I am in North-eastern Borneo. After leaving this place for slightly more than two years, I spent days mending my son's pants. Believe it or not, there is one remaining pair of short pants from a purchase in Cheng Rai in year 2000. I remember that was back in a time that a Malaysian dollar was changed for 14 Thai Bahts. We bought six pairs as the price was unbelievably low.
In the sewing box, I found a small heart hand made by my close friend in Form 6. She gave that to me prior to my leaving for USA to attend college. That little pink heart visited the States, travelling through Virginia and Texas and went back to my home country.
You may ask me, if I treasure such a small keep sake, why am I not in touch with her today?
I believe that friends should come from the same stations in life. Had I married my second choice suitor, I guess I would still be friends with her. Her husband is a person who has dollar signs in his eyes. My husband and I came from lower middle class. Of course as he was an engineer and I used to lecture, we did well before the children came. The minute I resigned and went part-time, our standard of living dropped.
My friend did not change much, she is probably the same warm, caring and fun person I was attracted to at age 18. But I have changed. In listening to my mum's advice, I did not choose inherited wealth. In choosing to spend time training my children to be all that God designed them to be, I learn to be content with whatever little I have.
I believe if I meet her today, we would still enjoy spending time with each other. The fact that she had worked in UK and had headed a foreign bank in the middle east would not come between us. Yet as her career probably ends at age 60, mine has barely begun. The life of a writer often starts later in life. Once again, our lives are out of phase. When she was building a successful career, I was minding children and dabbling in special education. Now that my troop of children are grown and independent, I could finally pursue my calling. Certain things are not meant to be. My friendship with her was like two ships passing each other, both could dock next to each other for a limited period of time. Then each would go its own way. I kept my little pink heart to remind me of her, of how much she meant to me for a few years of my life.
Wednesday, July 31, 2019
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
(1133) Why buy a 7 room house
Here is a tale between a mistress and a big house:
My friend and her young family out grew a 4 room terrace house. She went house hunting. Hundreds of viewing and possibly thirty agents later, she did not buy any property.
A middle-age real estate expert showed her two good buys that fitted her budget and criteria, they went for tea for it was a hot day. He asked, " I hate to give up but unless you tell me what kept you from deciding for the two I showed you, I could not keep on wasting your time."
She replied, " Really, if you can find me a house with 7 rooms which is not a mansion, then maybe we have a deal."
Four months later, he showed her a rental detached two storey house in a good neighbourhood. She bargained and cut the price down low. But since the owner has gotten tired of refurbishing old tired units to seek new tenants, he decided to sell to recoup the cash to invest into building another brand new house.
She painted the house, made some minor repairs and moved in. Ten years later, her two boys went abroad to study. Her husband suggested buying two connected four room condos and selling the old monster. For some reason, she objected. Therefor she ended with a house that is really too big in her golden years.
Now you are probably asking in your heart why does a family of four require a 7 room house? Here goes: Master bedroom and bath: husband and wife.
Bedroom 1 and 2 for the two boys when they start fighting
Bedroom 3 for the in-laws when they visit
Bedroom 4 is for home theatre viewing
Bedroom 5 is for the computers
The last small room with bath next to kitchen is for the maid
Oct 2019
Update
I received news that her grandchild was born. Interestingly the new family resides in a different geographical region. Her idea of having one son and his family live in her house and the other son and family live in a new house to be built in the empty back lot was clearly defeated by her daughter-in-law. I would be interested to look see what kind of woman her son chose. Probably an improved version of the most capable mum with lots of diplomacy and emotional quotient.
My friend and her young family out grew a 4 room terrace house. She went house hunting. Hundreds of viewing and possibly thirty agents later, she did not buy any property.
A middle-age real estate expert showed her two good buys that fitted her budget and criteria, they went for tea for it was a hot day. He asked, " I hate to give up but unless you tell me what kept you from deciding for the two I showed you, I could not keep on wasting your time."
She replied, " Really, if you can find me a house with 7 rooms which is not a mansion, then maybe we have a deal."
Four months later, he showed her a rental detached two storey house in a good neighbourhood. She bargained and cut the price down low. But since the owner has gotten tired of refurbishing old tired units to seek new tenants, he decided to sell to recoup the cash to invest into building another brand new house.
She painted the house, made some minor repairs and moved in. Ten years later, her two boys went abroad to study. Her husband suggested buying two connected four room condos and selling the old monster. For some reason, she objected. Therefor she ended with a house that is really too big in her golden years.
Now you are probably asking in your heart why does a family of four require a 7 room house? Here goes: Master bedroom and bath: husband and wife.
Bedroom 1 and 2 for the two boys when they start fighting
Bedroom 3 for the in-laws when they visit
Bedroom 4 is for home theatre viewing
Bedroom 5 is for the computers
The last small room with bath next to kitchen is for the maid
Oct 2019
Update
I received news that her grandchild was born. Interestingly the new family resides in a different geographical region. Her idea of having one son and his family live in her house and the other son and family live in a new house to be built in the empty back lot was clearly defeated by her daughter-in-law. I would be interested to look see what kind of woman her son chose. Probably an improved version of the most capable mum with lots of diplomacy and emotional quotient.
(1132) Atmosphere?!
Atmosphere! Lately I have been idly wondering how come I did not write when I was in Borneo.
One reason was because I did not invest in broadband. Another could be because I had an old cranky tiny computer that was rather temperamental. But I had had no excuse, there were many free hours, quietness, paper and pen. I certainly spent many long hours gardening and looking after my chickens. But as for writing, I did it whenever I flew home to the Peninsular.
I lived in a decent double storey house on a dead end road in a small "housing estate" within a km of the golf course - if you care to call two streets an estate. My left hand neighbour were a retired hospital personnel and his wife, the matron. My right hand neighbour were two newly weds. It was, however, not exactly peaceful at night. Dogs howled. "Squirrel" ran on wires at ten o'clock at night. It was a rather disconcerting place. Well, the rental was low, and the area rather safe. What more could I ask for?
Much later, when the land lord suddenly wanted to increase the rental, we gave notice and moved. Then a friend told us that the street in front of my old house was the exact route the death march was from town to the airport. The hundreds of prisoners-of-war trudged that route and a few died along the way, were buried in shallow graves. The survivors worked at clearing the air field and more died.
I was not afraid of the place. But I do know now that it was not a good place for writing.
One reason was because I did not invest in broadband. Another could be because I had an old cranky tiny computer that was rather temperamental. But I had had no excuse, there were many free hours, quietness, paper and pen. I certainly spent many long hours gardening and looking after my chickens. But as for writing, I did it whenever I flew home to the Peninsular.
I lived in a decent double storey house on a dead end road in a small "housing estate" within a km of the golf course - if you care to call two streets an estate. My left hand neighbour were a retired hospital personnel and his wife, the matron. My right hand neighbour were two newly weds. It was, however, not exactly peaceful at night. Dogs howled. "Squirrel" ran on wires at ten o'clock at night. It was a rather disconcerting place. Well, the rental was low, and the area rather safe. What more could I ask for?
Much later, when the land lord suddenly wanted to increase the rental, we gave notice and moved. Then a friend told us that the street in front of my old house was the exact route the death march was from town to the airport. The hundreds of prisoners-of-war trudged that route and a few died along the way, were buried in shallow graves. The survivors worked at clearing the air field and more died.
I was not afraid of the place. But I do know now that it was not a good place for writing.
(1131) Envy the Night by Michael Koryta
Like many well written books, I could sense the atmosphere of the place the author set this book in. I don't claim to have visited Wisconsin, I doubt if I will ever have the chance. It is not simply finances alone, I often visit a place because I have a friend there. Much as I ponder, I doubt I could name even a contact from Wisconsin. With due respect to those who hail from that state, or those who love the place; I would continue to look out for books written about Wisconsin so that I could get better acquainted with it.
For whatever reason, I think of Lee Child when I read Frank Temple III. If you think I am a thriller fan, then you are mistaken. I read thrillers because I enjoy good writing. All the better if it is set in a place I want to know better. It will be a bonus if I like the characters. This book fulfilled all three criteria, wonderful!
For whatever reason, I think of Lee Child when I read Frank Temple III. If you think I am a thriller fan, then you are mistaken. I read thrillers because I enjoy good writing. All the better if it is set in a place I want to know better. It will be a bonus if I like the characters. This book fulfilled all three criteria, wonderful!
(1130) Grasping Heaven by Tami L. Fisk
As books published by mission bodies go, this is a lovingly arranged one.
I cannot pretend to have finished reading it, more like I have read all I cared for within the time left. It is not worth the trouble to take it home and worry about how and when to return it to its owner.
If there is a focused life, this is probably a good example. If one could store up treasure in heaven, Tami found a way.
However, not everyone has the inclination to qualify as medical doctors. Neither are many called. Therefore, should one could bake beautifully, then bake for the enjoyment of the tasters. Should one choose to garden as a passion, then work on a garden for the King's pleasure. I happened to love to write, I certainly pray for many to read and be inspired in ways I originally did not intend. More than anything else, I hope my writing would steer my readers to think deeply.
"The good die young".
I cannot pretend to have finished reading it, more like I have read all I cared for within the time left. It is not worth the trouble to take it home and worry about how and when to return it to its owner.
If there is a focused life, this is probably a good example. If one could store up treasure in heaven, Tami found a way.
However, not everyone has the inclination to qualify as medical doctors. Neither are many called. Therefore, should one could bake beautifully, then bake for the enjoyment of the tasters. Should one choose to garden as a passion, then work on a garden for the King's pleasure. I happened to love to write, I certainly pray for many to read and be inspired in ways I originally did not intend. More than anything else, I hope my writing would steer my readers to think deeply.
"The good die young".
Monday, June 10, 2019
(1129) The Appeal by John Grisham
It is bad enough that big corporations has money and clout, now things are even worse with internet Moghuls owning amounts greater than the combined GDP of a few sizable countries.
But I guess there is no way things would improve or move backwards. Changes are here to stay. To those who read up on current affairs, 1MDB is old news. Possibly the beautiful girl from Mongolia who was blown to bits by c4 explosives was ancient facts, forgotten and ignored by folks who are bombarded with more news on mass shootings.
With US and China heading towards a total confrontation in the foreseeable future, perhaps the world's situation seemed more important that how the judiciary of any country functions. Yet could we really have any democracy without justice?
But I guess there is no way things would improve or move backwards. Changes are here to stay. To those who read up on current affairs, 1MDB is old news. Possibly the beautiful girl from Mongolia who was blown to bits by c4 explosives was ancient facts, forgotten and ignored by folks who are bombarded with more news on mass shootings.
With US and China heading towards a total confrontation in the foreseeable future, perhaps the world's situation seemed more important that how the judiciary of any country functions. Yet could we really have any democracy without justice?
(1128) A Time to Kill by John Grisham
This is a memorable story from Grisham.
Most of the time, there is a racist attitude deep in our hearts, whether we admit it or not.
However, I want to highlight one of my daughters' Headmistresses. She is known as the colour blind principal in my neighbourhood. In most Government high schools, At least one or the other of the Head Girl or Head Boy has to be of the majority race. Not so in this school, one year they had three Heads, two male and one female - all three of a minority race.
The headmistress, of course, is of the majority race. That is a certainty, nowadays. She actually treated each of her charges equally, she does not look at the skin colour, nor does she look at the religion or background.
To illustrate what a great person she is, I have to tell you a real story. I went to eat in the Mamak (Indian Muslim) eatery opposite the school mentioned above. A smiling young man served me. It was a quiet lull, the boss started chatting with me, for he is friendly soul. I told him I went to the school opposite to see a teacher who was very good to my girl.
He told me that my server is a student of the school opposite. His father had abandoned his mum years ago. To make ends meet, each child found part-time jobs to help the mum. Because of circumstances, the family had to move out of state to claim a wooden house and a bit of land in the mum's home town. The young man is short of one year to graduation, he did not want to change school and talked to his Headmistress. At the same time his boss supported his decision and allowed him to stay above the shop in a store room. With some stipend the Headmistress and the Parents Teacher Association managed come up with, some kindness from the Headmistress, the eatery owner, his Form Teacher, and the custodian in his school, he managed to hold his own and was doing well in school academically.
This young man, is of a third race, a much smaller group compared to that of the Head Prefects.
Most of the time, there is a racist attitude deep in our hearts, whether we admit it or not.
However, I want to highlight one of my daughters' Headmistresses. She is known as the colour blind principal in my neighbourhood. In most Government high schools, At least one or the other of the Head Girl or Head Boy has to be of the majority race. Not so in this school, one year they had three Heads, two male and one female - all three of a minority race.
The headmistress, of course, is of the majority race. That is a certainty, nowadays. She actually treated each of her charges equally, she does not look at the skin colour, nor does she look at the religion or background.
To illustrate what a great person she is, I have to tell you a real story. I went to eat in the Mamak (Indian Muslim) eatery opposite the school mentioned above. A smiling young man served me. It was a quiet lull, the boss started chatting with me, for he is friendly soul. I told him I went to the school opposite to see a teacher who was very good to my girl.
He told me that my server is a student of the school opposite. His father had abandoned his mum years ago. To make ends meet, each child found part-time jobs to help the mum. Because of circumstances, the family had to move out of state to claim a wooden house and a bit of land in the mum's home town. The young man is short of one year to graduation, he did not want to change school and talked to his Headmistress. At the same time his boss supported his decision and allowed him to stay above the shop in a store room. With some stipend the Headmistress and the Parents Teacher Association managed come up with, some kindness from the Headmistress, the eatery owner, his Form Teacher, and the custodian in his school, he managed to hold his own and was doing well in school academically.
This young man, is of a third race, a much smaller group compared to that of the Head Prefects.
(1127) The Testament by John Grisham
Giving away a vast fortune to charity is stuff of headlines. Sometimes it does actually happen. What I really like about this book is the second chance it accords to Nate O'Riley.
What would you think about a woman who knowingly took a baby and groom the child to be a future care giver so that she would have a kind of willing 'slave' when she is old and unable to walk and manage her own affairs?
If she then wrote a will and leave behind a sufficient amount for the now 35-year-old former carer with no marketable skills whatsoever to live the rest of her life on, does it absolve her guilt of ruining the girl's life?
If somehow, the trusted executor played the girl out and left her penniless at the mercy of relatives? Then the track record of this executor who adopted orphans, who supported the homeless just seemed to be marred by one thing that seemed out of character to the entire pattern. And if this executor happened some day use one of the younger adopted children for the same purpose as the earlier testator, how would you feel?
It is a good thing that the final arbiter is not our judges but God in the final analysis. However, if we believe that there is no God, then all is lost.
What would you think about a woman who knowingly took a baby and groom the child to be a future care giver so that she would have a kind of willing 'slave' when she is old and unable to walk and manage her own affairs?
If she then wrote a will and leave behind a sufficient amount for the now 35-year-old former carer with no marketable skills whatsoever to live the rest of her life on, does it absolve her guilt of ruining the girl's life?
If somehow, the trusted executor played the girl out and left her penniless at the mercy of relatives? Then the track record of this executor who adopted orphans, who supported the homeless just seemed to be marred by one thing that seemed out of character to the entire pattern. And if this executor happened some day use one of the younger adopted children for the same purpose as the earlier testator, how would you feel?
It is a good thing that the final arbiter is not our judges but God in the final analysis. However, if we believe that there is no God, then all is lost.
(1126) The Brethren by John Grisham
It is an interesting read on what three former justices could get up to when put behind bars. When they were pardoned and let loose, each of them spent their time doing different things.
I think of a retired couple who ended up transporting and feeding their troop of grand children with the help of maids in three houses situated within walking distance of each other. Once the pastor actually admonish them, with good intention, not to do too much for their beloved sons. Then seven years down the line, the good pastor himself made his own house the stomping ground for his son's three children under the age of five.
Most retirees who accumulated a certain amount of money while working end up taking three overseas trip every year for as long as they fancy travelling.
Yet the real athletic ones took sports full time when they retire. Then there are those who garden full time...
What will you do when you have the time, money and leisure?
If you have no hobby, no fun plans, you may belong to the group who up and die within a year. That's hard to believe, but the statistics bore witness to those lonely souls who could not find any cause to live for.
I think of a retired couple who ended up transporting and feeding their troop of grand children with the help of maids in three houses situated within walking distance of each other. Once the pastor actually admonish them, with good intention, not to do too much for their beloved sons. Then seven years down the line, the good pastor himself made his own house the stomping ground for his son's three children under the age of five.
Most retirees who accumulated a certain amount of money while working end up taking three overseas trip every year for as long as they fancy travelling.
Yet the real athletic ones took sports full time when they retire. Then there are those who garden full time...
What will you do when you have the time, money and leisure?
If you have no hobby, no fun plans, you may belong to the group who up and die within a year. That's hard to believe, but the statistics bore witness to those lonely souls who could not find any cause to live for.
(1125) The Runaway Jury by John Grisham
One of my brother-in-law is a US citizen, he has been chosen to serve as part of a jury before.
Most jury duty is tedious, boring and not dangerous. But what the panel of jury went through in this book is extraordinary.
Which is worse: a rigged jury or a corrupt judge? In many parts of the world, justice is for sale if you have the right amount and know the right people.
But, there is an ultimate judge: God. I will try and quote proverbs: the net of justice may be made up of holes but nothing much escapes it. (sky net grey grey, holey and no escape. Said in Cantonese) The wheel of justice grinds exceedingly slowly.
Most jury duty is tedious, boring and not dangerous. But what the panel of jury went through in this book is extraordinary.
Which is worse: a rigged jury or a corrupt judge? In many parts of the world, justice is for sale if you have the right amount and know the right people.
But, there is an ultimate judge: God. I will try and quote proverbs: the net of justice may be made up of holes but nothing much escapes it. (sky net grey grey, holey and no escape. Said in Cantonese) The wheel of justice grinds exceedingly slowly.
(1124) The Firm by John Grisham
Mitch graduated at the top of his Law class, yet he chose to work for a questionable firm under investigation. In the end he co-operated with the investigators and ended up having to run away. He successfully rescued his blood brother from detention and managed to disappear together with his wife as three fugitives in the high sea.
I have had no such exciting experience myself. But a friend of mine did once upon a time thought her husband was going to kill her. She ran! Interestingly it was people closest to him who helped her retrieve her "effects". Then her close friends helped her to transport those boxes from his home town to her hometown.
I met her as a neighbour more than 10 years ago. She was very suspicious then and it took me a while to draw close to her. Perhaps because I love to write stories and she loves to write poems, we see eye to eye about many things in life. If we ever get to collaborate together, we may be able to alternate chapters on our favourite topics: special education and marriage.
I have had no such exciting experience myself. But a friend of mine did once upon a time thought her husband was going to kill her. She ran! Interestingly it was people closest to him who helped her retrieve her "effects". Then her close friends helped her to transport those boxes from his home town to her hometown.
I met her as a neighbour more than 10 years ago. She was very suspicious then and it took me a while to draw close to her. Perhaps because I love to write stories and she loves to write poems, we see eye to eye about many things in life. If we ever get to collaborate together, we may be able to alternate chapters on our favourite topics: special education and marriage.
(1123) The Broker by John Grisham
Here is another one of Grisham's go to another country and disappear story. I have a soft spot for his tales.
This time it is a power broker who spent years in prison. At the end of the President's (who failed to be re-elected) first term, CIA wanted a pardon for a guy with sensitive information in his head, he was pardoned, sent to another country, assisted to assimilate and the establishment wanted him killed. The object is to see who came out to kill so they would know who bought the software. By now, there was a trail of dead bodies.
Miraculously, the fugitive survived and returned to USA. Circumstances changed and he was given a reprieve by fate. He still needed to run, he still needed to melt into the background, but by then he had the necessary skills to survive longer.
Six years ago, I flew to northern Borneo because of a cryptic prophesy in 1984 and a sense of adventure. Next month I am returning to the same town because I want a new life. Unlike the power broker, I committed no crime. I just want to blend into a small town and be a nobody. I want to be free to live and write, in a simple and humble manner, and earn a living without owing a debt of any kind to anybody.
This time it is a power broker who spent years in prison. At the end of the President's (who failed to be re-elected) first term, CIA wanted a pardon for a guy with sensitive information in his head, he was pardoned, sent to another country, assisted to assimilate and the establishment wanted him killed. The object is to see who came out to kill so they would know who bought the software. By now, there was a trail of dead bodies.
Miraculously, the fugitive survived and returned to USA. Circumstances changed and he was given a reprieve by fate. He still needed to run, he still needed to melt into the background, but by then he had the necessary skills to survive longer.
Six years ago, I flew to northern Borneo because of a cryptic prophesy in 1984 and a sense of adventure. Next month I am returning to the same town because I want a new life. Unlike the power broker, I committed no crime. I just want to blend into a small town and be a nobody. I want to be free to live and write, in a simple and humble manner, and earn a living without owing a debt of any kind to anybody.
(1122) Bubba Tea
Remember the neighbourhood girl at risk of being groomed as a drug mule? She is working in a Bubba Tea Café. In fact the tea mania started in Hong Kong, permeated to Taiwan and I think it multiplied in many places as a craze!
I personally have not had any. But back to my youngest daughter's teenage years, she used to share her classmate's tea after school whenever their Bus stopped and waited in front of a famous boy's school which is within walking distance of a shopping centre. That boy school is famous for producing many doctors trained in Malaysian universities. The shopping centre, however, is notorious for students spending their days there playing truant. I used to know the item as pearl milk tea in Cantonese.
Now, the craze is such that in a student area, there are five such shops on one short street doing roaring business. A typical plastic tall container of Bubba Tea on average contains fifteen spoonful of sugar. Grand mothers and aunties fall in love with it and it is the coolest drink of choice around town. If soft drinks caused diabetes in youngsters, then "teh tarik" might be the cause of diabetes for the middle age. "teh tarik" is hot, sweet milk tea being poured from one metallic container to another many times. The air that dissolves into the tea gives it a smooth taste. Then Bubba Tea may become the culprit that caused the aged to become diabetic.
There was at least one teenage girl in some part of China that landed in hospital after her entire digestive tract was occluded with the "pearls" which was made from sticky tapioca flour. She was sick enough to be termed critical but her addiction to the tea is going to survive the hospitalization.
Such a cup of tea costs between M$8.00 to M$20.00 ++. In a famous café, the average wait is 1 - 2 hours. They are usually taken away to consume at the aficionados' leisure.
I personally have not had any. But back to my youngest daughter's teenage years, she used to share her classmate's tea after school whenever their Bus stopped and waited in front of a famous boy's school which is within walking distance of a shopping centre. That boy school is famous for producing many doctors trained in Malaysian universities. The shopping centre, however, is notorious for students spending their days there playing truant. I used to know the item as pearl milk tea in Cantonese.
Now, the craze is such that in a student area, there are five such shops on one short street doing roaring business. A typical plastic tall container of Bubba Tea on average contains fifteen spoonful of sugar. Grand mothers and aunties fall in love with it and it is the coolest drink of choice around town. If soft drinks caused diabetes in youngsters, then "teh tarik" might be the cause of diabetes for the middle age. "teh tarik" is hot, sweet milk tea being poured from one metallic container to another many times. The air that dissolves into the tea gives it a smooth taste. Then Bubba Tea may become the culprit that caused the aged to become diabetic.
There was at least one teenage girl in some part of China that landed in hospital after her entire digestive tract was occluded with the "pearls" which was made from sticky tapioca flour. She was sick enough to be termed critical but her addiction to the tea is going to survive the hospitalization.
Such a cup of tea costs between M$8.00 to M$20.00 ++. In a famous café, the average wait is 1 - 2 hours. They are usually taken away to consume at the aficionados' leisure.
(1121) False Impression by Jeffrey Archer
Years after I blogged about Archer's books, I still am amazed by the thousands of searches targeting a few of those blogs.
Today, I found another Archer book but I am hard pressed to think of something to say after reading it. Perhaps this book is about famous pictures and a blue blood family. To be perfectly honest, the only time I wished to own or look at a picture daily, I was standing in one of the D.C. museums. It was a rather large picture, a forest and meadow scene. I actually bought a post card reproduction of it and brought it back to my home country. Each time I was in DC, I went back to admire it. The last time I saw it, I was pregnant with my number two. Little wonder she has really expensive tastes today, more than any of my other children.
As to blue bloods, the closest I came to it was when I befriended an ordinary-looking foreign student in my college. After graduation, I visited her in her home country; I was shocked to find that she came from the second richest family in that tiny nation. The following visit I made to that country I went to shop for my wedding finery. I found Sheridan sheets on sale and I bought the entire set of Chippendale, I think. During the third visit, she came to my hotel and related a most preposterous incident. We laughed and laughed about it.
Her mum gave her brother a sound shelling for not courting me while he had the opportunity in the States. The old lady would have preferred a foreign-educated person like me who was well brought up and know my place in life, after all I was educated in Chinese in the earlier years. My poor scholarly father drilled lots of archaic principles into me, his only literary heir in the Chinese language. According to my friend, her brother took all that angry words in silence. He realized that his chosen wife paled in terms of these traits which are unseen.
I honestly think her brother found me boring. He was one of those Asian students who tries to bed the blonds. I quite like him and actually attended a few mixers and perhaps a dance weekend double dating: his sister and a white friend, he and I. You see, life overseas is far from that of the home countries, the kind of qualities you look for in a girl friend and a wife are miles apart. At that point of time, I was all fired up to get my Ph.D. in artificial intelligence some day, although that term has not even been coined yet. I was not seeking to snare a husband yet, although he was rather eligible. Nevertheless, it was very flattering to have his mother having such high opinions of ordinary me.
Today, I found another Archer book but I am hard pressed to think of something to say after reading it. Perhaps this book is about famous pictures and a blue blood family. To be perfectly honest, the only time I wished to own or look at a picture daily, I was standing in one of the D.C. museums. It was a rather large picture, a forest and meadow scene. I actually bought a post card reproduction of it and brought it back to my home country. Each time I was in DC, I went back to admire it. The last time I saw it, I was pregnant with my number two. Little wonder she has really expensive tastes today, more than any of my other children.
As to blue bloods, the closest I came to it was when I befriended an ordinary-looking foreign student in my college. After graduation, I visited her in her home country; I was shocked to find that she came from the second richest family in that tiny nation. The following visit I made to that country I went to shop for my wedding finery. I found Sheridan sheets on sale and I bought the entire set of Chippendale, I think. During the third visit, she came to my hotel and related a most preposterous incident. We laughed and laughed about it.
Her mum gave her brother a sound shelling for not courting me while he had the opportunity in the States. The old lady would have preferred a foreign-educated person like me who was well brought up and know my place in life, after all I was educated in Chinese in the earlier years. My poor scholarly father drilled lots of archaic principles into me, his only literary heir in the Chinese language. According to my friend, her brother took all that angry words in silence. He realized that his chosen wife paled in terms of these traits which are unseen.
I honestly think her brother found me boring. He was one of those Asian students who tries to bed the blonds. I quite like him and actually attended a few mixers and perhaps a dance weekend double dating: his sister and a white friend, he and I. You see, life overseas is far from that of the home countries, the kind of qualities you look for in a girl friend and a wife are miles apart. At that point of time, I was all fired up to get my Ph.D. in artificial intelligence some day, although that term has not even been coined yet. I was not seeking to snare a husband yet, although he was rather eligible. Nevertheless, it was very flattering to have his mother having such high opinions of ordinary me.
Sunday, June 9, 2019
(1120) Surprising numbers
I have had enough of reading today and went on to look at the statistics provided by widgets.
By tallying the top ten countries in terms of page view and number of unique visitors, Germany and Poland are the only two countries which appear in page view but not in terms of many visitors. I did simple calculations and came up with the following:
Germany - average page read per visitor: 22
Poland - : 124
The result astounded me. Thank you for reading my blog, all my readers. Readers from Poland, you are really encouraging me. That means I have repeat visitors from Germany too.
By tallying the top ten countries in terms of page view and number of unique visitors, Germany and Poland are the only two countries which appear in page view but not in terms of many visitors. I did simple calculations and came up with the following:
Germany - average page read per visitor: 22
Poland - : 124
The result astounded me. Thank you for reading my blog, all my readers. Readers from Poland, you are really encouraging me. That means I have repeat visitors from Germany too.
(1121) The various Flavours of Coffee by Anthony Capella
This is the very first book I read about coffee, even though underlying it is really a love story.
As I close the book after I read the last page, my thoughts are about coffee.
I remember the many cups of store blend I had in college to stay up completing projects in the middle of many nights. I think of the first cup of real coffee Gaston, my favourite cousin in China, bought me in Kwangchow. I recall the many cups of designer coffee my millionaire friend June made me in her lovely home. I feel the hot, fragrant Secret Recipe brew I partook weekly in Silver City with a neighbour.
My cousin, Juliet who knows much more about coffee and tea than I, talked conversantly about fair price coffee and social justice.
I realize that once upon a time we used to have coffee as a minor crop in Malaya.
My mum, who is 86, thinks of coffee as an gift from God to human kind which she discovered regretfully late in old age.
As I close the book after I read the last page, my thoughts are about coffee.
I remember the many cups of store blend I had in college to stay up completing projects in the middle of many nights. I think of the first cup of real coffee Gaston, my favourite cousin in China, bought me in Kwangchow. I recall the many cups of designer coffee my millionaire friend June made me in her lovely home. I feel the hot, fragrant Secret Recipe brew I partook weekly in Silver City with a neighbour.
My cousin, Juliet who knows much more about coffee and tea than I, talked conversantly about fair price coffee and social justice.
I realize that once upon a time we used to have coffee as a minor crop in Malaya.
My mum, who is 86, thinks of coffee as an gift from God to human kind which she discovered regretfully late in old age.
(1119) Rosie's poem in 1114
'Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there. I did not die.'
If you follow my blog for any length of time, you would know that I can't write poems. However, I love Chinese "che" not "Shi" and some simple English poems. Here's a gem, I hope you like it.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there. I did not die.'
If you follow my blog for any length of time, you would know that I can't write poems. However, I love Chinese "che" not "Shi" and some simple English poems. Here's a gem, I hope you like it.
(1118) Perfect recall or photographic memory
I was surveying a handful of blogs as to the number of readers: it is interesting to find that play dough (1070) and The Red Seed Game (1075) are quite popular.
Here is the follow-up blog. I paid a visit to the lovely, artistic young lady up north and found that although she has less memory hooks than most people, her visual memory is one of the best I came across over the years.
This is the vital game which revealed that valuable piece of information. I took a pack of cards (poker cards, the kind we come down the airplane with after a long flight with children) and arranged them face down in rows and columns on a long table. Then I corralled as many old and young to play my game. It is called Memory Game. Each person opens two cards, whichever they wish, if the cards happen to match, then they acquired them and is given another turn. If not, it is then the next person's turn. Over the years, I have played this game thousands of times and became quite good at it. As I was the game master, I was not paying much attention to winning, I spent the time observing and recording each person's performance. It turned out that my target, the object of my visit, was the best player with her mum following closely behind. After a second game, I began to suspect that she may have a photographic memory that she did not refine over the years.
I am a one-track mind person. After my return, I was still unconsciously playing with the thought of how a person with such unusually powerful ability of recall could not hang onto pieces of information. It occurred to me then that memories come in the form of words, pictures, ideas, diagrams, music,... The answer seemed to be at the tip of my tongue and yet I could not touch it, let alone utter it. Then during worship in church one Sunday morning, the answer flashed like a light bulb: but of course she need no longer develop memory hooks, all she needs to do is to paint in her memory easel whatever she wants to remember: be it words, symbols, diagrams or pictures or a combination of any thing, snap a visual photo and file it away --"wallah!" she would be one of the world's best memory experts in practise.
After being challenged to pray and make a visit to a city 400 miles or so away, I am relieved to have no need of going there anymore. I was very fearful that I will be found wanting and was being treated as a consultant when in actual fact I know so little. I have had no formal training whatsoever. No degree, diploma and not even a certificate in the field in question. All I have is my own experience in over coming certain short-comings years ago, probably a smattering of very specific knowledge garnered with great difficulty and perseverance in a few cases I came across over the past decades. Enough to tell stories but not enough to consult.
Thereafter I had better turn to publishing e-books and not tell too much of my past activities in the bio data. I am most thankful that I survived this experience and there is a solution given to me, on my own I would probably be still puzzling over the seemingly contradictory pieces of facts.
Here is the follow-up blog. I paid a visit to the lovely, artistic young lady up north and found that although she has less memory hooks than most people, her visual memory is one of the best I came across over the years.
This is the vital game which revealed that valuable piece of information. I took a pack of cards (poker cards, the kind we come down the airplane with after a long flight with children) and arranged them face down in rows and columns on a long table. Then I corralled as many old and young to play my game. It is called Memory Game. Each person opens two cards, whichever they wish, if the cards happen to match, then they acquired them and is given another turn. If not, it is then the next person's turn. Over the years, I have played this game thousands of times and became quite good at it. As I was the game master, I was not paying much attention to winning, I spent the time observing and recording each person's performance. It turned out that my target, the object of my visit, was the best player with her mum following closely behind. After a second game, I began to suspect that she may have a photographic memory that she did not refine over the years.
I am a one-track mind person. After my return, I was still unconsciously playing with the thought of how a person with such unusually powerful ability of recall could not hang onto pieces of information. It occurred to me then that memories come in the form of words, pictures, ideas, diagrams, music,... The answer seemed to be at the tip of my tongue and yet I could not touch it, let alone utter it. Then during worship in church one Sunday morning, the answer flashed like a light bulb: but of course she need no longer develop memory hooks, all she needs to do is to paint in her memory easel whatever she wants to remember: be it words, symbols, diagrams or pictures or a combination of any thing, snap a visual photo and file it away --"wallah!" she would be one of the world's best memory experts in practise.
After being challenged to pray and make a visit to a city 400 miles or so away, I am relieved to have no need of going there anymore. I was very fearful that I will be found wanting and was being treated as a consultant when in actual fact I know so little. I have had no formal training whatsoever. No degree, diploma and not even a certificate in the field in question. All I have is my own experience in over coming certain short-comings years ago, probably a smattering of very specific knowledge garnered with great difficulty and perseverance in a few cases I came across over the past decades. Enough to tell stories but not enough to consult.
Thereafter I had better turn to publishing e-books and not tell too much of my past activities in the bio data. I am most thankful that I survived this experience and there is a solution given to me, on my own I would probably be still puzzling over the seemingly contradictory pieces of facts.
Saturday, June 8, 2019
(1117) Unmentionables
When I was young, my mum taught me that a lady should wash her own undergarments by hand separately from all other clothes. I have asked why many times, but none of the answers given by my mum, my grandma or any other older women would make any sense to me.
Now that I have grown daughters, even though I do not follow that rule at home; I taught my daughters the same rule should they live in other people's house. Interestingly, that rule applied in one of my daughter's landlady's house while she lived near the university. Even though her landlady owns a state-of-the-art washing machine, she still washes her delicates by hand daily.
When I visit friends with foreign maids, I carefully follow my mother's maxim. Though if I go visit a friend with no maid, I would ask if she washes her smalls in her machine and I follow accordingly. I have found that this little thoughtfulness puts me in great favour with many Asian maids.
If you ask me why, I could answer you two ways: either it is a form of respect for the dignity of the maids or I place my self-respect and my intimate apparel above the daily mundane touch of a stranger. I have come across a maid who looked down at her mistress simply because the maid chose to wash things by hand daily and she refused to keep dirty clothes for three days and machine wash them as instructed. It was very confusing: if the maid detested washing undergarments of another female, then she should stop hand washing altogether. Yet the pride of the good housekeeper did not allow her to keep smelly clothes overnight as there were only two employers living in the big house.
I wonder if this is true only in Asia?
Now that I have grown daughters, even though I do not follow that rule at home; I taught my daughters the same rule should they live in other people's house. Interestingly, that rule applied in one of my daughter's landlady's house while she lived near the university. Even though her landlady owns a state-of-the-art washing machine, she still washes her delicates by hand daily.
When I visit friends with foreign maids, I carefully follow my mother's maxim. Though if I go visit a friend with no maid, I would ask if she washes her smalls in her machine and I follow accordingly. I have found that this little thoughtfulness puts me in great favour with many Asian maids.
If you ask me why, I could answer you two ways: either it is a form of respect for the dignity of the maids or I place my self-respect and my intimate apparel above the daily mundane touch of a stranger. I have come across a maid who looked down at her mistress simply because the maid chose to wash things by hand daily and she refused to keep dirty clothes for three days and machine wash them as instructed. It was very confusing: if the maid detested washing undergarments of another female, then she should stop hand washing altogether. Yet the pride of the good housekeeper did not allow her to keep smelly clothes overnight as there were only two employers living in the big house.
I wonder if this is true only in Asia?
(1116) Adjusting to a new country and diet
In between my literary efforts: reading, translating, editing, blogging... and meals, I chatted with the new maid.
It is eye-opening to hear about things from the maid's perspective. This a household that runs with one full-time maid, one part-time gardener and one part-time window cleaner who happened to be a Filipina married to a local man.
Even though the two female maids are from two countries and speak different languages, the Filipina has learnt enough local dialect to communicate with the new comer. The former has worked for this household a long time and has befriended every maid employed for more than twelve years.
Interestingly the last maid used to ask the part-timer to purchase food she likes but have no access to. I casually asked what food, most of the items mentioned were desserts made with carbohydrates from roots, in other words tropical common street food in South East Asia.
I find it amazing as I could find more than enough things to eat in the fridge and the cupboards. Later as I thought about it more, I realized that forty years or so ago, even though the college cafeteria boasted of a wide selection of food round the week, I missed rice desperately. Once a week white rice was served, I would eat like five little bowls and pile on plates of other selection of meat and vegetables until tiny me could not carry the loaded tray back to the window of the washing place. The servers were huge black ladies who shook their heads at my slender waistline, wondering how I could burn such a lot of calories daily. On International day once in three months, I would chalk up four servings of Chinese fried rice or Japanese rice and meat, decent helpings that came on dinner plates. So I suppose a person from another culture would definitely miss something or other in the new country. Here the maids are from rural area, of lower socio-economic background, they could not easily hop into our urban sophisticated upper-middle class way of consuming lots of meat and vegetables and little carbohydrates.
It is eye-opening to hear about things from the maid's perspective. This a household that runs with one full-time maid, one part-time gardener and one part-time window cleaner who happened to be a Filipina married to a local man.
Even though the two female maids are from two countries and speak different languages, the Filipina has learnt enough local dialect to communicate with the new comer. The former has worked for this household a long time and has befriended every maid employed for more than twelve years.
Interestingly the last maid used to ask the part-timer to purchase food she likes but have no access to. I casually asked what food, most of the items mentioned were desserts made with carbohydrates from roots, in other words tropical common street food in South East Asia.
I find it amazing as I could find more than enough things to eat in the fridge and the cupboards. Later as I thought about it more, I realized that forty years or so ago, even though the college cafeteria boasted of a wide selection of food round the week, I missed rice desperately. Once a week white rice was served, I would eat like five little bowls and pile on plates of other selection of meat and vegetables until tiny me could not carry the loaded tray back to the window of the washing place. The servers were huge black ladies who shook their heads at my slender waistline, wondering how I could burn such a lot of calories daily. On International day once in three months, I would chalk up four servings of Chinese fried rice or Japanese rice and meat, decent helpings that came on dinner plates. So I suppose a person from another culture would definitely miss something or other in the new country. Here the maids are from rural area, of lower socio-economic background, they could not easily hop into our urban sophisticated upper-middle class way of consuming lots of meat and vegetables and little carbohydrates.
(1115) Good cooks, bad cooks
I commented how I enjoyed the yellow pulut (sticky rice) cooked with coconut milk as a savoury base to go with chicken curry. My host replied that the curry might be difficult to get cooked right. But he thinks anybody who tries cooking the rice using a good recipe could easily get it right after a few tries. As he puts it, it is a no brainer.
Interestingly, I have always used my mother-in-law's creation as a standard to measure such a dish against. While I have not tried cooking it, I would eat it whenever I see it during pot bless or in a buffet. Seldom do I get both cooked to my high standard of expectation. This dish is one of the Nyonya (Peranakan cooking is the legacy of Chinese who blended Chinese cooking with much Malay influence through the generations) dish. My mum-in-law's mum-in-law wore sarong and spoke Malay as a primary language at home all her life. Recipes are passed on from generation to generation. Sad to say, neither my husband's generation nor my children's generation took the trouble to learn these delicious recipes.
After picking my hostess' brain as well, it seemed that people who love good food often learn to produce it with little or no previous cooking experience while they could not purchase restaurant-produced food overseas as students or new immigrants.
Their children, who had never boiled water at home, were sent overseas with a minimum of two cooking sessions. Both girls could produce a list of good food, like barbecue pork(both char siew, siew yuk), chocolate walnut cake, lemon meringue pie, ... Their elder girl's fiancée could cooked up western steak with apple sauce without much problem at first try. He never entered his parents' kitchen prior to going abroad.
According to my son, good cooking requires a little basic experience and a lot of common sense. Maybe the fact I could never produce excellent food is because I lack passion. My daughters have no need to learn to cook well because they have not been overseas for the long haul, there was no need to learn to cook. After all, street-cooked food is plentiful and low in price in this country.
While I visited Arlington, Texas to look see the campus in 1984, I was lodging with friends of my brother's. I was so free that month, daily jogging in the indoor sports centre and morning swim in the apartment pool left plenty of time to experiment with food. I must have exhausted my usual menu of fried rice, fried bee hoon(vermicella), spaghetti, fried beef wanton, pork dumplings, ... I remember cooking asam laksa(spicy sour fish soup with rice stick and vegetables), black sticky rice with meat and mushroom, red bean soup, bobo chacha ( a dessert of yam, sweet potatoes in coconut milk soup). Personally I didn't think much of my attempts, but my temporary housemates were delighted with a volunteer cook. They were busy with classes, projects, assignments, part time jobs and dating. Before and after my visit, they subsisted with food from the cafeteria, instant noodle or biscuits.
Interestingly, I have always used my mother-in-law's creation as a standard to measure such a dish against. While I have not tried cooking it, I would eat it whenever I see it during pot bless or in a buffet. Seldom do I get both cooked to my high standard of expectation. This dish is one of the Nyonya (Peranakan cooking is the legacy of Chinese who blended Chinese cooking with much Malay influence through the generations) dish. My mum-in-law's mum-in-law wore sarong and spoke Malay as a primary language at home all her life. Recipes are passed on from generation to generation. Sad to say, neither my husband's generation nor my children's generation took the trouble to learn these delicious recipes.
After picking my hostess' brain as well, it seemed that people who love good food often learn to produce it with little or no previous cooking experience while they could not purchase restaurant-produced food overseas as students or new immigrants.
Their children, who had never boiled water at home, were sent overseas with a minimum of two cooking sessions. Both girls could produce a list of good food, like barbecue pork(both char siew, siew yuk), chocolate walnut cake, lemon meringue pie, ... Their elder girl's fiancée could cooked up western steak with apple sauce without much problem at first try. He never entered his parents' kitchen prior to going abroad.
According to my son, good cooking requires a little basic experience and a lot of common sense. Maybe the fact I could never produce excellent food is because I lack passion. My daughters have no need to learn to cook well because they have not been overseas for the long haul, there was no need to learn to cook. After all, street-cooked food is plentiful and low in price in this country.
While I visited Arlington, Texas to look see the campus in 1984, I was lodging with friends of my brother's. I was so free that month, daily jogging in the indoor sports centre and morning swim in the apartment pool left plenty of time to experiment with food. I must have exhausted my usual menu of fried rice, fried bee hoon(vermicella), spaghetti, fried beef wanton, pork dumplings, ... I remember cooking asam laksa(spicy sour fish soup with rice stick and vegetables), black sticky rice with meat and mushroom, red bean soup, bobo chacha ( a dessert of yam, sweet potatoes in coconut milk soup). Personally I didn't think much of my attempts, but my temporary housemates were delighted with a volunteer cook. They were busy with classes, projects, assignments, part time jobs and dating. Before and after my visit, they subsisted with food from the cafeteria, instant noodle or biscuits.
(1114) Rosie by Alan Titchmarsh
Rosie was in her eighties when she needed encouragement to live up a bit. My deceased dad was eighty seven when he decided he had lived enough and waited for death in front of the TV. Interestingly his mind was sharp enough to tell me how much cash he had in hand when I visited him daily : something like M$325. He did not count coins nor did he bother about one dollar bills. After three days' of treasure hunt in his room, I found it in unexpected places, besides some new notes hidden in Ang Pow (red packets usually given out to children during the first 15 days of Chinese New Year). I would be please if I could keep a mind like that to the end someday.
My mom is 86 now. She is eating well, exercising regularly and still hopeful she should recover enough for one more trip to Hong Kong after breaking both legs within two weeks, three years ago. She just came back from a town 180 Km away with my family in a hotel for three nights.
Her elder brother had Alzeimer's and it was surreal to listen to him talking about spirits playing in the court yard beneath his apartment in the town centre in bright day light. His wife and unmarried daughter told me that for about a year, he lost grip of reality and talked about unreal stuff seemingly true to him. I must say that he was quite a prolific author of fascinating, fictitious tales at least verbally. After a typical visit as I described, I felt like I just returned from listening to a professional oral story teller on the street such as during my early childhood. He passed on after a bad fall at 88.
His elder sister is a cool 90 years old. She could no longer remember her siblings nor children. However, she is mobile and physically active. She is a tiny slip of a slender old lady, active and playful. As long as someone is in the house keeping tight hold of the keys, she could not slip out and disappear. Twice my cousins had to seek police assistance to find her. Once she walked for miles and was sitting by the side of the highway to Kuala Lumpur in the late afternoon. For an ancient person with advanced dementia, she is friendly, fun and amusing to me.
My paternal grandma lived to a cool 99 and died after she could not eat for 3 days. She remained sharp to the end. She was a bit wobbly physically the last few days. According to her favourite grand daughter, my cousin whom I like, she was very good at pretending she could not remember those who were mean to her in the past. At 99, she could hear but most of the time she could not be bothered to listen, hence most people thought she was hard of hearing.
If I am not mistaken, the life expectancy of a male in this country is 78, that of a woman is 80. It does appear that all the folks I mentioned lived rather long.
My mom is 86 now. She is eating well, exercising regularly and still hopeful she should recover enough for one more trip to Hong Kong after breaking both legs within two weeks, three years ago. She just came back from a town 180 Km away with my family in a hotel for three nights.
Her elder brother had Alzeimer's and it was surreal to listen to him talking about spirits playing in the court yard beneath his apartment in the town centre in bright day light. His wife and unmarried daughter told me that for about a year, he lost grip of reality and talked about unreal stuff seemingly true to him. I must say that he was quite a prolific author of fascinating, fictitious tales at least verbally. After a typical visit as I described, I felt like I just returned from listening to a professional oral story teller on the street such as during my early childhood. He passed on after a bad fall at 88.
His elder sister is a cool 90 years old. She could no longer remember her siblings nor children. However, she is mobile and physically active. She is a tiny slip of a slender old lady, active and playful. As long as someone is in the house keeping tight hold of the keys, she could not slip out and disappear. Twice my cousins had to seek police assistance to find her. Once she walked for miles and was sitting by the side of the highway to Kuala Lumpur in the late afternoon. For an ancient person with advanced dementia, she is friendly, fun and amusing to me.
My paternal grandma lived to a cool 99 and died after she could not eat for 3 days. She remained sharp to the end. She was a bit wobbly physically the last few days. According to her favourite grand daughter, my cousin whom I like, she was very good at pretending she could not remember those who were mean to her in the past. At 99, she could hear but most of the time she could not be bothered to listen, hence most people thought she was hard of hearing.
If I am not mistaken, the life expectancy of a male in this country is 78, that of a woman is 80. It does appear that all the folks I mentioned lived rather long.
(1113) The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer
Here is another gem I found in my hostess' book shelves.
While laughing at some of the happenings in the book, I felt sad at other minor events. I have heard of the Canary Islands and even at one point in time might be able to quote the Capital. I have never heard of Guernsey before.
I have read of one book and a few articles on the Nanking Massacre. I grew up listening to my grandma and other old folks' accounts of the atrocities of the Japanese Occupation for three years and eight months in Malaya. Throughout my adult life, every book I have access to on World War two I would definitely read. I have come to the conclusion that humans do not behave the same way during war time as compared to peaceful era. With my limited contact to Germans and Japanese, they do not seem more extreme than the White Rednecks I met in South Carolina, for instance. In fact, I quite like my husband's host family from Nagoya who came to visit the Penang island. My husband participated in an exchange program in Japan in his earlier years. While in Silver City, I car sat for a German lady for a total of eighteen months over a three-year period. I find the Germans straight forward and reasonable to deal with.
While the ending of the above book was a little unexpected, it was all in a day's work. I have often found artists: whether designer, writer, sculptor, painter, ... a little difficult to predict. Probably my primary and secondary school friends would be shocked if I bury myself in Borneo in obscurity from now on. It is to be expected, isn't it?
While laughing at some of the happenings in the book, I felt sad at other minor events. I have heard of the Canary Islands and even at one point in time might be able to quote the Capital. I have never heard of Guernsey before.
I have read of one book and a few articles on the Nanking Massacre. I grew up listening to my grandma and other old folks' accounts of the atrocities of the Japanese Occupation for three years and eight months in Malaya. Throughout my adult life, every book I have access to on World War two I would definitely read. I have come to the conclusion that humans do not behave the same way during war time as compared to peaceful era. With my limited contact to Germans and Japanese, they do not seem more extreme than the White Rednecks I met in South Carolina, for instance. In fact, I quite like my husband's host family from Nagoya who came to visit the Penang island. My husband participated in an exchange program in Japan in his earlier years. While in Silver City, I car sat for a German lady for a total of eighteen months over a three-year period. I find the Germans straight forward and reasonable to deal with.
While the ending of the above book was a little unexpected, it was all in a day's work. I have often found artists: whether designer, writer, sculptor, painter, ... a little difficult to predict. Probably my primary and secondary school friends would be shocked if I bury myself in Borneo in obscurity from now on. It is to be expected, isn't it?
Friday, June 7, 2019
(1112) Sun at Midnight by Rosie Thomas
I believe my brother has been to all the continents except the Antarctica. I will never be able to travel as much as my brother as child rearing took me many years, on top of that I heeded the biological clock.
This is a beautifully written book that almost equals to watching an artistically made documentary of the ice world. Alice did not even realize she was pregnant when she decided and then rushed to make all the preparation needed to work in the silent and cold continent for months.
She reminded me of my ex-neighbour who kept her baby boy in spite of the threat of divorce from her then husband. Thirty years later, she has a loving son and a loyal daughter-in-law in Singapore who visit her a few times a year and they remit money to her. Her ex made himself another family with a Thai lady who fitted into his scheme of things and his own time table. When we think of the exchange rate of Sing dollars versus M dollars, it is significant.
Contrast that with my clay pot yee mee lady who aborted her child because her then husband thought she was too young. He married her at sixteen but he thought she should wait a few years to have her first child. Until today she remained childless as the abortion rendered her infertile for life. He divorced her anyway.
This is a beautifully written book that almost equals to watching an artistically made documentary of the ice world. Alice did not even realize she was pregnant when she decided and then rushed to make all the preparation needed to work in the silent and cold continent for months.
She reminded me of my ex-neighbour who kept her baby boy in spite of the threat of divorce from her then husband. Thirty years later, she has a loving son and a loyal daughter-in-law in Singapore who visit her a few times a year and they remit money to her. Her ex made himself another family with a Thai lady who fitted into his scheme of things and his own time table. When we think of the exchange rate of Sing dollars versus M dollars, it is significant.
Contrast that with my clay pot yee mee lady who aborted her child because her then husband thought she was too young. He married her at sixteen but he thought she should wait a few years to have her first child. Until today she remained childless as the abortion rendered her infertile for life. He divorced her anyway.
(1111) The curious incident of the dog in the night-time by Mark Haddon
I read this book quite a few years ago in my niece's house.
It is written in the words of an Asperger Syndrome boy. I have taught a similar but less severe boy in Silver City. He was actually my good friend's student. Despite the many books in the book shelve my friend provided, he was not interested. I told my friend that many boys in that category may be reading on a grade 3 level but do not read for pleasure. She asked me what would be the best thing to do?
I suggested the mum bring him to the town council library and each time I borrow my twenty two books I would supervise him for an hour. The very first time he just stared at me for that one hour. The second time I found him a few wordless book with beautiful illustrations and that occupied him for a few minutes. After that he roamed around the library and after half an hour found a cartoon book. He finished it right when I was done and I took him to his waiting mum. The third time his mum came in to apply for membership cards for him.
All in it took about six visits and he was then on his own. According to his mum, he selected his two allotted books, read them within a week and was always looking forward to the next visit. He progressed from cartoons to books with pictures and then moved on to higher level illustrated books with sentences. Gradually the sentences turned into paragraphs. After three years or so, he started reading books without pictures. Funny thing is : all his other siblings preferred TV to books.
It is written in the words of an Asperger Syndrome boy. I have taught a similar but less severe boy in Silver City. He was actually my good friend's student. Despite the many books in the book shelve my friend provided, he was not interested. I told my friend that many boys in that category may be reading on a grade 3 level but do not read for pleasure. She asked me what would be the best thing to do?
I suggested the mum bring him to the town council library and each time I borrow my twenty two books I would supervise him for an hour. The very first time he just stared at me for that one hour. The second time I found him a few wordless book with beautiful illustrations and that occupied him for a few minutes. After that he roamed around the library and after half an hour found a cartoon book. He finished it right when I was done and I took him to his waiting mum. The third time his mum came in to apply for membership cards for him.
All in it took about six visits and he was then on his own. According to his mum, he selected his two allotted books, read them within a week and was always looking forward to the next visit. He progressed from cartoons to books with pictures and then moved on to higher level illustrated books with sentences. Gradually the sentences turned into paragraphs. After three years or so, he started reading books without pictures. Funny thing is : all his other siblings preferred TV to books.
(1110) Eat Cake by Jeanne Ray
This is a delightful story about how Ruth found her true calling in life at her lowest, most difficult point in her adult life. Her mum came to stay with her after someone broke into mum's home. The prodigal father of Ruth's who virtually abandoned her and mom many years ago turned up crippled needing a home. Ruth's husband lost his job after the hospital he worked in was sold. Talking about having a leaky roof and then it pours on consecutive nights.
Ruth started a business selling cakes and saved the day. Her cakes were good to look at and tasted divine. People around her created beautiful and presentable receptacles to market the cakes in as gifts. And who wouldn't like to be given a lovely and tasty homemade cake as a gift?
A friend of mine in Brunei whose husband lost his job and couldn't find another. It was not that he was incompetent. He was qualified, in fact quite brilliant in his profession. His egoistical personality grated on many people's nerve, but he was arrogant enough to offend a big player whose toes no one dares to step on. In that tiny nation, it was not smart to be a person-non-grata.
My friend rushed out of her house and became a substitute teacher to bring home the bacon. When her tiny pay check couldn't meet the obligations, she went on to tutor private students so as to earn more. Instead of being grateful, the darling husband was humiliated at playing house husband and turned the children against her. She was chased out of the house by her husband and children within two years.
It is a sad, sad world sometimes. In my friend's case there was no happy ending yet, even after events took a few unexpected turns.
Ruth started a business selling cakes and saved the day. Her cakes were good to look at and tasted divine. People around her created beautiful and presentable receptacles to market the cakes in as gifts. And who wouldn't like to be given a lovely and tasty homemade cake as a gift?
A friend of mine in Brunei whose husband lost his job and couldn't find another. It was not that he was incompetent. He was qualified, in fact quite brilliant in his profession. His egoistical personality grated on many people's nerve, but he was arrogant enough to offend a big player whose toes no one dares to step on. In that tiny nation, it was not smart to be a person-non-grata.
My friend rushed out of her house and became a substitute teacher to bring home the bacon. When her tiny pay check couldn't meet the obligations, she went on to tutor private students so as to earn more. Instead of being grateful, the darling husband was humiliated at playing house husband and turned the children against her. She was chased out of the house by her husband and children within two years.
It is a sad, sad world sometimes. In my friend's case there was no happy ending yet, even after events took a few unexpected turns.
(1109) A Bend in the Road by Nicholas Spark
I read this book many years ago. While holding it in hand yesterday, I had to flip through it to recall the story line.
One of my cousins did not have a chance to go for tertiary education, she willed her children to go through university. Unfortunately her youngest did not make it to graduation. It took years for both the mother and son to accept the outcome.
In "A Bend in the Road", a young man hit a town woman by accident but drove home. He could not forgive himself. When he finally decided to leave town, he headed far away to qualify as an emergency doctor to save lives.
I never had a chance to dance or learn to play a musical instrument as a child. Thus my youngest had two years of ballet and nine years of piano. Today her life is filled with music and she loves to sing. Looking at her amazing memory of music and lyrics, it is no wonder she wanted to play multiple instruments. She has had a stand up piano in Silver City. An electrical organ in our present home. Somebody very generous sold an expensive guitar to her at nominal price. She even plays a harmonica. Lately she bought a shofar which was some kind of animal horn after saving for months.
To a small extent, are we not all products of our past experiences or lack there of?
One of my cousins did not have a chance to go for tertiary education, she willed her children to go through university. Unfortunately her youngest did not make it to graduation. It took years for both the mother and son to accept the outcome.
In "A Bend in the Road", a young man hit a town woman by accident but drove home. He could not forgive himself. When he finally decided to leave town, he headed far away to qualify as an emergency doctor to save lives.
I never had a chance to dance or learn to play a musical instrument as a child. Thus my youngest had two years of ballet and nine years of piano. Today her life is filled with music and she loves to sing. Looking at her amazing memory of music and lyrics, it is no wonder she wanted to play multiple instruments. She has had a stand up piano in Silver City. An electrical organ in our present home. Somebody very generous sold an expensive guitar to her at nominal price. She even plays a harmonica. Lately she bought a shofar which was some kind of animal horn after saving for months.
To a small extent, are we not all products of our past experiences or lack there of?
(1108) Back When We Were Grownups by Anne Tyler
I really enjoyed reading this folksy style of writing. I felt like I was sitting on a shaded porch having ice tea with Anne on a sunny but cool day, listening to her life story.
Who wouldn't have thought back to the many forks along the road of life that one didn't take? I did look back, many a time. Not that I could go back, I wouldn't want to, anyway.
When I was twenty two years old, I received a marriage proposal from a much older man from Hong Kong. I ran away without leaving any contact details. He was too straight, did not know that he could order all the freshman bulletins of colleges surrounding Washington D.C. and would be able to locate me. If he had persistently courted me then, I might have married him. But then he told me prematurely that he was relocating to Aspen to open his first eatery, he would wait for me to finish my Master's degree. Then we would have four children and I would be expected to grace his restaurant as the cashier and boss lady. In other words, he frightened the hell out of me. I did not know when I would want marriage. Neither did I know if I want any children. He simply was trying to tie me down too early, he was not an unsuitable person but appeared a little too dictatorial. Thus he lost his chance.
Then after graduation, a Texan Navy Pilot was courting me. Everything looked good, even my stand-in guardians approved of him. After I decided not to attend University of Texas as a graduate student, I left the States abruptly. I figured, if you are a pilot, flying to the far east would not really be impossible. There were my home address and phone number in the student records. My guardians who were very fond of me did come for a visit a year later. Poor, defeated guy just gave up. If he had wanted to, my guardians would have given him the information. Well, it was not meant to be. Until today, his photo still resides in my student album. My youngest, who is a romantic, looked at his eyes wistfully and wondered aloud that had I married him, would she have blue eyes? Genetically speaking, most unlikely. She became very disappointed. Well, if she really wanted to, she could marry a Scandinavian and hope for the best in the eye colour of her offspring.
Then, choosing between my present husband and another suitor, I took my mum's advice. Looking back, it was smart and practical of me. The loser looked better, had a higher education and a better job than my choice of a partner. The only thing against him was his wealth and his father's three wives. Or maybe I should say one legal wife and two concubines. With money, it is quite acceptable socially here to have one proper and legally wed wife, then progressively other lesser female who agreed to various arrangements in the sixties, seventies ...
Now I have many grown children. My husband is reasonably good to me. Of course he is not perfect. But neither am I. Finally I am free to write as I wish because my free time is mine. I doubt things would have been like this easy if I picked any of the above men. Perhaps as a Hong Kong wife, all my working hours (would be long in a restaurant) would be occupied, all free time might be spent organising mah-jong parties for family and relatives. As a Navy pilot wife, overseas bases would be my home around the world, that is, if he lives. Otherwise I might have been a military widow. Alternatively, life as a Chinese daughter-in-law to three mothers-out-laws would surely be no fun.
So, you see, thank you very much. I have absolutely no regrets. I am happy with my present, only life.
Who wouldn't have thought back to the many forks along the road of life that one didn't take? I did look back, many a time. Not that I could go back, I wouldn't want to, anyway.
When I was twenty two years old, I received a marriage proposal from a much older man from Hong Kong. I ran away without leaving any contact details. He was too straight, did not know that he could order all the freshman bulletins of colleges surrounding Washington D.C. and would be able to locate me. If he had persistently courted me then, I might have married him. But then he told me prematurely that he was relocating to Aspen to open his first eatery, he would wait for me to finish my Master's degree. Then we would have four children and I would be expected to grace his restaurant as the cashier and boss lady. In other words, he frightened the hell out of me. I did not know when I would want marriage. Neither did I know if I want any children. He simply was trying to tie me down too early, he was not an unsuitable person but appeared a little too dictatorial. Thus he lost his chance.
Then after graduation, a Texan Navy Pilot was courting me. Everything looked good, even my stand-in guardians approved of him. After I decided not to attend University of Texas as a graduate student, I left the States abruptly. I figured, if you are a pilot, flying to the far east would not really be impossible. There were my home address and phone number in the student records. My guardians who were very fond of me did come for a visit a year later. Poor, defeated guy just gave up. If he had wanted to, my guardians would have given him the information. Well, it was not meant to be. Until today, his photo still resides in my student album. My youngest, who is a romantic, looked at his eyes wistfully and wondered aloud that had I married him, would she have blue eyes? Genetically speaking, most unlikely. She became very disappointed. Well, if she really wanted to, she could marry a Scandinavian and hope for the best in the eye colour of her offspring.
Then, choosing between my present husband and another suitor, I took my mum's advice. Looking back, it was smart and practical of me. The loser looked better, had a higher education and a better job than my choice of a partner. The only thing against him was his wealth and his father's three wives. Or maybe I should say one legal wife and two concubines. With money, it is quite acceptable socially here to have one proper and legally wed wife, then progressively other lesser female who agreed to various arrangements in the sixties, seventies ...
Now I have many grown children. My husband is reasonably good to me. Of course he is not perfect. But neither am I. Finally I am free to write as I wish because my free time is mine. I doubt things would have been like this easy if I picked any of the above men. Perhaps as a Hong Kong wife, all my working hours (would be long in a restaurant) would be occupied, all free time might be spent organising mah-jong parties for family and relatives. As a Navy pilot wife, overseas bases would be my home around the world, that is, if he lives. Otherwise I might have been a military widow. Alternatively, life as a Chinese daughter-in-law to three mothers-out-laws would surely be no fun.
So, you see, thank you very much. I have absolutely no regrets. I am happy with my present, only life.
( 1106)Two Surnames One Family
Oh Young Siew (a famous scholar in the Chin Dynasty) wrote:
“Among Court Officials, friends and gangsters, from ancient times there is a
saying: to determine if a person could be trusted; we have to differentiate between
a gentleman or a rouge.” In the declining years of the Eastern Han Dynasty,
Liu, Kwan and Chong became brothers after the ceremony in the peach orchard.
All three clans desired to bring back Han rule with totally united efforts in their
attempts. That happened more than one thousand years ago. Among the
Overseas Chinese community, the three clans united to organise clansmen
association in the state of Melaka in Peninsular Malaysia. Folks from all three surnames gathered in
one hall, funds were raised to help the poorer brethren’s children to continue
their education. Descendants of all three branches are friendly to one
and all, there is funding to assist those who require short term welfare assistance
to get on their own two feet under certain adverse circumstances. Such organisations
are vibrant, active, fulfilling the vital needs of the first and
second generation of immigrants.
In 1865, Hong Siew Chuen failed in toppling the Ching Dynasty. Many of the revolutionary volunteers from the South of China ran to South East Asia. My ancestor Lo Kam Sheng was only twelve years old, he bought a child ship ticket and left his hometown Da Shen (Big Victory). He landed in Singapore and started to earn his own living. Even at that tender age, he was a strong and persistent person. He had a very definite idea of how he wanted to live his life. Probably because of previous trauma, he stopped communicating with his nearest and dearest in China. Throughout his life, he was no longer interested in whatever that happened in China. For most of his life after age twelve he lived in the southern tip of colonial Malaya, now known as Desaru in the state of Johor. With the help of immigrant workers from China, he cleared virgin rain forest in that part of the coast. He worked hard and long, he was extremely frugal in building his land holdings. He and his band planted coconut and rubber trees as pioneers in the area then known as Pengarang. As his children were still young, he lacked workers he could depend on. With little capital and limited hands, it was by no means an easy undertaking to attempt such a vast and dangerous project. There were tigers and other big animals prowling in the forest then.
In 1904, Lo met Choo Siang Aun who left China to seek his fortune in Malaya. Lo appreciated the fact that Choo was trustworthy and honest. The former suggested that they become brothers by a religious ceremony. Thereafter both were of one heart and one mind. Each took care of tasks that he was good at. After more than a decade of diligence, co-operation and persistent effort, they were able to achieve some of what they had hoped for. Unfortunately, Choo and his wife lost all of their children in infancy; they seemed unable to beget descendants. Lo gave his second and third sons, Chen Sieng and Chen Yu, to the Choos. After ensuring succession, they continued to work together to expand their estates. By 1925, Lo was old and sickly, his days on earth drew to an end and he passed on at age 73.
The following year in 1926, Choo fell ill due to overwork and worries, he had lost his able partner who used to shoulder most of the headaches and difficult decisions. Medicine could only do that much for someone who had lost heart. He lived a short 63 years. At that time the entire clan lost both their leaders, between ten to twenty land titles were all held by the Choo family. It took the elders in the village much persuasive efforts before the main house and the surrounding land (14 acres) planted with coconut and rubber trees to be transferred to the Lo family. People with two surnames continued to work together earning their living, no one uttered a word of complaint.
Chen Sieng (the second son of Lo given to Choo) held the most land titles, all in he had 22 acres of rubber plantation. Chen Yu (the third son given to Choo) held only 8 acres of rubber land. After their adopted father passed away, it was a time of world wide economic downturn. Rubber prices dropped, both brothers were not able to manage their holdings as expertly as their father. A few years down the line, one by one the land grant was sold by the Choo family. Chen Sieng was an opium addict, he spent more time in bed on drugs than taking care of his land and financial affairs. Chen Yu sold everything and returned to China. He signed up as a soldier under Captain Chai Ting Kai. He died as a Chinese hero fighting the battle against the Japanese along the Wangpu River near Shanghai. Chen Sieng and Chen Yu jointly left only Choo Choon Fow, who was also known as Choo Siow Kang in China. It is most unfortunate that instead of prospering, that genetic line shrunk over the years. It could reflect back to the adoptive parents, Chinese cultural belief states that according to the Law of Sowing and Reaping, good deeds would lead to good returns. Only kind and generous behaviour would beget blessings.
We, the choos and the Los, were like one big family. The male members were like brothers. The ladies were like sisters. Seldom did conflict arise. Living together, working at each person's assigned work, co-operation lasted for three generations. Right up until the Japanese Surrender in 1945, did the clans separate into two households. Until today, more than four decades have passed. The Choo and the Lo would visit one another through the years. While the Choos were having difficulties in China during the lean famine years of Great Leap Forward, the Lo family in Malaysia would send whatever financial help they could. Requested by Choo Siang Aun's grand nephew Choo Choon Her, I took up a pen to document a brief history of our forebear. The aim is to explain what went on before, with the hope that the next generation would continue the friendly relationship. A Chinese proverb states: a harmonious family would prosper in all ways, but a family facing adverse circumstances usually lives among contentious disharmony. It is therefore wiser to cultivate harmony, not to be over calculative, work for the common good and build up each other's future while not forgetting one's roots.
Written in olden Chinese by one of the Lo descendants in 1998
Translated by the rambler
Thursday, June 6, 2019
(1107) Under Orders by Dick Francis
This is a second book by Dick Francis that I blog on. His books are immensely readable. This is his 30th novel, after the death of his beloved wife. His son took over the research role from his deceased mum, encouraging his father to continue writing after a break of five years.
I like the fact that Sid struggled with having an artificial arm. Somehow super heroes do not attract me. A handicap hero is more human. Although his wife divorced him, after a few years he won the love of an exotic woman in science from a foreign country. I know, that sounded suspect alright. But how can you fault a man whose ex father-in-law still continue to befriend him years after his daughter's divorce?
In the story, Peter Enstone was a man much bullied and cowed by his father who was a successful, titled man. I can remember a similar young man I met in Silver City. I used to teach his younger brother. As the older brother was of driving age. he was often asked to drive my pupil to lessons in my house and much later to my neighbour's house. My pupil struck up friendship with the two neighbourhood sisters about the same age as he was. Years after I moved out of the city, my former pupil and his brother were still friends with the two sisters. Interestingly, the young man who was then at college age would visit the two girls' mother because she often had time on her hand and was gracious enough to have kind thoughts and encouraging words for him.
My son did ask me once if there was anything indelicate between the two. Reflecting back, I doubted it. It was just that: while my neighbour was beaten off and on by her husband, the young man was tortured emotionally day after day by his dad. They found out about the fact that they were both victims through the years. You see, there were three children under the age of 10, they said anything that came to their minds with no hesitation and the two adults were older and clear-eyed enough to read into what was being said in passing.
It is interesting that the lady was a former lawyer and the young man was qualifying as a medical doctor. So we can see that wife abuse and child abuse cross all social and economic barriers.
I like the fact that Sid struggled with having an artificial arm. Somehow super heroes do not attract me. A handicap hero is more human. Although his wife divorced him, after a few years he won the love of an exotic woman in science from a foreign country. I know, that sounded suspect alright. But how can you fault a man whose ex father-in-law still continue to befriend him years after his daughter's divorce?
In the story, Peter Enstone was a man much bullied and cowed by his father who was a successful, titled man. I can remember a similar young man I met in Silver City. I used to teach his younger brother. As the older brother was of driving age. he was often asked to drive my pupil to lessons in my house and much later to my neighbour's house. My pupil struck up friendship with the two neighbourhood sisters about the same age as he was. Years after I moved out of the city, my former pupil and his brother were still friends with the two sisters. Interestingly, the young man who was then at college age would visit the two girls' mother because she often had time on her hand and was gracious enough to have kind thoughts and encouraging words for him.
My son did ask me once if there was anything indelicate between the two. Reflecting back, I doubted it. It was just that: while my neighbour was beaten off and on by her husband, the young man was tortured emotionally day after day by his dad. They found out about the fact that they were both victims through the years. You see, there were three children under the age of 10, they said anything that came to their minds with no hesitation and the two adults were older and clear-eyed enough to read into what was being said in passing.
It is interesting that the lady was a former lawyer and the young man was qualifying as a medical doctor. So we can see that wife abuse and child abuse cross all social and economic barriers.
(1105) Dress Code for Men in a Government office
Yesterday I heard this story. Without revealing any name or place, I'll try and relate it.
Amy lost her biological mother. The deceased lived a full life, was very happy with her second husband of many years. The daughter decided to take on the last maid who served her mother well. According to the agent in that state, there was no way to transfer a maid mid contract. Therefore they took the maid unofficially to a northern state 400 Km away, with the consent of the contractual employer, a step brother called Larry. Both new employer and maid knew that should the maid be caught in a public place, she would be deported back to Indonesia.
A year passed very quickly. Soon the maid was up for renewal. Larry is a nice guy, he agreed to renew the contract and accordingly turned up at the immigration office. It was a shock to find that he could not enter the office because he was in Bermuda shorts. To put the situation in perspective, I must state that Larry had chosen not to drive. He went to that immigration office with his usual taxi driver, who was going to return in one and a half hours' time to take him home. Instead of returning without accomplishing what he set out to do, he asked if he could borrow a pair of long pants. The security guard showed him a sarong - like a long skirt with unsewn top which the wearer was supposed to twist and knot tightly around the waist. Now Larry is a guy who would rather be dead than to wear a skirt in public. He eyed the security guard's waist and bottom and asked if he could borrow that pair of pants for an hour or two, of course the borrower would pay the lender for his inconvenience.
Thus properly attired, Larry went in to conduct his business. At the happy conclusion of obtaining the desired new contract, he went to the male toilet and changed pants with the happy lender who was given ten dollars for his trouble. This is an interesting episode, I laughed and laughed while listening to the narration of the anecdote. This is just one of many things we chose to laugh about in a country that veered closer and closer to Islamic rule through the decades. For the many years of borrowing books in the Silver City Town Council Library, I had to permanently place a jacket in my car just in case I absent-mindedly wore a sleeveless blouse to the library. It is often scorching hot in the afternoons here round the year. That was about twenty years ago while my children were young. Now I am rather surprised to hear that even men are affected by this dress code. My! I am glad that I am going to be in Borneo soon, far away from this kind of petty rules.
Amy lost her biological mother. The deceased lived a full life, was very happy with her second husband of many years. The daughter decided to take on the last maid who served her mother well. According to the agent in that state, there was no way to transfer a maid mid contract. Therefore they took the maid unofficially to a northern state 400 Km away, with the consent of the contractual employer, a step brother called Larry. Both new employer and maid knew that should the maid be caught in a public place, she would be deported back to Indonesia.
A year passed very quickly. Soon the maid was up for renewal. Larry is a nice guy, he agreed to renew the contract and accordingly turned up at the immigration office. It was a shock to find that he could not enter the office because he was in Bermuda shorts. To put the situation in perspective, I must state that Larry had chosen not to drive. He went to that immigration office with his usual taxi driver, who was going to return in one and a half hours' time to take him home. Instead of returning without accomplishing what he set out to do, he asked if he could borrow a pair of long pants. The security guard showed him a sarong - like a long skirt with unsewn top which the wearer was supposed to twist and knot tightly around the waist. Now Larry is a guy who would rather be dead than to wear a skirt in public. He eyed the security guard's waist and bottom and asked if he could borrow that pair of pants for an hour or two, of course the borrower would pay the lender for his inconvenience.
Thus properly attired, Larry went in to conduct his business. At the happy conclusion of obtaining the desired new contract, he went to the male toilet and changed pants with the happy lender who was given ten dollars for his trouble. This is an interesting episode, I laughed and laughed while listening to the narration of the anecdote. This is just one of many things we chose to laugh about in a country that veered closer and closer to Islamic rule through the decades. For the many years of borrowing books in the Silver City Town Council Library, I had to permanently place a jacket in my car just in case I absent-mindedly wore a sleeveless blouse to the library. It is often scorching hot in the afternoons here round the year. That was about twenty years ago while my children were young. Now I am rather surprised to hear that even men are affected by this dress code. My! I am glad that I am going to be in Borneo soon, far away from this kind of petty rules.
(1104) The Husband by Dean Koontz
I am like in the Aladdin's cave, choosing one gem from lots of jewels. I am either scanning or speed reading to put up as many blogs as 8 days allow. After blogging for many years, I realized that it was the book reviews that brought me new readers that decided to stay with me. Thanks to my children who set up page counters, flag counters and other widgets. As folks follow my blog, I roughly know how many unique readers that have visited this blog from which country. At this point, India is the country that is going to overtake Malaysia in both the page count as well as the number of unique readers. I am excited!
I enjoyed reading Koontz's book. To be honest, I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I were to read it leisurely at home. But well, I am thankful for this opportunity to read, write and not have to housekeep. As an author, I look at his plot and am amazed at how he twisted things from one page to the next. Maybe there is a need for a convoluted mind to write suspense stories. I simply do not have that. And therefore I would not attempt to write one.
How many husbands would risk his life to save his wife? Not many, I guess. I suppose I am extremely fortunate that when I was near death, my husband fasted many days for my recovery. When my weight was near the absolute minimum, it would have been very easy to stop eating, take the drugs prescribed and sleep away to eternity. Yet at that crunch point, I chose to eat five meals a day and fought. A year later, when I sensed alienation in general for my first published work in paper; I realized why I would rather store the manuscript for 36 years through 11 moves than risk publication. Blogging is a very safe medium. Nobody pays a cent to read my work, therefore no one cares to say much one way or another.
I enjoyed reading Koontz's book. To be honest, I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I were to read it leisurely at home. But well, I am thankful for this opportunity to read, write and not have to housekeep. As an author, I look at his plot and am amazed at how he twisted things from one page to the next. Maybe there is a need for a convoluted mind to write suspense stories. I simply do not have that. And therefore I would not attempt to write one.
How many husbands would risk his life to save his wife? Not many, I guess. I suppose I am extremely fortunate that when I was near death, my husband fasted many days for my recovery. When my weight was near the absolute minimum, it would have been very easy to stop eating, take the drugs prescribed and sleep away to eternity. Yet at that crunch point, I chose to eat five meals a day and fought. A year later, when I sensed alienation in general for my first published work in paper; I realized why I would rather store the manuscript for 36 years through 11 moves than risk publication. Blogging is a very safe medium. Nobody pays a cent to read my work, therefore no one cares to say much one way or another.
Wednesday, June 5, 2019
(1103) Cambodia's Curse by Joel Brinkley
I am on one of my writing breaks in Silver City. My host loaned me this book. Although most of the time I choose to read fiction, I flipped through this book reading only the sections that caught my eyes.
Here I confessed that I have not been to Cambodia. Although my church Sunday School teachers have been to Burma, Laos and Cambodia for years, I have not thought of spending my hard saved funds to travel so far. While I lived in Silver City, I have been to Southern and Northern Thailand a number times teaching English in Camps for orphans. Now that I reside in the capital, my efforts have been diverted to Borneo.
I do have a cousin who have been to Cambodia yearly for at least ten times. She had served in every possible capacity on mission trips: teaching, speaking, encouraging, visitation, child care, food preparation, cooking, washing dishes, praying... When I asked her why Cambodia, she had to think for awhile before replying: she loves the gentle and simple people there.
Here in the above book I read that Cambodia not only went through successive wars and genocide, even after two years of UN peacekeeping and transitional governance, the entrenched corruption still went on. While it was possible for Japan, Germany, and South Korea to rebuild and enter into democratic and stable rule; it did not work for Cambodia. At the time of publication of the above mentioned book, Cambodia was the poorest country in Asia. Yet, by the turn of the 14th century, Angkor was then the largest city in the world. This city, the seat of the throne then, had a population approaching 1 million people living on a tract of land more than twice the size of Los Angeles.
Here I confessed that I have not been to Cambodia. Although my church Sunday School teachers have been to Burma, Laos and Cambodia for years, I have not thought of spending my hard saved funds to travel so far. While I lived in Silver City, I have been to Southern and Northern Thailand a number times teaching English in Camps for orphans. Now that I reside in the capital, my efforts have been diverted to Borneo.
I do have a cousin who have been to Cambodia yearly for at least ten times. She had served in every possible capacity on mission trips: teaching, speaking, encouraging, visitation, child care, food preparation, cooking, washing dishes, praying... When I asked her why Cambodia, she had to think for awhile before replying: she loves the gentle and simple people there.
Here in the above book I read that Cambodia not only went through successive wars and genocide, even after two years of UN peacekeeping and transitional governance, the entrenched corruption still went on. While it was possible for Japan, Germany, and South Korea to rebuild and enter into democratic and stable rule; it did not work for Cambodia. At the time of publication of the above mentioned book, Cambodia was the poorest country in Asia. Yet, by the turn of the 14th century, Angkor was then the largest city in the world. This city, the seat of the throne then, had a population approaching 1 million people living on a tract of land more than twice the size of Los Angeles.
Tuesday, June 4, 2019
(1102) Mercy by Jodi Picoult
Mercy Killing is still illegal in most countries. I guess if the law allows someone to kill another because the second is sick, all sorts of scenario might pop up. It is far safer to keep the Pandora box tightly closed.
While Jodi did a good job bringing the reader through the killing up to the acquittal, I actually found the marital discord between Cam, the police chief, and Allie much more compelling. It is interesting that Mia finally lit off. And the book did not end with a divorce and each partner starting over.
In real life, I think I saw my old friend's husband on a date with a young associate in a kind of pizza joint in a shopping centre far off the bitten track. No, I did not confront him. I stayed in my corner, ate my meal and walked off quietly while he had eyes only for her, she was a good twenty five years younger than him. I told my husband that I was not sure it was him. Until today I did not say a word to his wife.
He was a millionaire many times over. She had her own inherited wealth. I know she loved him much more than he felt for her. Even though she declared in public that she wanted to know the facts if her husband two timed her and that she would divorce him, I honestly doubt if she would. So it is really better that she does not know.
One man, Jamie, might love his Maggie enough to spare her a long, painful death. He was willing to risk going to prison for ten years or so. Allie probably loved Cam enough to forgive him as long as Mia no longer complicated the situation. The ending pointed to Allie taking Cam back in time to come.
While Jodi did a good job bringing the reader through the killing up to the acquittal, I actually found the marital discord between Cam, the police chief, and Allie much more compelling. It is interesting that Mia finally lit off. And the book did not end with a divorce and each partner starting over.
In real life, I think I saw my old friend's husband on a date with a young associate in a kind of pizza joint in a shopping centre far off the bitten track. No, I did not confront him. I stayed in my corner, ate my meal and walked off quietly while he had eyes only for her, she was a good twenty five years younger than him. I told my husband that I was not sure it was him. Until today I did not say a word to his wife.
He was a millionaire many times over. She had her own inherited wealth. I know she loved him much more than he felt for her. Even though she declared in public that she wanted to know the facts if her husband two timed her and that she would divorce him, I honestly doubt if she would. So it is really better that she does not know.
One man, Jamie, might love his Maggie enough to spare her a long, painful death. He was willing to risk going to prison for ten years or so. Allie probably loved Cam enough to forgive him as long as Mia no longer complicated the situation. The ending pointed to Allie taking Cam back in time to come.
(1101) Lone Wolf by Jodi Picoult
This is a book that explores the area of what a person does if a patient is unlikely to recover. Do we keep the life-sustaining machines on? Do we follow the patient's written will, if any, do we follow the legal next-of-kin's desire or take into consideration a minor, but a family member who probably knows the patient more in the immediate years prior to the accident that led to the medical dilemma?
Personally, my father-in-law was in a public hospital brain dead after a major operation. His children and his wife all agreed to switching off the machine. By the time his son who lived on the other side of the globe arrived, the deceased was being placed in a body bag to be removed to the mortuary. When I brought my children to see him for the last time in the ICU, he was breathing and warm to our touch. Although he was in a coma, he looked like he was asleep.
Another person I knew also went into a coma, I think it was after a major stroke. His family kept him alive for weeks on the machine. It must have cost a bomb. It usually costs about one thousand dollars per day in the ICU in a private hospital in this country. Lots of folks went to pray for the patient's miraculous recovery. Finally, after more than a year in a nursing home with around-the-clock nursing care and a host of machine assistance, he stopped breathing without ever regaining consciousness.
The overt reaction to the above two cases is : my sister-in-law and her husband both signed documents called the living wills. Such document gives the children or next-of-kin legal right to switch off machines so that the estate of the persons in coma would not be depleted by enormous hospital bills.
For me personally, I need not write such a will, I have zero medical insurance. If and when I were to go into an ICU, it would be in a government hospital. Since life sustaining machines are severely limited in numbers in any government hospital, what happened in case number two would technically be an improbable scenario.
Personally, my father-in-law was in a public hospital brain dead after a major operation. His children and his wife all agreed to switching off the machine. By the time his son who lived on the other side of the globe arrived, the deceased was being placed in a body bag to be removed to the mortuary. When I brought my children to see him for the last time in the ICU, he was breathing and warm to our touch. Although he was in a coma, he looked like he was asleep.
Another person I knew also went into a coma, I think it was after a major stroke. His family kept him alive for weeks on the machine. It must have cost a bomb. It usually costs about one thousand dollars per day in the ICU in a private hospital in this country. Lots of folks went to pray for the patient's miraculous recovery. Finally, after more than a year in a nursing home with around-the-clock nursing care and a host of machine assistance, he stopped breathing without ever regaining consciousness.
The overt reaction to the above two cases is : my sister-in-law and her husband both signed documents called the living wills. Such document gives the children or next-of-kin legal right to switch off machines so that the estate of the persons in coma would not be depleted by enormous hospital bills.
For me personally, I need not write such a will, I have zero medical insurance. If and when I were to go into an ICU, it would be in a government hospital. Since life sustaining machines are severely limited in numbers in any government hospital, what happened in case number two would technically be an improbable scenario.
(1100) Lost and Found by Jacqueline Sheehan
The version I read came from Reader's Digest condensed books.
If I am collecting canine stories helping at risk-folks for publication, this story will go into the first round of selection. It is just amazing to me how her deceased husband's joke about her as a life guard would lead to her being able to save his life bringing consequences at his demise. After all, it is just a joke, he was trying to make conversation with a beautiful young woman whom he hoped was going to become his wife.
Roxanne, the new widow in the book who happened to be a psychologist, took a leave of absence and headed to an island and started life anew as a part-time animal control warden. I guess her experience as her husband's veterinary assistant barely enabled her to cope with the cases she encountered on the small island. Time, friends and the non-threatening love of an injured dog brought her around. As in any story worth a rereading, it ended after some danger and an unlikely hero saved the day.
If I am collecting canine stories helping at risk-folks for publication, this story will go into the first round of selection. It is just amazing to me how her deceased husband's joke about her as a life guard would lead to her being able to save his life bringing consequences at his demise. After all, it is just a joke, he was trying to make conversation with a beautiful young woman whom he hoped was going to become his wife.
Roxanne, the new widow in the book who happened to be a psychologist, took a leave of absence and headed to an island and started life anew as a part-time animal control warden. I guess her experience as her husband's veterinary assistant barely enabled her to cope with the cases she encountered on the small island. Time, friends and the non-threatening love of an injured dog brought her around. As in any story worth a rereading, it ended after some danger and an unlikely hero saved the day.
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
(1099) Interesting way to fund a building project
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.
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.
(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.
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