. Friend no 1 was busy organising some adventure camp for a big group of folks. Friend no 2 was a busy career woman with four children. Friend no 3 was running round organising a perfect Christmas celebration. They are all overworked and generally has too much on their platter to tend to.
Nature is good at providing rest for the weary. In a sprain, at least a week or two of resting on the sofa would help force the person involved to slow down. In a fracture, all activities ceased and the person has to involve others in helping the invalid to tend to daily necessities.
I think of crutches, walking frames, ice packs, disposable diapers... that the invalids use in the sick rooms. When my mum fell down three years ago, I practically lived in the hospital for the two operations and the next few days after the anaesthesia wore off. For months after that, I was at my brother's house early morning till after 5 pm. Little did I know that experience came in helpful later. I was there wheeling my friend no 3 into the hospital emergency department. A few days after her condition worsened, I went up to her bedroom and helped with advice and tips both for the patient and her niece. It is ironic that all and any experience is beneficial in some ways, no matter how sad or tiring it might have been.
Friday, December 21, 2018
(1070) Play dough
I was teaching a child who could do ok in Chinese but his English and Malay were a mess of inversion. His b and d interchanges. His h and g can be hard to distinguish one from another. For him, I resorted to making play dough in my frying pan to roll out 'a' to 'z' as a play method.
As homemakers know, home-made play dough only lasts about one week before it fragments in hot weather or become mouldy in wet weather. For those few months, my dining table was constantly like a baker's work space. I would sprinkle corn flour before the lesson and have a major wipe down after class.
I wish I could tell you he improved significantly. No such luck! Since the mom was ambitious to make him a success in all three languages, she could not wait for the natural therapy to bring result but went on to try another method before this one had time to work. I met the mother a few years in the wet market one day, it was a small town. She looked totally tired out, she aged about ten years. In two sentences, she told me her disappointment and disillusionment. I encouraged her that academic success is not everything, after all Bill Gates never completed his higher education but is the richest man at one point of history.
A dyslexic child already finds it difficult to cope with one phonetic language, to expect him to learn three different ones is like expecting a quadriplegic to run a 100m race. Of course, all of my children learn two languages, English and Malay. They are reasonably good in one but not the other. I guess that is why we call the alternate a second or the foreign language.
The past few posts dealing with dyslexia all arose because of the girl up in the north, my deep seated memory took turn to come back so that I could run through them all one by one with the mom who home schools her. It is interesting that normally I cannot list out all these, they are filed away in my off-line memory storage, some have not been retrieved for at least twenty years.
As homemakers know, home-made play dough only lasts about one week before it fragments in hot weather or become mouldy in wet weather. For those few months, my dining table was constantly like a baker's work space. I would sprinkle corn flour before the lesson and have a major wipe down after class.
I wish I could tell you he improved significantly. No such luck! Since the mom was ambitious to make him a success in all three languages, she could not wait for the natural therapy to bring result but went on to try another method before this one had time to work. I met the mother a few years in the wet market one day, it was a small town. She looked totally tired out, she aged about ten years. In two sentences, she told me her disappointment and disillusionment. I encouraged her that academic success is not everything, after all Bill Gates never completed his higher education but is the richest man at one point of history.
A dyslexic child already finds it difficult to cope with one phonetic language, to expect him to learn three different ones is like expecting a quadriplegic to run a 100m race. Of course, all of my children learn two languages, English and Malay. They are reasonably good in one but not the other. I guess that is why we call the alternate a second or the foreign language.
The past few posts dealing with dyslexia all arose because of the girl up in the north, my deep seated memory took turn to come back so that I could run through them all one by one with the mom who home schools her. It is interesting that normally I cannot list out all these, they are filed away in my off-line memory storage, some have not been retrieved for at least twenty years.
(1069) Seminar
I once paid five dollars and attended a seminar held in a paediatrician's office in Silver City. Of course it was a community service project, both for the organiser and the speaker from Kuala Lumpur.
The speaker is the mum of two dyslexic children who paid dearly to equip herself with a method that starts with the letter "O". Please google for dyslexic teaching methods and you would probably find it. I have heard that it was internationally endorsed and quite popular in all the commonwealth countries. That I heard from my friend who joined the Dyslexic Association. Don't ask me why I was not a member, perhaps because I was 200 over miles away for the vital years while my children were growing up. Now that I am here, there is no urgent need to learn more. After all, one does not meet a dyslexic person often.
That particular method taught that the teacher should not teach a to z in order. She gave very credible reasons why one should teach the letters that cannot be inverted in any way first, then we are to proceed one by one the remaining letters in a particular order. It was mind boggling. But as she puts it, she tried for years to teach her two precious special children the alphabet, it did not work. But with this method, they mastered the entire alphabet within a week.
It is important to teach writing in the air, in big strokes. Papers don't seem to work well with some children. Somehow the huge strokes, repeated many times, help the brain to retain the muscle and directional stroke memory better. I can imagine this method would help the 11 year old child I met in Washington DC many years ago. He was diagnosed at age three, his mum acquired a Master's in special education to teach him. He went to a special school that charged more than the tuition in Harvard University then in the nineteen eighties. This particular child had the perfect recall, he records every word he heard with no effort at all. Yet at age 11 he did not know too many letters of his alphabet. It was frightening, his disability was not visible at all, and he was not a retard.
The speaker is the mum of two dyslexic children who paid dearly to equip herself with a method that starts with the letter "O". Please google for dyslexic teaching methods and you would probably find it. I have heard that it was internationally endorsed and quite popular in all the commonwealth countries. That I heard from my friend who joined the Dyslexic Association. Don't ask me why I was not a member, perhaps because I was 200 over miles away for the vital years while my children were growing up. Now that I am here, there is no urgent need to learn more. After all, one does not meet a dyslexic person often.
That particular method taught that the teacher should not teach a to z in order. She gave very credible reasons why one should teach the letters that cannot be inverted in any way first, then we are to proceed one by one the remaining letters in a particular order. It was mind boggling. But as she puts it, she tried for years to teach her two precious special children the alphabet, it did not work. But with this method, they mastered the entire alphabet within a week.
It is important to teach writing in the air, in big strokes. Papers don't seem to work well with some children. Somehow the huge strokes, repeated many times, help the brain to retain the muscle and directional stroke memory better. I can imagine this method would help the 11 year old child I met in Washington DC many years ago. He was diagnosed at age three, his mum acquired a Master's in special education to teach him. He went to a special school that charged more than the tuition in Harvard University then in the nineteen eighties. This particular child had the perfect recall, he records every word he heard with no effort at all. Yet at age 11 he did not know too many letters of his alphabet. It was frightening, his disability was not visible at all, and he was not a retard.
(1068) Writing in sand
I was a special education tutor in Silver City for 12 long years. In the process of trying to teach whom others termed as unteachable, I met or talked to a few other colleagues in the area. None of us were trained, as it was a very new field in this third world country then (20 years ago).
Every single one of these teachers, homemakers, grandmas are unique and worth their weight in gold. As we can imagine, no one who thinks in terms of money would meddle with difficult and emotional children, touchy parents and the like. One in particular, I'll call her Lydia here, is knowledgeable and helpful to initiate me into her methodologies. She told me in details how to teach writing the letters of the alphabet in a basin of sand. She herself taught her pupils outdoor in her loggia. As you can appreciate, we Asians walk bare feet in our homes, no one can tolerate sand in the living room. Most home tutors use the dining table for tutoring.
I personally never have to resort to sand writing with my pupils. But I can appreciate it is a very good sensorial method that is cheap and easily available. When I was five or so, I used to go very early to kindergarten or Standard one in my first school. Thereupon I would spend an hour or more writing Chinese characters, numbers and letters (a,b,c...) with sticks on the sandy ground. Perhaps that was my sand writing therapy, unknowingly.
Every single one of these teachers, homemakers, grandmas are unique and worth their weight in gold. As we can imagine, no one who thinks in terms of money would meddle with difficult and emotional children, touchy parents and the like. One in particular, I'll call her Lydia here, is knowledgeable and helpful to initiate me into her methodologies. She told me in details how to teach writing the letters of the alphabet in a basin of sand. She herself taught her pupils outdoor in her loggia. As you can appreciate, we Asians walk bare feet in our homes, no one can tolerate sand in the living room. Most home tutors use the dining table for tutoring.
I personally never have to resort to sand writing with my pupils. But I can appreciate it is a very good sensorial method that is cheap and easily available. When I was five or so, I used to go very early to kindergarten or Standard one in my first school. Thereupon I would spend an hour or more writing Chinese characters, numbers and letters (a,b,c...) with sticks on the sandy ground. Perhaps that was my sand writing therapy, unknowingly.
(1067) Davis' Method
More than fifteen years ago, I was resident in Silver City. There is a boy whom I tutored for quite a while. My mother remembered him as the fellow who carried my cockerel home. My mum loved visiting me as she enjoyed the wet markets and the hawker food in a small town. We kept chickens that are allowed to roam the neighbourhood as we then had indulgent neighbours who liked a village atmosphere.
Back to that bird, my pupil was a typical full-blown dyslexic, boundless in energy. Within two weeks he ran the cockerel to death and cried for quite a few days for the deed. I guess the bird died of fear, not of dehydration and starvation as my children imagined. My son was mad at my pupil for a while, until he realized that death at the soup pot is no better than death in a marathon run.
My pupil was born biologically by a mom who had nine sons before him. He was given away because the poor woman could not imagine raising another rambunctious boy. Poor lady! My pupil's mom has two other biological children before him. She and her husband loved the adopted child even more than their own biological children as he came in their older years.
As the parents are rich, they brought in an international expert to treat my pupil's dyslexia. And as a tutor, I received one afternoon's training in helping the child to read. There was a follow up visit, can't remember how many months later. I was given a short interview to feed back on the child's progress. The technical problems had been solved, the remaining difficulties I faced were more of the home environment and the lack of discipline from home. Shortly after that, I moved back to my home state. From mutual friends, I learnt that my pupil was still having problems because the parents did not change in terms of their indulgence.
As I close my eyes, I can see the animated face of my "chicken killer", he was personable, fascinating, exciting to be with, and charming if he wanted something from me. Given the correct guidance, he would go far on his interpersonal skills alone. Conversely, if he was given a free rein, he could bring heart-ache and tears to any loving parents.
Back to that bird, my pupil was a typical full-blown dyslexic, boundless in energy. Within two weeks he ran the cockerel to death and cried for quite a few days for the deed. I guess the bird died of fear, not of dehydration and starvation as my children imagined. My son was mad at my pupil for a while, until he realized that death at the soup pot is no better than death in a marathon run.
My pupil was born biologically by a mom who had nine sons before him. He was given away because the poor woman could not imagine raising another rambunctious boy. Poor lady! My pupil's mom has two other biological children before him. She and her husband loved the adopted child even more than their own biological children as he came in their older years.
As the parents are rich, they brought in an international expert to treat my pupil's dyslexia. And as a tutor, I received one afternoon's training in helping the child to read. There was a follow up visit, can't remember how many months later. I was given a short interview to feed back on the child's progress. The technical problems had been solved, the remaining difficulties I faced were more of the home environment and the lack of discipline from home. Shortly after that, I moved back to my home state. From mutual friends, I learnt that my pupil was still having problems because the parents did not change in terms of their indulgence.
As I close my eyes, I can see the animated face of my "chicken killer", he was personable, fascinating, exciting to be with, and charming if he wanted something from me. Given the correct guidance, he would go far on his interpersonal skills alone. Conversely, if he was given a free rein, he could bring heart-ache and tears to any loving parents.
Thursday, December 20, 2018
(1066) Asking for direction
After attending a morning prayer meeting, my husband dropped me in an LRT station.
While looking at the consolidated public train map of the entire Klang valley, a dark skin man came and asked me something. He is probably a Bangladeshi man who came and works in my country. I retreated a few steps and looked around. Thank goodness there is a male rail policeman twenty steps away. The foreign worker handed me his hand phone and I could see that it is a photo of a station name 8 stations away.
The train came, I entered the train way behind so that I could exit where the escalator would be in my destination station. The guest worker came in and looked intently at the rail map and the blinking red light. I remember what it was like when I was a college student taking the subway for the very first time in Washington D.C. Everything was a blur and I was overwhelmed. Today, before I got down, I counted how many stations more for him. A moment prior to stepping out the train I told him loudly that there are 4 more stations, putting up four fingers in case he is not familiar with counting in Malay.
He was very puzzled that I was kind of scared of him. He is probably a brave and hard-working man who dares to venture far to earn a living. I am, however, a born and bred city person who is cautious, suspicious and usually do not talk to any stranger in a public area. It was bright day light, but a very quiet time in the train station.
While looking at the consolidated public train map of the entire Klang valley, a dark skin man came and asked me something. He is probably a Bangladeshi man who came and works in my country. I retreated a few steps and looked around. Thank goodness there is a male rail policeman twenty steps away. The foreign worker handed me his hand phone and I could see that it is a photo of a station name 8 stations away.
The train came, I entered the train way behind so that I could exit where the escalator would be in my destination station. The guest worker came in and looked intently at the rail map and the blinking red light. I remember what it was like when I was a college student taking the subway for the very first time in Washington D.C. Everything was a blur and I was overwhelmed. Today, before I got down, I counted how many stations more for him. A moment prior to stepping out the train I told him loudly that there are 4 more stations, putting up four fingers in case he is not familiar with counting in Malay.
He was very puzzled that I was kind of scared of him. He is probably a brave and hard-working man who dares to venture far to earn a living. I am, however, a born and bred city person who is cautious, suspicious and usually do not talk to any stranger in a public area. It was bright day light, but a very quiet time in the train station.
(1065) A distressed child
The third thought that came is: if a child is distressed, parents should eliminate the stress, if at all possible.
If a child suddenly
1. wets the bed, after years of dry beds
2. talks in his or her sleep, raising the voice, argues, shouts
3. grinding his or her teeth regularly
4. screams and wakes up because of nightmares in the middle of the night
5 attempts to sit up or struggle physically in bed while asleep
6. sleep walks
It is then up to the parents to intervene. My youngest, Elizabeth, was dry in bed since age eight months. During Kindergarten she started wetting the bed and screaming in the middle of the night. I found out later that the Chinese teacher was picking on her because she was too talkative in class. I went to talk to the principal and requested a change from Chinese to English stream. Subsequently I reregister her in a school that taught only Malay and English.
The abrupt change brought about an immediate result. No more manifestation of distress at night. Her home room teacher in the English stream was an Indian lady who happens to be a Pastor's wife, loving, kind, sensitive... She made my daughter her special helper and channelled the latter's boundless energy into the betterment of the class. She hugged my daughter daily for a job well done, praised her lavishly and guided the child lovingly.
Today my Elizabeth is a happy, well adjusted, friendly and caring young lady. She neither reads nor writes in Chinese. Guess there is no earthly reason why she needs to go to China to work.
If a child suddenly
1. wets the bed, after years of dry beds
2. talks in his or her sleep, raising the voice, argues, shouts
3. grinding his or her teeth regularly
4. screams and wakes up because of nightmares in the middle of the night
5 attempts to sit up or struggle physically in bed while asleep
6. sleep walks
It is then up to the parents to intervene. My youngest, Elizabeth, was dry in bed since age eight months. During Kindergarten she started wetting the bed and screaming in the middle of the night. I found out later that the Chinese teacher was picking on her because she was too talkative in class. I went to talk to the principal and requested a change from Chinese to English stream. Subsequently I reregister her in a school that taught only Malay and English.
The abrupt change brought about an immediate result. No more manifestation of distress at night. Her home room teacher in the English stream was an Indian lady who happens to be a Pastor's wife, loving, kind, sensitive... She made my daughter her special helper and channelled the latter's boundless energy into the betterment of the class. She hugged my daughter daily for a job well done, praised her lavishly and guided the child lovingly.
Today my Elizabeth is a happy, well adjusted, friendly and caring young lady. She neither reads nor writes in Chinese. Guess there is no earthly reason why she needs to go to China to work.
(1064) Fatty Acid Functional defeciency
I think I have written on this before in an earlier post. Well, since the second thought that came was this, I'll cover it again, hopefully, in a new angle.
It is a genetic aberration that came as one of 27 physical symptoms of the dyslexic syndrome. As a result of this, a well nourish child could be really thin. Whenever the child feels stressed, that is if a teacher expected something impossible or reprimanded him or her for not being able to do what came easily to others, the child would burn fatty acid, much more than what was normally consumed.
From the age of three to seven or eight, I was really short and very thin. If I show you a photo of that time, you would see my joints: elbows and knees as knobbly. My limbs were rail thin. I looked like the children in starving Africa minus the fat belly.
From the age of eight onwards, I started cooking my meals in addition to what my mum served. With high carbohydrate content and lots of shallot oil, I thrived. I was still short but gradually gained enough weight to look normal.
All my daughters were thin until puberty. They have normal appetite but somehow do not put on weight. They are each at least seven inches shorter than their brother.
My niece did not have a chance to eat enough oil. Her family eats very healthily. She has life long skin rashes, periodic eczema and some form of itch most of the year.
Brain cells are made up of fatty acids. Unless a child is given the choice of eating sufficient fatty acids in acceptable forms, the brain would not develop normally. I would suggest cold press coconut oil or olive oil if the parents could afford them. Else I thrived on peanut and sesame oil in the sixties and could not complain I did not develop to my full potential.
It is a genetic aberration that came as one of 27 physical symptoms of the dyslexic syndrome. As a result of this, a well nourish child could be really thin. Whenever the child feels stressed, that is if a teacher expected something impossible or reprimanded him or her for not being able to do what came easily to others, the child would burn fatty acid, much more than what was normally consumed.
From the age of three to seven or eight, I was really short and very thin. If I show you a photo of that time, you would see my joints: elbows and knees as knobbly. My limbs were rail thin. I looked like the children in starving Africa minus the fat belly.
From the age of eight onwards, I started cooking my meals in addition to what my mum served. With high carbohydrate content and lots of shallot oil, I thrived. I was still short but gradually gained enough weight to look normal.
All my daughters were thin until puberty. They have normal appetite but somehow do not put on weight. They are each at least seven inches shorter than their brother.
My niece did not have a chance to eat enough oil. Her family eats very healthily. She has life long skin rashes, periodic eczema and some form of itch most of the year.
Brain cells are made up of fatty acids. Unless a child is given the choice of eating sufficient fatty acids in acceptable forms, the brain would not develop normally. I would suggest cold press coconut oil or olive oil if the parents could afford them. Else I thrived on peanut and sesame oil in the sixties and could not complain I did not develop to my full potential.
(1063) Overdue baby
As I prayed for the dyslexic girl in the north, thoughts came.
The first is: was she an overdue baby?
My eldest was overdue eight days. Of course the due date is kind of arbitrary, not cast in stone. Years later, I was talking to my counsellor, who has the gift of knowledge. I happened to comment that my eldest was overdue, the rest of my children were early. She paused for a moment and said gently, he was so comfortable in my womb that he was reluctant to be born. It was when the doctor fixed a date that he would induce that my labour started the night before.
Looking back, my son is the type that is diametrically opposite of Chicken Little. Oh, the sky is falling! When the rest may panic and sweat, he would slowly get his food, his drink and move slowly and deliberately. He does not worry, he does not stress... Yet he does plan, in his slow and sure way. He is just a born optimist. I can hardly see any remnant symptoms of dyslexia or dyscalculia in him. If I select a joyful child, he is the one. Most of the time he is calm, at rest with himself and the rest of the world.
He has chosen to live in a small town, earning pittance as a special education tutor. Somehow, every one of his students is somewhat depressed. I honestly don't know how he survives and be as happy as sand flies. One such child would drain me dry. I would strive to help. He just sits back, relaxes, works steadily with one and then another. His classes could consist of up to six children, each with his or her own set of seemingly unsolvable problems. They trust him implicitly. He works with them instinctively. No such thing as lesson plan and teaching goals with his way. Yet he begets result over the years. It was amazing!
The first is: was she an overdue baby?
My eldest was overdue eight days. Of course the due date is kind of arbitrary, not cast in stone. Years later, I was talking to my counsellor, who has the gift of knowledge. I happened to comment that my eldest was overdue, the rest of my children were early. She paused for a moment and said gently, he was so comfortable in my womb that he was reluctant to be born. It was when the doctor fixed a date that he would induce that my labour started the night before.
Looking back, my son is the type that is diametrically opposite of Chicken Little. Oh, the sky is falling! When the rest may panic and sweat, he would slowly get his food, his drink and move slowly and deliberately. He does not worry, he does not stress... Yet he does plan, in his slow and sure way. He is just a born optimist. I can hardly see any remnant symptoms of dyslexia or dyscalculia in him. If I select a joyful child, he is the one. Most of the time he is calm, at rest with himself and the rest of the world.
He has chosen to live in a small town, earning pittance as a special education tutor. Somehow, every one of his students is somewhat depressed. I honestly don't know how he survives and be as happy as sand flies. One such child would drain me dry. I would strive to help. He just sits back, relaxes, works steadily with one and then another. His classes could consist of up to six children, each with his or her own set of seemingly unsolvable problems. They trust him implicitly. He works with them instinctively. No such thing as lesson plan and teaching goals with his way. Yet he begets result over the years. It was amazing!
(1062) Kundasan
My brother's family will be spending Christmas in Sabah. My sister-in-law talked about their plans with me.
I mentioned two suggestions: 1. bring drinking water to Kundasan*
2. bring a small torch in case of power failure
From friends I heard that the water supply is not that great in that hill station. In fact during a recent church camp, more than half of the campers came down with upset stomach. Apart from that, scenery is great. The weather is more than cool. I highly recommend the cow and goat milk produced there.
Sabah is a place where the electric consumption outstrips the production, hence the relevant authorities had to resort to power shedding. I was used to the sudden power black out or brown out. The first items I bought four years ago for my newly rented house were three torches. When I was alone in that rented house at night, I actually wear the small torch around my neck with a lanyard. In the outskirt of the city, black out meant literally total, I mean cannot see your fingers a few inches away, darkness.
Recently, a friend was sitting in a Mamak ( Indian Muslim) eatery, at seven thirty pm (the sun sets there at 6:45pm in December) the power snapped off. Well, candles were lit. It was determined that other shop lots had power supply. The young man who happened to be the owner's son called a grab car and speeded to the power supplier to pay his over due bills. Apparently it was common practice for such a business to owe about two thousand dollars in electricity. Even an ordinary native household would owe about one thousand dollars before power is cut off to prompt payment. There, I told my sister-in-law, please don't say you haven't been forewarned. Fully charged hand phones, a torch with new batteries, even a candle or two with working matches would be handy in the outskirts of the big cities in Sabah.
* Kundasan is an area not far from Mount Kinabalu, supposedly the highest mountain in South East Asia. Though I have read that the real geographic high point is in Papua New Guinea.
I mentioned two suggestions: 1. bring drinking water to Kundasan*
2. bring a small torch in case of power failure
From friends I heard that the water supply is not that great in that hill station. In fact during a recent church camp, more than half of the campers came down with upset stomach. Apart from that, scenery is great. The weather is more than cool. I highly recommend the cow and goat milk produced there.
Sabah is a place where the electric consumption outstrips the production, hence the relevant authorities had to resort to power shedding. I was used to the sudden power black out or brown out. The first items I bought four years ago for my newly rented house were three torches. When I was alone in that rented house at night, I actually wear the small torch around my neck with a lanyard. In the outskirt of the city, black out meant literally total, I mean cannot see your fingers a few inches away, darkness.
Recently, a friend was sitting in a Mamak ( Indian Muslim) eatery, at seven thirty pm (the sun sets there at 6:45pm in December) the power snapped off. Well, candles were lit. It was determined that other shop lots had power supply. The young man who happened to be the owner's son called a grab car and speeded to the power supplier to pay his over due bills. Apparently it was common practice for such a business to owe about two thousand dollars in electricity. Even an ordinary native household would owe about one thousand dollars before power is cut off to prompt payment. There, I told my sister-in-law, please don't say you haven't been forewarned. Fully charged hand phones, a torch with new batteries, even a candle or two with working matches would be handy in the outskirts of the big cities in Sabah.
* Kundasan is an area not far from Mount Kinabalu, supposedly the highest mountain in South East Asia. Though I have read that the real geographic high point is in Papua New Guinea.
Wednesday, December 19, 2018
(1061) Tears
I visited a friend with my husband yesterday. When she saw my latest book and heard that she and her pet were the inspiration of my creation, she burst into tears.
Folks smiled, frowned, asked funny questions ... when they found out I published. None had cried. That was totally unexpected. I had no idea her pet passed on to the happy hunting ground. Apparently she just talked about her darling when my husband what sap her about the visit. The day before, her mum had pressed her about writing a book to remember her pet.
On top of the timing of our visit, her story started on page 55. Unbeknown to me, five had been the favourite number of her pet. Now, that almost blew my mind. To think, my editor actually attempted to rearrange my sectional order prior to printing, had I listened to her advice, there would be no way that Prince's story would fall on page 55. Now my stubborn insistence actually produced a result like a departed pet coming back to reassure the grieving owner that it is ok, quite ok.
We talked for hours about all the wonderful memories of that remarkable 17 years she had with her dear pet. I suggested she taped down all her memories and send it to a ghost writer. But I warned her she would need editors, a publisher, proof-readers and maybe a designer. Publishing would open doors to speaking engagements. Speaking would entail publicity. Later on it may lead to broadcasting, since she is bubbly and is ideal for that medium of communication. One should not venture into such arena without due consideration of possibilities. After all, it is a pathway that is progressive and no return. We parted with her promise to collect all her photos and videos on the topic at hand as a first step. After that she would record everything she could remember. Talking about undue influence, there is nothing like bringing out that special story out of every person who yearns to tell.
Folks smiled, frowned, asked funny questions ... when they found out I published. None had cried. That was totally unexpected. I had no idea her pet passed on to the happy hunting ground. Apparently she just talked about her darling when my husband what sap her about the visit. The day before, her mum had pressed her about writing a book to remember her pet.
On top of the timing of our visit, her story started on page 55. Unbeknown to me, five had been the favourite number of her pet. Now, that almost blew my mind. To think, my editor actually attempted to rearrange my sectional order prior to printing, had I listened to her advice, there would be no way that Prince's story would fall on page 55. Now my stubborn insistence actually produced a result like a departed pet coming back to reassure the grieving owner that it is ok, quite ok.
We talked for hours about all the wonderful memories of that remarkable 17 years she had with her dear pet. I suggested she taped down all her memories and send it to a ghost writer. But I warned her she would need editors, a publisher, proof-readers and maybe a designer. Publishing would open doors to speaking engagements. Speaking would entail publicity. Later on it may lead to broadcasting, since she is bubbly and is ideal for that medium of communication. One should not venture into such arena without due consideration of possibilities. After all, it is a pathway that is progressive and no return. We parted with her promise to collect all her photos and videos on the topic at hand as a first step. After that she would record everything she could remember. Talking about undue influence, there is nothing like bringing out that special story out of every person who yearns to tell.
(1060) Memory in DVD form
Recently my youngest paid to convert her Kindergarten videocassette to DVD and a computer software format.
Interestingly, the sole business owner she selected mentioned that many of the missing passengers of the ill fated airliner that plunged into the Indian Ocean had their nearest and dearest convert images of them into the most modern form too. Home videos, wedding videos, birthday tapes ... came out of the closet. Folks spent a cool few hundreds to ensure the images could last through time for posterity.
If you are reading this blog, you must have heard a few of the many permutations of the possibilities of what had happened to the entire plane load of poor souls destined not to arrive in China. I have no personal view on that, any thing is possible. But whatever it was, it must be big. For hundreds of lives have been wiped out. Lots of families around the globe have to contend with the repercussions of never having any closure of their tragic loss.
Back to my daughter, she has preserved the first speech she gave to two hundred over audience that was made up of family and friends in the hall. I myself did not have a video of my campaign speech made in my Form Four (equivalent to Grade 10) year in running to become Head or Assistant Head Prefect. It was made in front of one thousand over students from both the morning and afternoon sessions on the hot assembly ground. That was the first year the students in my alma mater could vote for their Head Girl. Prior to that it was teachers and Headmistress who decided whom to be selected as Head or Assistant Head.
Interestingly, the sole business owner she selected mentioned that many of the missing passengers of the ill fated airliner that plunged into the Indian Ocean had their nearest and dearest convert images of them into the most modern form too. Home videos, wedding videos, birthday tapes ... came out of the closet. Folks spent a cool few hundreds to ensure the images could last through time for posterity.
If you are reading this blog, you must have heard a few of the many permutations of the possibilities of what had happened to the entire plane load of poor souls destined not to arrive in China. I have no personal view on that, any thing is possible. But whatever it was, it must be big. For hundreds of lives have been wiped out. Lots of families around the globe have to contend with the repercussions of never having any closure of their tragic loss.
Back to my daughter, she has preserved the first speech she gave to two hundred over audience that was made up of family and friends in the hall. I myself did not have a video of my campaign speech made in my Form Four (equivalent to Grade 10) year in running to become Head or Assistant Head Prefect. It was made in front of one thousand over students from both the morning and afternoon sessions on the hot assembly ground. That was the first year the students in my alma mater could vote for their Head Girl. Prior to that it was teachers and Headmistress who decided whom to be selected as Head or Assistant Head.
(1059) Dreams for studying abroad
My good friend Catherine has two children. Her elder son was entertaining the far-off idea of obtaining a full scholarship to pursue environmental psychology in Canada. That was an idea that lasted at least two years, I perceived. Now, overnight, the idea went into smoke out of the window! Well, one could see that Canada took a Hua Wei executive into custody. Would Canada be a safe place for an ordinary guy from a South East Asian country who happened to be a Chinese by heritage, even if he hardly speak a word of Mandarin?
Now the second boy wanted to go to America for a basic degree. Little wonder the mum was tearing her hair out. For this boy is a person of strong opinion, he did not hesitate to beat up a would be burglar to protect his neighbour before calling the police. Off hand I recall my brother-in-law had to drive all night to get to Wisconsin to bail his best friend's son out for picking a fight with some Italian mafia type. Talk about racial discrimination, perhaps I did not get beaten for being a member of the so called 'yellow' race. There had been plenty of instances of being discriminated against during the time I was there in many towns and cities across many states. I still think USA is a wonderful place in spite of that. Lately the video that went viral of the blond woman beating up a person she called Chink in a New York subway showed how low the country has descended to since Trump took office. I personally would not choose to spend a few thousands to fly to USA for vacation now, much as I am fond of that land.
Heaven help the doting mum if Junior went to America and resists the police, immigration, CIA, FBI, ICE, Homeland Security... he would be sent home in a box, his mortal remains full of bullet holes.
Now the second boy wanted to go to America for a basic degree. Little wonder the mum was tearing her hair out. For this boy is a person of strong opinion, he did not hesitate to beat up a would be burglar to protect his neighbour before calling the police. Off hand I recall my brother-in-law had to drive all night to get to Wisconsin to bail his best friend's son out for picking a fight with some Italian mafia type. Talk about racial discrimination, perhaps I did not get beaten for being a member of the so called 'yellow' race. There had been plenty of instances of being discriminated against during the time I was there in many towns and cities across many states. I still think USA is a wonderful place in spite of that. Lately the video that went viral of the blond woman beating up a person she called Chink in a New York subway showed how low the country has descended to since Trump took office. I personally would not choose to spend a few thousands to fly to USA for vacation now, much as I am fond of that land.
Heaven help the doting mum if Junior went to America and resists the police, immigration, CIA, FBI, ICE, Homeland Security... he would be sent home in a box, his mortal remains full of bullet holes.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
(1058) Children and parents
Now that I belong to the white hair wise person club, I look at my fellow members and learn a fair bit about life as a senior citizen.
There is Lydia, who passed away a few months ago. She had a full life, loving wife, good mother and dedicated teacher... Only one thing is missing, her two eligible sons are still single in their thirties. Her husband seems to think that perhaps the elder son may decide to tie the knot next year, after all, he had been with the same girl friend for at least six years.
Yesterday Amy fell down and went to the emergency room. Her sister drove at least three hours to get her to an x-ray machine. Since all the other sisters are indisposed, I accompanied them for the last hour and pushed the wheel chair in the public hospital. We three got home after midnight. At least one of the sisters has enough common sense to inform the son. When the doctor gave two weeks' medical leave, it must be pretty serious. She emerged with a full length leg cast. I learnt the next morning that her son was on the way back from Singapore.
We have Jane, her two sons do not lack female admirers. Yet both are single. Unless one knows the family dynamic, there is no earthly reason why the two handsome six feet sons are without fiancée. You see, they come from a wealthy family. The person who wields the baton is Jane, she insisted that her future daughters-in-law should stay in her mansion. Little wonder there are no takers. For my generation, Jane and Veronica both housed their in-laws. Jane bought a house and the in-laws moved in to keep an eye on the parade of maids for at least 15 years. Veronica moved in as a bride to her in-laws' bungalow and stayed in it long enough to buy up the lovely house from her brothers-in-law. Jane and Veronica are considered dutiful and filial. Sad to say, millennial girls don't buy that old fashion nonsense anymore. Should Jane and Veronica insist on staying in with their sons, the sons may not be married within the mums' life time.
I have one son, he is thirty one years old. He lives across the sea a few hundred miles away. Should he marry a local from his resident home state, I may see my future daughter-in-law once a year, either during Chinese New Year, winter solstice, or moon cake festival. Perhaps because I don't have a few millions in the bank, or I am enlightened, I have little expectations in that area. It was a joy to bring up a son I am proud to have; my sacrifice, if any, is well worth it for he is a contributing member of the society he chose to embrace. I chose not to entertain any sense of entitlement.
There is Lydia, who passed away a few months ago. She had a full life, loving wife, good mother and dedicated teacher... Only one thing is missing, her two eligible sons are still single in their thirties. Her husband seems to think that perhaps the elder son may decide to tie the knot next year, after all, he had been with the same girl friend for at least six years.
Yesterday Amy fell down and went to the emergency room. Her sister drove at least three hours to get her to an x-ray machine. Since all the other sisters are indisposed, I accompanied them for the last hour and pushed the wheel chair in the public hospital. We three got home after midnight. At least one of the sisters has enough common sense to inform the son. When the doctor gave two weeks' medical leave, it must be pretty serious. She emerged with a full length leg cast. I learnt the next morning that her son was on the way back from Singapore.
We have Jane, her two sons do not lack female admirers. Yet both are single. Unless one knows the family dynamic, there is no earthly reason why the two handsome six feet sons are without fiancée. You see, they come from a wealthy family. The person who wields the baton is Jane, she insisted that her future daughters-in-law should stay in her mansion. Little wonder there are no takers. For my generation, Jane and Veronica both housed their in-laws. Jane bought a house and the in-laws moved in to keep an eye on the parade of maids for at least 15 years. Veronica moved in as a bride to her in-laws' bungalow and stayed in it long enough to buy up the lovely house from her brothers-in-law. Jane and Veronica are considered dutiful and filial. Sad to say, millennial girls don't buy that old fashion nonsense anymore. Should Jane and Veronica insist on staying in with their sons, the sons may not be married within the mums' life time.
I have one son, he is thirty one years old. He lives across the sea a few hundred miles away. Should he marry a local from his resident home state, I may see my future daughter-in-law once a year, either during Chinese New Year, winter solstice, or moon cake festival. Perhaps because I don't have a few millions in the bank, or I am enlightened, I have little expectations in that area. It was a joy to bring up a son I am proud to have; my sacrifice, if any, is well worth it for he is a contributing member of the society he chose to embrace. I chose not to entertain any sense of entitlement.
Saturday, December 15, 2018
(1057) Working Memory
Twenty years ago, I had the challenge of working with a 7 year old girl to add to her one working space, I called it a register by computer terminology. It is documented in an earlier post classified under l.d. standing for learning disability. Last night I reread this group of articles, I think there are 20 of them.
Night before yesterday, I went for a Christmas dinner in a local hotel. My husband and I were very early. I spoke to a gentleman from Canada. Before the dinner was over, I gave him my first book. It was an impromptu gesture of good will, there was nothing pre plan about it.
Guess what, he has a daughter who is 11 years old. She is dyslexic. They determined that she has 3 working spaces, a "normal" person should have 7. We managed to touch base on this because I added Special Education to my bio data on the back cover.
Realistically, what are the chances that I should meet him, in a city of several millions? Plus the fact that he had only been living in this country for seven months. His chosen home in this country lies at least three hundred miles to the north.
Of course, it does not mean I could definitely help him and his daughter. All I can do is to point to God, prayers and childhood active games. No wonder I was commissioned to document the childhood games of my generation. With the advent of computer and hand phone games, active outdoor games are almost dead in the cities.
Night before yesterday, I went for a Christmas dinner in a local hotel. My husband and I were very early. I spoke to a gentleman from Canada. Before the dinner was over, I gave him my first book. It was an impromptu gesture of good will, there was nothing pre plan about it.
Guess what, he has a daughter who is 11 years old. She is dyslexic. They determined that she has 3 working spaces, a "normal" person should have 7. We managed to touch base on this because I added Special Education to my bio data on the back cover.
Realistically, what are the chances that I should meet him, in a city of several millions? Plus the fact that he had only been living in this country for seven months. His chosen home in this country lies at least three hundred miles to the north.
Of course, it does not mean I could definitely help him and his daughter. All I can do is to point to God, prayers and childhood active games. No wonder I was commissioned to document the childhood games of my generation. With the advent of computer and hand phone games, active outdoor games are almost dead in the cities.
(1056) Full Circle
My son told me that he had been reading up on early childhood education. Regarding dyslexia, he thinks his English teacher had been instrumental in giving him the best therapy by making him and his class go through a nine-month discipline of writing cursive sentences with fountain pen one page at a time with designing and colouring self chosen colourful designs at the bottom of each exercise page. The exercise book chosen has multicolour parallel lines designed for penmanship. He was nine years old then.
I came from six years of Chinese education. Nevertheless, I remember going through an entire academic year of that when I was in Standard 4, at ten years old. Of course at that time I hated it. I would rather spend the time chasing my brothers' kites. There was hardly any cars at that era(in the 1960s), the entire neighbourhood belonged to the children. We roamed the place seeking stones, leaves, and would climb trees to get rambutans(a tropical fruit) and had been chased by guard dogs. Well, one was young and lithe and could flee at lightning speed. What are a few painful welts bestowed by caning because Mum was upset by the tears in one's only pair of pants. I had a fun childhood, full of excitement and original clean fun made up by our fertile mind of unusual creativity. Now that I am old enough to be called grandma by strangers in Borneo, I see how all those additional tasks and training I went through helped me to become what I am today.
Fast forward half a century, now I hear that folks in the United Kingdoms actually are going back to simple penmanship to train the brain in making fine tune connections. Well, life has run a full circle.
I came from six years of Chinese education. Nevertheless, I remember going through an entire academic year of that when I was in Standard 4, at ten years old. Of course at that time I hated it. I would rather spend the time chasing my brothers' kites. There was hardly any cars at that era(in the 1960s), the entire neighbourhood belonged to the children. We roamed the place seeking stones, leaves, and would climb trees to get rambutans(a tropical fruit) and had been chased by guard dogs. Well, one was young and lithe and could flee at lightning speed. What are a few painful welts bestowed by caning because Mum was upset by the tears in one's only pair of pants. I had a fun childhood, full of excitement and original clean fun made up by our fertile mind of unusual creativity. Now that I am old enough to be called grandma by strangers in Borneo, I see how all those additional tasks and training I went through helped me to become what I am today.
Fast forward half a century, now I hear that folks in the United Kingdoms actually are going back to simple penmanship to train the brain in making fine tune connections. Well, life has run a full circle.
Monday, December 10, 2018
(1055) Tri-lingual
When I was in Borneo, I heard by chance that Swan's son went into a pre-law course. I was alarmed, I personally felt his English was not at the level to handle such a course. Anyway, I was a few hundred miles away, the fee had been paid and he already started. So I bite my tongue and said nothing.
Three years later, he failed three times. Twice in pre-law and once in another foundation course. He came out to work in contract decoration or renovation. Recently he was seconded to a supplier in wooden flooring and he was the number one employee in this country for that new company.
I am an idea person and I shared with the mum gently about his need to improve his business English. At his current level, he could be a little more than a site supervisor. But suppose in a few years' time the post of a General Manager is vacant and he could not be considered as a candidate because of insufficient language skill, then what a pity it would be.
That is the problem many of the young people face these days in my country. I know that this century belongs to China. It is extremely important to know Chinese and speak Mandarin. Yet six years in a Chinese medium school, five years in a Malay medium high school, then five years of English tertiary education left most people trilingual but good in none of the three languages. I personally went through a tremendous sort of struggle to improve my English at the expense of my mother tongue. It is not desirable, neither is it a good situation. Every one of my children do not understand written Chinese, it varies from child to child how much (spoken) Mandarin, Cantonese and Hakka they understand. Yet please do not consider me as a traitor to Chinese culture, education and heritage. I know what is good for children with traits of the autistic spectrum. I wish every dyslexic sufferer need not go through my sort of torture to master three languages. Even with instant recall in terms of audio abilities, it was not easy. Both my nephews who went through Chinese primary education coming from an English speaking home reject Mandarin. Like so many of my contemporaries' children who survived this horrendous regime, they are unlikely to read, speak or think in Mandarin for the rest of their lives. The funny thing is, I actually love Chinese poems and verses, English is my preferred language, I adore the olden literature of the Malay language; while I worked at it diligently at age 17-18 I considered it a beautiful language. Yet out of the thousands of books in my book shelves, there is no Malay book and one solitary biography of Hudson Taylor in Chinese. In terms of psychology, you may think whatever you please. I am a product of the complex system in this former British colony, multi racial, multi religious society.
Yesterday I met a missionary who speaks ten languages. I wish I have that kind of gift, but I am very grateful that my life has been enriched with the treasures I have found and acquired in all three of the languages I so valiantly work to possess. God has been more than kind in sending me a parade of fantastic teachers who coached slow me over many years into the intricacies of mining all three languages to find my gems of great worth.
Three years later, he failed three times. Twice in pre-law and once in another foundation course. He came out to work in contract decoration or renovation. Recently he was seconded to a supplier in wooden flooring and he was the number one employee in this country for that new company.
I am an idea person and I shared with the mum gently about his need to improve his business English. At his current level, he could be a little more than a site supervisor. But suppose in a few years' time the post of a General Manager is vacant and he could not be considered as a candidate because of insufficient language skill, then what a pity it would be.
That is the problem many of the young people face these days in my country. I know that this century belongs to China. It is extremely important to know Chinese and speak Mandarin. Yet six years in a Chinese medium school, five years in a Malay medium high school, then five years of English tertiary education left most people trilingual but good in none of the three languages. I personally went through a tremendous sort of struggle to improve my English at the expense of my mother tongue. It is not desirable, neither is it a good situation. Every one of my children do not understand written Chinese, it varies from child to child how much (spoken) Mandarin, Cantonese and Hakka they understand. Yet please do not consider me as a traitor to Chinese culture, education and heritage. I know what is good for children with traits of the autistic spectrum. I wish every dyslexic sufferer need not go through my sort of torture to master three languages. Even with instant recall in terms of audio abilities, it was not easy. Both my nephews who went through Chinese primary education coming from an English speaking home reject Mandarin. Like so many of my contemporaries' children who survived this horrendous regime, they are unlikely to read, speak or think in Mandarin for the rest of their lives. The funny thing is, I actually love Chinese poems and verses, English is my preferred language, I adore the olden literature of the Malay language; while I worked at it diligently at age 17-18 I considered it a beautiful language. Yet out of the thousands of books in my book shelves, there is no Malay book and one solitary biography of Hudson Taylor in Chinese. In terms of psychology, you may think whatever you please. I am a product of the complex system in this former British colony, multi racial, multi religious society.
Yesterday I met a missionary who speaks ten languages. I wish I have that kind of gift, but I am very grateful that my life has been enriched with the treasures I have found and acquired in all three of the languages I so valiantly work to possess. God has been more than kind in sending me a parade of fantastic teachers who coached slow me over many years into the intricacies of mining all three languages to find my gems of great worth.
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