After the first intern left, a second one appeared. She was quiet, hard working and I seldom see her visiting the loo.
One day I returned from lunch and walked into the Accounts Office. Rosyati was not there. I was about to leave when the second intern popped up from behind her desk. She was actually eating her home brought lunch seated on the carpeted floor. As she put down her food container on the desk, walked into the inner office to pick up what Rosyat left for me, I saw that she was eating white rice with table salt.
The next morning I mentioned my observation to Rosyati. She was not surprised as state colleges do not pay the interns at all. The next few days I noticed Rosyati bringing refrigerated left overs from dinner, placing the food in small containers next to the sunlit windows. She simply cooked extra to feed her diligent helper.
Over the next days, this intern told me she came from the interior. There is a relative working near our college. She obtained permission to sleep in a narrow space in one room with four other girls. In exchange for the space, she washed the clothes of her roommates. There is no food preparation space nor cooking facilities. She paid a housewife nearby four dollars a day for food. In the morning she ate boiled bananas. Lunch would be rice with vegetables unless the lady was serving meat for dinner. Then she has a meagre lunch of white rice with salt. To a girl from the village far from the city, it was not undue hardship. This is actually the last hurdle for her, if she successfully completes the internship, she could graduate and get a paying job.
Monday, September 16, 2019
(1157) Intern 1
My grandma had many Hakka proverbs. One of them is "lan yan toh si liu". It basically states that lazy people has lots of toilet breaks.
That illustrated an intern in the community college I worked in four years ago. My desk was about ten feet away from the toilet entrance. If I care to, I could keep a log of my colleague's breaks. To be fair, most folks were conscientious. One Friday I stayed behind to enter marks into my register. Those tabulated results had to be submitted on Monday morning. Since scoring English papers took time, I couldn't have done it any earlier.
I was surprised to see my colleague from the Accounts Department. Office hours were eight to four, Monday to Friday. Rosyati confessed that she stayed to fill in forms from her Intern's college. No, this particular intern is no help at all. The latter was willing but very careless. Instead of assigning work to the intern and having to check line by line, the supervisor would rather leave the girl to menial tasks with lots of free time. That explained the frequent toilet visits. Well, a girl had to apply lipstick, wash hands, pat the hair blown and disarrayed by air-conditioner...
That illustrated an intern in the community college I worked in four years ago. My desk was about ten feet away from the toilet entrance. If I care to, I could keep a log of my colleague's breaks. To be fair, most folks were conscientious. One Friday I stayed behind to enter marks into my register. Those tabulated results had to be submitted on Monday morning. Since scoring English papers took time, I couldn't have done it any earlier.
I was surprised to see my colleague from the Accounts Department. Office hours were eight to four, Monday to Friday. Rosyati confessed that she stayed to fill in forms from her Intern's college. No, this particular intern is no help at all. The latter was willing but very careless. Instead of assigning work to the intern and having to check line by line, the supervisor would rather leave the girl to menial tasks with lots of free time. That explained the frequent toilet visits. Well, a girl had to apply lipstick, wash hands, pat the hair blown and disarrayed by air-conditioner...
(1156) Unpaid slave
There is a young man I met here a few years ago. At that point of time he was hoping to improve his English so that he could qualify to work in New Zealand.
Considering the fact that he has English-speaking parents and he has undergone 15 years of formal education, it is surprising that he could not present himself in fluent English nor could he pass a professional English examination.
Reality is such that he ended up looking after his family enterprise in town. His parents happily left Borneo to live in the capital city across South China Sea. After all, his four other siblings all made it economically over there.
Living in a 5 room family home and driving four cars in turn does not make life attractive here. It is a good thing that he found himself a girl friend quite easily. Looking at his style of dressing and hair cut, I wonder if it was his mum or girl friend cutting his hair. It is quite possible that he does not draw any salary but lives on a stipend. One of my husband's university housemates worked for five years in his family foundry business without drawing any salary. His wife was furious with him that she applied for immigration. Eventually she pulled him to Australia.
There are many good traits and values among the Chinese. However, I must say that belonging to a business-running family means many potential pitfalls. Bad members enrich themselves but good members remain poor and dependent. It is almost like being a family unpaid slave.
Considering the fact that he has English-speaking parents and he has undergone 15 years of formal education, it is surprising that he could not present himself in fluent English nor could he pass a professional English examination.
Reality is such that he ended up looking after his family enterprise in town. His parents happily left Borneo to live in the capital city across South China Sea. After all, his four other siblings all made it economically over there.
Living in a 5 room family home and driving four cars in turn does not make life attractive here. It is a good thing that he found himself a girl friend quite easily. Looking at his style of dressing and hair cut, I wonder if it was his mum or girl friend cutting his hair. It is quite possible that he does not draw any salary but lives on a stipend. One of my husband's university housemates worked for five years in his family foundry business without drawing any salary. His wife was furious with him that she applied for immigration. Eventually she pulled him to Australia.
There are many good traits and values among the Chinese. However, I must say that belonging to a business-running family means many potential pitfalls. Bad members enrich themselves but good members remain poor and dependent. It is almost like being a family unpaid slave.
(1155) A future nurse
There is a young woman I met in Seldorado. Her parents took her out of main stream education quite early. She was sent away to board at an International School across the sea. Things did not work out, she came home to struggle on her self education online for quite a few years.
She has two other siblings who went through the Australian tertiary educational system. Most people would expect her to make it to university. It is a little surprising that she instead qualified for nursing college.
Considering the fact that she didn't get a satisfactory grade in the national language and needed to do an extra year before Form 1, I wasn't surprised that she has had great difficulty qualifying in English. Yes, I would agree that Mandarin is important for this generation. I know that Saudi Arabia introduced Chinese as a compulsory second language in the kingdom. Yet we must be realistic that not every student from Chinese Primary school would transition into English tertiary education with ease.
Personally I am surprised that her parents would put her into nursing. Even if getting an Aussie resident permit is paramount, nursing for an ethnic Chinese girl in a white country would not be exactly a bed of roses.
One of my childhood friends qualified as a nurse when her children were grown. The statistics she quoted of health, mortality, family life ... of nurses who rotated on shifts in Australia is troubling at best. She herself opted to practise as a private day shift nurse, happily foregoing the night shift allowance. As soon as she is qualified to care for the aged, she works in nursing homes specialising in weekends and holidays to maximise her income.
Call me pessimistic, but I really think this couple is tempting fate by placing their only daughter into nursing. I think of the nurses who died in Hong Kong, Singapore and Johor during the last SARS outbreak.
She has two other siblings who went through the Australian tertiary educational system. Most people would expect her to make it to university. It is a little surprising that she instead qualified for nursing college.
Considering the fact that she didn't get a satisfactory grade in the national language and needed to do an extra year before Form 1, I wasn't surprised that she has had great difficulty qualifying in English. Yes, I would agree that Mandarin is important for this generation. I know that Saudi Arabia introduced Chinese as a compulsory second language in the kingdom. Yet we must be realistic that not every student from Chinese Primary school would transition into English tertiary education with ease.
Personally I am surprised that her parents would put her into nursing. Even if getting an Aussie resident permit is paramount, nursing for an ethnic Chinese girl in a white country would not be exactly a bed of roses.
One of my childhood friends qualified as a nurse when her children were grown. The statistics she quoted of health, mortality, family life ... of nurses who rotated on shifts in Australia is troubling at best. She herself opted to practise as a private day shift nurse, happily foregoing the night shift allowance. As soon as she is qualified to care for the aged, she works in nursing homes specialising in weekends and holidays to maximise her income.
Call me pessimistic, but I really think this couple is tempting fate by placing their only daughter into nursing. I think of the nurses who died in Hong Kong, Singapore and Johor during the last SARS outbreak.
(1154) Medical camp to the interior
During the last three-day weekend I joined a medical camp visiting an interior area in the state. Vehicles that could go off road came from Kota Kinabalu, Sandakan, Lahad Datu and Tawau. Medical doctors, dentists and nurses went along to treat the village folks for free. Rich men underwritten the medicine that costs about fifteen thousand dollars. Ordinary folks like me donate and collect clean usable clothes for distribution. Drivers collect money amongst themselves and pack goodie bags for children under 12 years. People of means from various religious background donate essential food: rice, noodle, salt, cooking oil, milo, coffee powder, milk powder...
This particular trip there were not enough volunteers, so I don't see de lice cream being applied. I went along with the chief cook and all the implements for cooking were stacked behind our packed vehicle. After about five hours on the road, we stopped along a shady road and had a picnic lunch of white rice and fried fish. Some thoughtful individual from KK brought some sambal belachan - chilli paste cooked with onion, garlic, shrimp paste with seasoning. The delicious addition made a whole lot of difference to an ordinary meal.
During the first night it rained cats and dogs for hours. Some younger volunteers had to pull their sleeping bags from the open grandstands to go into suffocating tents as the rain drove out a whole host of centipedes, worms, scorpions... from the field up the wooden grand stand steps. It was scorching hot the next day. The medical team did a roaring business of over 350 registered patients. I processed the used clothing with my team mates. Mixed clothes of different age group and gender were tied into bundles of about 6 to 10 pieces depending on thickness. In the morning we distributed one bundle per family. By about two pm the visitors trickled down. We then give each person who went through the medical and dental stations one bundle each. Clothes run out by 3:20pm and the last batch who arrived in estate vehicle meant for palm oil fruits didn't get any.
On the third day I arrived home at 5:40pm totally tired out by the long journey on terrible roads of mud and stones. It was akin to being beaten all over the bones, all that being bounced over the seat restrained by seat belt did produce muscular pain.
This particular trip there were not enough volunteers, so I don't see de lice cream being applied. I went along with the chief cook and all the implements for cooking were stacked behind our packed vehicle. After about five hours on the road, we stopped along a shady road and had a picnic lunch of white rice and fried fish. Some thoughtful individual from KK brought some sambal belachan - chilli paste cooked with onion, garlic, shrimp paste with seasoning. The delicious addition made a whole lot of difference to an ordinary meal.
During the first night it rained cats and dogs for hours. Some younger volunteers had to pull their sleeping bags from the open grandstands to go into suffocating tents as the rain drove out a whole host of centipedes, worms, scorpions... from the field up the wooden grand stand steps. It was scorching hot the next day. The medical team did a roaring business of over 350 registered patients. I processed the used clothing with my team mates. Mixed clothes of different age group and gender were tied into bundles of about 6 to 10 pieces depending on thickness. In the morning we distributed one bundle per family. By about two pm the visitors trickled down. We then give each person who went through the medical and dental stations one bundle each. Clothes run out by 3:20pm and the last batch who arrived in estate vehicle meant for palm oil fruits didn't get any.
On the third day I arrived home at 5:40pm totally tired out by the long journey on terrible roads of mud and stones. It was akin to being beaten all over the bones, all that being bounced over the seat restrained by seat belt did produce muscular pain.
Sunday, September 1, 2019
(1153) Training ground
Here I am, sitting on a plastic chair in a corridor of a shop lot, enjoying the breeze from the front to the back. It is hot! As most coastal folks know, the temperature could be higher than the concrete jungle of mega cities. Yet there are little mercies of the land and the sea breeze.
There are many things to be thankful for. Firstly there is hardly any mosquitoes here. Yet in this town there were seven deaths of young men in the month of July, 2019 of Dengue Fever, mostly those living in the Dengue hot spots.
This residence is the perfect location. It is within comfortable walking distance from two supermarkets, McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pizza Hut, Domino, Starbucks and the main road where there are many mini buses plying the route to every corner of the town.
It is a relatively safe area. I have been walking around early in the morning until my soup noodle waitress gently reminded me not to walk about before 7am.
Yet it is hard to live here long term. There is only one tap where the water could be yellow. There is no kitchen sink. Plumbing in the area is shocking. For a most expensive and desirable residence area comparable to Bangsar in Kuala Lumpur, waste water often could not go out. Those who deal with this area suspect the waste water and the sewerage fight to go out the same channel. We somehow manage to live with keeping waste water in buckets and pouring it manually out of the window into the gutter drain on the ledge.
Anyway, we are not complaining about the low rental. I suppose it is good training ground for later life in the interior area where there would be no pipe water nor grid electricity.
Thank God for cafes where I could order a drink and sit here the whole afternoon to blog.
There are many things to be thankful for. Firstly there is hardly any mosquitoes here. Yet in this town there were seven deaths of young men in the month of July, 2019 of Dengue Fever, mostly those living in the Dengue hot spots.
This residence is the perfect location. It is within comfortable walking distance from two supermarkets, McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pizza Hut, Domino, Starbucks and the main road where there are many mini buses plying the route to every corner of the town.
It is a relatively safe area. I have been walking around early in the morning until my soup noodle waitress gently reminded me not to walk about before 7am.
Yet it is hard to live here long term. There is only one tap where the water could be yellow. There is no kitchen sink. Plumbing in the area is shocking. For a most expensive and desirable residence area comparable to Bangsar in Kuala Lumpur, waste water often could not go out. Those who deal with this area suspect the waste water and the sewerage fight to go out the same channel. We somehow manage to live with keeping waste water in buckets and pouring it manually out of the window into the gutter drain on the ledge.
Anyway, we are not complaining about the low rental. I suppose it is good training ground for later life in the interior area where there would be no pipe water nor grid electricity.
Thank God for cafes where I could order a drink and sit here the whole afternoon to blog.
(1152) Money Laundering
A shop was being renovated. Day by day the noise level escalated. Lo and behold, the workers were making tables by hand from scratch. Some metallic lengths were being cut to exacting lengths and welded together to form the frames of tables. Then these frames were painted black. After that a piece of wooden board was fixed as table top. Last of all a zinc sheet was hammered to cover the top and the sides. There were at least five tables at first. In my heart, I was guessing: tutoring place? Eatery? Massage place? Charity feeding station?
A local dropped by and told my son that the shop was being let at $1,800 monthly rental. It is to be a restaurant with private rooms. The owner of the building suspected that the source of the capital is black money. The party concerned looked at the empty shop one day, then the next day the necessary two plus one deposit was handed to the landlord. It was no mean sum: 3x1800 plus electricity and water deposits. It was the speed that surprised the landlord. The exact amount came as cash before 12pm.
The locals believe that various people who have more cash than good for them were afraid of being caught red-handed. Hence the hurry to convert the cash into an enterprise. Why not purchase furniture? No, the business person has to avoid the paper trail. Renovators are not above receiving x amount as fee but give a bill of x-y dollars.
It will be interesting to note how a genuine business differs from a fake business. Along the same row there is a Malay eatery that works 6 and a half day. Not too far away there is a Chinese sea food restaurant that rests only on Mondays.
Long ago when my children were still young, we lived in Silver City. We used to patronise a bakery which supplied us with delicious buns at reasonable prices. Somehow it seemed like a fake business. It was a place of high rental returns. The bakery sells a low volume of limited range of products. It rests on all Wednesdays and every public holidays. Surprisingly it is still there today, 14 years after we left town.
******************************
2.9.2019
update
It turned out the business is more like a catering establishment. Sometimes they take off and rest on no definite days. Other times I see full activity after the usual closing time. Once I saw a young man opening the shop at 6:15am. Most of the helpers are in their teens. Sometimes when the chefs turned up, I saw toddlers and young children running about. From a safety point of view, it is almost criminal to allow children to run among boiling pots and plenty of fire whether from gas stoves or open charcoal barbeque stand.
No wonder a friend of mine who worked in the government hospital talked about three-year olds who swallowed insecticide, then the next year his sister came in with an over dose of multi vitamins. Two years later another younger sibling from the same family came with water burns that required skin grafting. Part of the trouble is the culture encouraged unlimited children. Should children die because of crime, drowning, accident or being kidnapped, the parents cried, accepted it fatalistically as God's will and move on to have a few more kids.
A local dropped by and told my son that the shop was being let at $1,800 monthly rental. It is to be a restaurant with private rooms. The owner of the building suspected that the source of the capital is black money. The party concerned looked at the empty shop one day, then the next day the necessary two plus one deposit was handed to the landlord. It was no mean sum: 3x1800 plus electricity and water deposits. It was the speed that surprised the landlord. The exact amount came as cash before 12pm.
The locals believe that various people who have more cash than good for them were afraid of being caught red-handed. Hence the hurry to convert the cash into an enterprise. Why not purchase furniture? No, the business person has to avoid the paper trail. Renovators are not above receiving x amount as fee but give a bill of x-y dollars.
It will be interesting to note how a genuine business differs from a fake business. Along the same row there is a Malay eatery that works 6 and a half day. Not too far away there is a Chinese sea food restaurant that rests only on Mondays.
Long ago when my children were still young, we lived in Silver City. We used to patronise a bakery which supplied us with delicious buns at reasonable prices. Somehow it seemed like a fake business. It was a place of high rental returns. The bakery sells a low volume of limited range of products. It rests on all Wednesdays and every public holidays. Surprisingly it is still there today, 14 years after we left town.
******************************
2.9.2019
update
It turned out the business is more like a catering establishment. Sometimes they take off and rest on no definite days. Other times I see full activity after the usual closing time. Once I saw a young man opening the shop at 6:15am. Most of the helpers are in their teens. Sometimes when the chefs turned up, I saw toddlers and young children running about. From a safety point of view, it is almost criminal to allow children to run among boiling pots and plenty of fire whether from gas stoves or open charcoal barbeque stand.
No wonder a friend of mine who worked in the government hospital talked about three-year olds who swallowed insecticide, then the next year his sister came in with an over dose of multi vitamins. Two years later another younger sibling from the same family came with water burns that required skin grafting. Part of the trouble is the culture encouraged unlimited children. Should children die because of crime, drowning, accident or being kidnapped, the parents cried, accepted it fatalistically as God's will and move on to have a few more kids.
(1151) Lightning steriliser
A second cousin of mine worked in China as a surgeon. One day, his colleague challenged him to help sterilise a house cat. After all, he was very used to sterilising thousands of women during those early years of one child policy.
Being young and resourceful, he brought the right tool to his colleague's house. It was the first time he visited the house. He walked casually into the sitting room and sized up the pet cat. it was a male. While his colleague fed the cat, my cousin the "lightning steriliser" used his sharp tool and cut the testis off cleanly. The cat yowled and ran out of the house. Later the cat owner found that there was no blood and the wound healed beautifully.
My niece found the story barbaric. But well, all parties won. The owner saved money. The surgeon who turned vet gained a good reputation. The cat could roam anywhere but no longer cause any more unwanted kittens to be born. Any lady cat who gets to know it well no longer would get pregnant. Not a bad situation at all.
Being young and resourceful, he brought the right tool to his colleague's house. It was the first time he visited the house. He walked casually into the sitting room and sized up the pet cat. it was a male. While his colleague fed the cat, my cousin the "lightning steriliser" used his sharp tool and cut the testis off cleanly. The cat yowled and ran out of the house. Later the cat owner found that there was no blood and the wound healed beautifully.
My niece found the story barbaric. But well, all parties won. The owner saved money. The surgeon who turned vet gained a good reputation. The cat could roam anywhere but no longer cause any more unwanted kittens to be born. Any lady cat who gets to know it well no longer would get pregnant. Not a bad situation at all.
(1152) A novel way of doing business
One day long ago I went to listen to a Korean talk to oblige a friend of mine.
First I have to tell you a few things about my unique friend. She was a widow, age 72, who lived with her sister in a single storey house opposite a private hospital. She and her sister survived on $100 every month. Her electric, water and phone bill was paid by her son. Her daughter gives her one hundred dollars each month. Her sister was not quite right in her mind, having came out of the lunatic asylum a few years before I met the widow.
I still remember the talk, it was to tell about the efficacy of some stomach medicine. I have a very normal stomach, obviously I don't need a small bottle of liquid that was made up of 17 vegetables and fruits fermented underground for three years. Each of the 330 ml bottle costs $375. But of course the Korean business man gives out a very nice looking colander to each participant. I think I still have the purple plastic colander in my kitchen somewhere. According to my friend the widow, the previous week a sack of 1 kg rice was dispensed to each guest.
My friend the widow has been following each talk for almost three years. Each month there was a talk promoting one item. Each of the item was highly priced. There is a money back guarantee if the purchaser is not happy with the product.
That particular talk, I stayed behind to see if any one would buy the item being promoted. There was a middle age lady who walked up and purchased three bottles. Apparently she bought the exact item two years ago, but from a different centre, and it took care of her life-long problem of indigestion and wind. This round she had been waiting for 18 months until this product came round again. One bottle was for her God daughter who lived in Pahang, the second bottle was for her daughter-in-law who lived next door to her, then the third bottle was for her uncle who lived in Johor.
My friend, the widow, bought a pillow that cost $2,000. The funny thing is that she was very pleased with her purchase. She said that the infra-red treated pillow made of some exotic material cured her 20 year long problem of neck and shoulder ache. With the magic pillow, she finally could get her uninterrupted 8 hour nightly sleep. It was like giving her a second stint of youth. She felt like she was in her 40s again.
I found it most interesting and informative.
First I have to tell you a few things about my unique friend. She was a widow, age 72, who lived with her sister in a single storey house opposite a private hospital. She and her sister survived on $100 every month. Her electric, water and phone bill was paid by her son. Her daughter gives her one hundred dollars each month. Her sister was not quite right in her mind, having came out of the lunatic asylum a few years before I met the widow.
I still remember the talk, it was to tell about the efficacy of some stomach medicine. I have a very normal stomach, obviously I don't need a small bottle of liquid that was made up of 17 vegetables and fruits fermented underground for three years. Each of the 330 ml bottle costs $375. But of course the Korean business man gives out a very nice looking colander to each participant. I think I still have the purple plastic colander in my kitchen somewhere. According to my friend the widow, the previous week a sack of 1 kg rice was dispensed to each guest.
My friend the widow has been following each talk for almost three years. Each month there was a talk promoting one item. Each of the item was highly priced. There is a money back guarantee if the purchaser is not happy with the product.
That particular talk, I stayed behind to see if any one would buy the item being promoted. There was a middle age lady who walked up and purchased three bottles. Apparently she bought the exact item two years ago, but from a different centre, and it took care of her life-long problem of indigestion and wind. This round she had been waiting for 18 months until this product came round again. One bottle was for her God daughter who lived in Pahang, the second bottle was for her daughter-in-law who lived next door to her, then the third bottle was for her uncle who lived in Johor.
My friend, the widow, bought a pillow that cost $2,000. The funny thing is that she was very pleased with her purchase. She said that the infra-red treated pillow made of some exotic material cured her 20 year long problem of neck and shoulder ache. With the magic pillow, she finally could get her uninterrupted 8 hour nightly sleep. It was like giving her a second stint of youth. She felt like she was in her 40s again.
I found it most interesting and informative.
(1150) Against all odd
Five years ago I met Heidi through a contact. Off and on my son and I have been meeting her since.
She went through a very traumatic childhood. She was mildly dyslexic. Up until Standard Five she used to fail most subjects. Yet she is sharp and intelligent in other ways. Her parents noticed that she could memorise every song on the radio if it was played often. To prepare for her Primary exam, the persistent and wise mum read every page of her text books aloud to her. Since questions were in the
multiple choice objective form, she somehow managed to score 5 As. To me, that means she could recognise the shapes of many words. Never mind the fact that she could hardly read and could not spell.
She belongs to a minority race. There are only thirteen professionals of her ethnic background practising in the state of Sarawak. She is THE FIRST WOMAN FROM HER TRIBE to own a firm in her hometown. I was very impressed. It must have been a difficult and tedious path to breach
an invisible barrier in a back water area.
To reach her present mile stone, she had been on training in multiple places and God had been stretching her since she qualified. She practised for many years in the capital city of the country. After that she returned to the capital of Sarawak, not of her own choice. But she managed to have 15 happy years there. Then, out of the blue, she was left with no choice but to relocate to her home town - a place that she has decided not to return to since she has left it. She cried, she pleaded with her heavenly father. But to no avail. It was a non-negotiable. It was a place of her most horrific nightmare. She had not only unhappy years but to add salt to the wounds, she was systematically bullied in the school system. When I first met her, she was very thin - steadily losing weight. It was within the first three years she returned to her least desirable place on earth. This is the 5th year since we knew each other. Finally I saw her in her element and the tinge of deep sadness is gone. It must have been difficult. Yet she needed to face her demons and to gain a full victory from her dark past.
She went through a very traumatic childhood. She was mildly dyslexic. Up until Standard Five she used to fail most subjects. Yet she is sharp and intelligent in other ways. Her parents noticed that she could memorise every song on the radio if it was played often. To prepare for her Primary exam, the persistent and wise mum read every page of her text books aloud to her. Since questions were in the
multiple choice objective form, she somehow managed to score 5 As. To me, that means she could recognise the shapes of many words. Never mind the fact that she could hardly read and could not spell.
She belongs to a minority race. There are only thirteen professionals of her ethnic background practising in the state of Sarawak. She is THE FIRST WOMAN FROM HER TRIBE to own a firm in her hometown. I was very impressed. It must have been a difficult and tedious path to breach
an invisible barrier in a back water area.
To reach her present mile stone, she had been on training in multiple places and God had been stretching her since she qualified. She practised for many years in the capital city of the country. After that she returned to the capital of Sarawak, not of her own choice. But she managed to have 15 happy years there. Then, out of the blue, she was left with no choice but to relocate to her home town - a place that she has decided not to return to since she has left it. She cried, she pleaded with her heavenly father. But to no avail. It was a non-negotiable. It was a place of her most horrific nightmare. She had not only unhappy years but to add salt to the wounds, she was systematically bullied in the school system. When I first met her, she was very thin - steadily losing weight. It was within the first three years she returned to her least desirable place on earth. This is the 5th year since we knew each other. Finally I saw her in her element and the tinge of deep sadness is gone. It must have been difficult. Yet she needed to face her demons and to gain a full victory from her dark past.
(1149) Good Servant but poor master
A few months back I met the Voons, in our conversation we touched on Sylvia who is our common friend in Silver City. After my family left Silver City, Sylvia's three sisters passed on. After all, it has been fourteen years or so. Apparently only Hattie was buried according to the instructions in her will. The remaining two left no will. Sylvia took charge and had each of them cremated. The ashes were placed in separate urns. The urns were left behind a coffin shop in Pasir Putih. Nephews and nieces queried but Sylvia refused to release any money to buy niches to place the urns. She said that when she passes on, it is written in her will to buy three niches side by side. She wanted her two sisters to be on her left and her right.
When I heard that, I was shocked. Imagine having urns that could be opened placed on public land totally open to the elements! Any naughty children could tip the ashes out of the urns as a game. Or anyone could get rid of the ashes and resell the urns. Sylvia is a very rich woman, she receives two pensions from Australia. Her fixed deposit accounts in the bank in total exceeds three million dollars ten years ago. But I guess no amount of money is sufficient if money is her sole security. She wants just a little more each day. The house she lives in was left to her and her three sisters by their parents. Sylvia refused to move out because she wants to outlive her sisters and be the sole person to inherit the house. Now that she finally has it all to herself, she dared not live in it alone. She hired
an Indonesian maid and at night the house has all its electrical lights on. Sylvia is childless.
We wonder if her millions would eventually go to her nieces, nephews, the lawyer or the maid. Money is a good servant but a poor master. The love of money leads to evil. In this case it leads to an eccentric life style. A very rich woman who lives like a pauper yet she becomes richer by the minute.
When I heard that, I was shocked. Imagine having urns that could be opened placed on public land totally open to the elements! Any naughty children could tip the ashes out of the urns as a game. Or anyone could get rid of the ashes and resell the urns. Sylvia is a very rich woman, she receives two pensions from Australia. Her fixed deposit accounts in the bank in total exceeds three million dollars ten years ago. But I guess no amount of money is sufficient if money is her sole security. She wants just a little more each day. The house she lives in was left to her and her three sisters by their parents. Sylvia refused to move out because she wants to outlive her sisters and be the sole person to inherit the house. Now that she finally has it all to herself, she dared not live in it alone. She hired
an Indonesian maid and at night the house has all its electrical lights on. Sylvia is childless.
We wonder if her millions would eventually go to her nieces, nephews, the lawyer or the maid. Money is a good servant but a poor master. The love of money leads to evil. In this case it leads to an eccentric life style. A very rich woman who lives like a pauper yet she becomes richer by the minute.
(1148) Hazardous job
In this town, rubbish collection is centralised. There is one or two collection points in one housing estate, depending on the size of the area.
When I first moved here, I was pleased that the point is within walking distance from my residence. For the first week, I would wake up at 6:10 am and would get outdoor by 6:30 am. It is natural to throw the rubbish before I get my breakfast. I did that until the soup noodle waitress told me gently and tactfully that nobody in this town would visit the rubbish collection point that early.
Well, I stopped leaving that early. It is not because I have any fears of my safety walking around before the sun rays hit my skin. I figure: when in Rome, do as the Romans. From all my early walks, I have only met folks walking to the bus stop on the main road. There were maids sharing a heavy load to tip out at the dumpster. Once there were two native boys, tidily dressed with packed lunch and bottles of drinking water, going to work at some manual labour. Of course every morning I see the sweepers in fluorescent uniforms who were busy sweeping.
What really shocked me was an entire family, from wiry father in his twenties, to pregnant mother in her late teens and teenage pretty girl in her head scarf, to children of different ages and sexes were grubbing at the dump site. I presumed they live at the single room beside the car wash facility - I counted eight of them.
My son told me those are the undocumented aliens. The only way they could earn their daily bread was to collect and sell the recyclable rescued from the dumpsters. I asked how come there is no one above 35 years old. He said the content of the batteries or other high tech stuff probably killed those who habitually handle such toxic things without gloves, barrier overalls or face/nose masks.
I mulled on what I heard and seen. For now, I segregate the recyclables from garbage-a small step to assist the task of recycling.
When I first moved here, I was pleased that the point is within walking distance from my residence. For the first week, I would wake up at 6:10 am and would get outdoor by 6:30 am. It is natural to throw the rubbish before I get my breakfast. I did that until the soup noodle waitress told me gently and tactfully that nobody in this town would visit the rubbish collection point that early.
Well, I stopped leaving that early. It is not because I have any fears of my safety walking around before the sun rays hit my skin. I figure: when in Rome, do as the Romans. From all my early walks, I have only met folks walking to the bus stop on the main road. There were maids sharing a heavy load to tip out at the dumpster. Once there were two native boys, tidily dressed with packed lunch and bottles of drinking water, going to work at some manual labour. Of course every morning I see the sweepers in fluorescent uniforms who were busy sweeping.
What really shocked me was an entire family, from wiry father in his twenties, to pregnant mother in her late teens and teenage pretty girl in her head scarf, to children of different ages and sexes were grubbing at the dump site. I presumed they live at the single room beside the car wash facility - I counted eight of them.
My son told me those are the undocumented aliens. The only way they could earn their daily bread was to collect and sell the recyclable rescued from the dumpsters. I asked how come there is no one above 35 years old. He said the content of the batteries or other high tech stuff probably killed those who habitually handle such toxic things without gloves, barrier overalls or face/nose masks.
I mulled on what I heard and seen. For now, I segregate the recyclables from garbage-a small step to assist the task of recycling.
(1147) The Marble Collector by Cecelia Ahern
This is a delightful tale told in a breath-taking manner. When my brothers were young, I remember at least two marble seasons. We were poor then. The boys in the neighbourhood played with clay marbles. There were no tar roads in the housing estate during that era. We lived in one unit among the rows of tiny wooden houses built on land owned by one individual. My grandma used to pay $3 per month to the landlord. When my father bought a brick house, my grandma sold the wooden house for $3,000, she signed the sale and purchase document with an X in front of a local Justice of Peace with the lawyer and the purchaser in attendance.
Those houses were condemned and taken down years ago. A few years after 1969(the year my family moved away), most of our old neighbours moved out after us too. The area then became a place for housing foreign workers.
I have not visited my childhood haunt for years. The only landmark remaining is my first Primary school. Along the Old Klang Road, 4 1/2 Mile is almost the mid point between Kuala Lumpur and Petaling Jaya. Folks value the location for its proximity to the two cities.
Those houses were condemned and taken down years ago. A few years after 1969(the year my family moved away), most of our old neighbours moved out after us too. The area then became a place for housing foreign workers.
I have not visited my childhood haunt for years. The only landmark remaining is my first Primary school. Along the Old Klang Road, 4 1/2 Mile is almost the mid point between Kuala Lumpur and Petaling Jaya. Folks value the location for its proximity to the two cities.
(1146) Glue sniffers
One day I walked past a pizza joint and saw five tweens and teens crashed higgledy-piggledy on slabs of carton pieces along the side walk on the shaded side away from the elements.
It was a school day. All of them, judging on their heights and sizes, should be in school. No, those are not illegal immigrants. They are not even documented workers' children. Apparently each one has a home somewhere. There are fathers and mothers. At night they go home. It was only between 8am to 5pm that they sleep along the side walks of commercial areas.
My land lady said that those throwaway kids have been sniffing glue for many years. They were stunted, some could be as old as past their twenties but look like twelve year olds. Poor diets, damaged brain cells, compromised respiratory systems by toxic fumes prevented them from growing to their full potential sizes.
Strangely, each one of the five were well dressed. Perhaps a little scruffy due to the lack of hygiene amenities. One small (about nine years old by size) boy has his hair dyed blond.
As far as I could see without staring, they were all boys. Assuming those I talked to were right, these are local children - perhaps they are of Malay parentage or are native descended. They are too fair to be Indians or Africans, yet too dark to be Chinese or even Kadazans. If they are locals, then they have identity cards. Even if they missed the academic trains in schools, they could work legally. For basic, low wage jobs, it is an employees' market. Business owners find it very difficult to get workers with documents. Jobs go begging for takers.
Perhaps it is easier to beg for fifty cents here and a dollar there. Or with the tiny bodies, it is possible to squeeze into business buildings or homes to steal computers and flat screen TVs.
It was a school day. All of them, judging on their heights and sizes, should be in school. No, those are not illegal immigrants. They are not even documented workers' children. Apparently each one has a home somewhere. There are fathers and mothers. At night they go home. It was only between 8am to 5pm that they sleep along the side walks of commercial areas.
My land lady said that those throwaway kids have been sniffing glue for many years. They were stunted, some could be as old as past their twenties but look like twelve year olds. Poor diets, damaged brain cells, compromised respiratory systems by toxic fumes prevented them from growing to their full potential sizes.
Strangely, each one of the five were well dressed. Perhaps a little scruffy due to the lack of hygiene amenities. One small (about nine years old by size) boy has his hair dyed blond.
As far as I could see without staring, they were all boys. Assuming those I talked to were right, these are local children - perhaps they are of Malay parentage or are native descended. They are too fair to be Indians or Africans, yet too dark to be Chinese or even Kadazans. If they are locals, then they have identity cards. Even if they missed the academic trains in schools, they could work legally. For basic, low wage jobs, it is an employees' market. Business owners find it very difficult to get workers with documents. Jobs go begging for takers.
Perhaps it is easier to beg for fifty cents here and a dollar there. Or with the tiny bodies, it is possible to squeeze into business buildings or homes to steal computers and flat screen TVs.
Saturday, August 31, 2019
(1145) Being vegetarian
I sat down with my dinner at a church pot bless. At the periphery of my sightline, I saw Elsa walking around the two tables laden with at least twenty variety of dishes. She was holding a plate filled with two scoops of white rice.
Elsa's mum is a vegetarian. Her dad practises a see-food-eat-food diet. Elsa is short and slight for her age. She could probably help herself to the food stuff at the side of the big rectangular buffet tables. Definitely she could not reach what were placed in the inner reaches of the long and wide space.
Interestingly no one walk up to help her. I did think about rising to offer some help but she disappeared from the serving area momentarily. Shortly after that some one sat down next to me and we started an interesting conversation.
Personally I don't eat chicken. Neither do I cook chicken dishes. Yet my husband and children would eat their favourite fried chicken or curry chicken I bought for dinner at home now and then.
Of course the dynamix of each family is different. Elsa's mum observes a restricted dietary list. The son and the father are easy going and eat any food within sight. For Elsa, it was sad. She refused to eat what was served and would prefer to go hungry than give in.
I often wonder how my Chinese vegetarian friends train their children not to eat meat outside of home. One of my primary school classmates was born a Taoist but turned into a strict vegetarian Buddhist with the faith of a Taiwanese sect at the age of 21. Her husband joined her in terms of both religion and dietary practises after marriage. Her son never eat meat of any kind and he has been residing in New Zealand since age 12. He is past 30 years old now and is the dad of a 3 year old daughter. His wife is a vegetarian too.
Elsa's mum is a vegetarian. Her dad practises a see-food-eat-food diet. Elsa is short and slight for her age. She could probably help herself to the food stuff at the side of the big rectangular buffet tables. Definitely she could not reach what were placed in the inner reaches of the long and wide space.
Interestingly no one walk up to help her. I did think about rising to offer some help but she disappeared from the serving area momentarily. Shortly after that some one sat down next to me and we started an interesting conversation.
Personally I don't eat chicken. Neither do I cook chicken dishes. Yet my husband and children would eat their favourite fried chicken or curry chicken I bought for dinner at home now and then.
Of course the dynamix of each family is different. Elsa's mum observes a restricted dietary list. The son and the father are easy going and eat any food within sight. For Elsa, it was sad. She refused to eat what was served and would prefer to go hungry than give in.
I often wonder how my Chinese vegetarian friends train their children not to eat meat outside of home. One of my primary school classmates was born a Taoist but turned into a strict vegetarian Buddhist with the faith of a Taiwanese sect at the age of 21. Her husband joined her in terms of both religion and dietary practises after marriage. Her son never eat meat of any kind and he has been residing in New Zealand since age 12. He is past 30 years old now and is the dad of a 3 year old daughter. His wife is a vegetarian too.
Thursday, August 29, 2019
(1144) Missed the train
This is the third week my son and I attempt to teach a 16 year old young man English using the hearing route.
We borrow junior books from the library. At first I read and the student listens. If he does not ask any question, I then proceed to ask questions in Chinese or Malay. If he could answer them correctly then I know he understands at that reading level using the audio mode.
With suggestion from my son who has taught him for two years, I moved from nursery books to kindergarten level material. Slowly the books could be gauged to be Standard 3 in a Chinese school. Next I moved on to subject books like science and cartoon drawing manuals. Our student is artistic and could sketch quite well. Here we look at the pictures and talk about them in English.
During these three weeks of experimentation, I have established that he actually look at the shape of words, not the spelling. Hence for him, the look say method may work. I have been here about eight weeks. It took many weeks to gain trust. Apparently he was beaten badly by an ex-headmistress who tutored him for quite a few years before he came to be taught by my son. On the first day he saw me, he wanted to leave, two brothers who knew me from 5 years ago reassured him I don't punish people physically. He was still suspicious and asked if I was a friend of teacher Susan. Of course I wasn't, I am not a local person. He certainly went through trauma for his early years of education.
Bearing in mind I personally have no training, no talent to teach reading like this, everyday I pray about lessons and teaching methodology. Three days ago I kept having the impression of "conversations". I dug out a TOEFL listening script, my son and I chose a 2 minute conversation on him. It worked. Though he never attempted to speak anything more than one or two words in English at one time, he actually understood about 70% of the simulated conversation.
We borrow junior books from the library. At first I read and the student listens. If he does not ask any question, I then proceed to ask questions in Chinese or Malay. If he could answer them correctly then I know he understands at that reading level using the audio mode.
With suggestion from my son who has taught him for two years, I moved from nursery books to kindergarten level material. Slowly the books could be gauged to be Standard 3 in a Chinese school. Next I moved on to subject books like science and cartoon drawing manuals. Our student is artistic and could sketch quite well. Here we look at the pictures and talk about them in English.
During these three weeks of experimentation, I have established that he actually look at the shape of words, not the spelling. Hence for him, the look say method may work. I have been here about eight weeks. It took many weeks to gain trust. Apparently he was beaten badly by an ex-headmistress who tutored him for quite a few years before he came to be taught by my son. On the first day he saw me, he wanted to leave, two brothers who knew me from 5 years ago reassured him I don't punish people physically. He was still suspicious and asked if I was a friend of teacher Susan. Of course I wasn't, I am not a local person. He certainly went through trauma for his early years of education.
Bearing in mind I personally have no training, no talent to teach reading like this, everyday I pray about lessons and teaching methodology. Three days ago I kept having the impression of "conversations". I dug out a TOEFL listening script, my son and I chose a 2 minute conversation on him. It worked. Though he never attempted to speak anything more than one or two words in English at one time, he actually understood about 70% of the simulated conversation.
(1143) An Amazing Answer
At the end of this period, I received orders to return to my hometown. I packed and got rid of many items to fit the remaining household into two small rooms for my son. Return I did to a series of appointments and lengthy hospitalisation. I almost died with a skeletal 84 pounds but somehow it was not time to go yet. Almost two years to the day I was discharged from the hospital, I flew back to Seldorado because of a confirmation release of Malaysian $3,407. I prayed specifically for x amount of money and tell God that I would fly to join my son for a specific period of time. The condition is that the sum was to come from a totally unexpected source with no strings attached.
It was during my 2 years of absence that the object of this blog, my now 14 year old target of prayer, progressed from failing to the top class. According to my son, there are four classes, A, B, C and D. The student was in D class for Remove class (an extra year for Chinese Primary students who switched over to Malay Secondary School). By Form 2 he was in A class. I was utterly amazed that he was getting 78% for English and 81% for Maths during the last test. After learning Maths for 6 years in Chinese, he has to switch to learning Maths in Malay. I attribute the spectacular improvement because God answers prayers.
Now that I am back in Seldorado, my new targets for prayers are two biracial boys of 15 and 16 years old. Neither of them seem to be able to do automatic reading in Chinese, English and Malay. I doubt if either could pass any subjective test in any of the three languages at Grade 3 level. As the holy spirit whispers, I am attempting to lead them to read English in un orthodox ways. May God bless and multiply my efforts.
It was during my 2 years of absence that the object of this blog, my now 14 year old target of prayer, progressed from failing to the top class. According to my son, there are four classes, A, B, C and D. The student was in D class for Remove class (an extra year for Chinese Primary students who switched over to Malay Secondary School). By Form 2 he was in A class. I was utterly amazed that he was getting 78% for English and 81% for Maths during the last test. After learning Maths for 6 years in Chinese, he has to switch to learning Maths in Malay. I attribute the spectacular improvement because God answers prayers.
Now that I am back in Seldorado, my new targets for prayers are two biracial boys of 15 and 16 years old. Neither of them seem to be able to do automatic reading in Chinese, English and Malay. I doubt if either could pass any subjective test in any of the three languages at Grade 3 level. As the holy spirit whispers, I am attempting to lead them to read English in un orthodox ways. May God bless and multiply my efforts.
Monday, August 26, 2019
(1142) Suicidal boy
Five years ago I came to Seldorado with my son, he undertook a tuition group of six out of which there is a suicidal 11 year old boy. Suffice to say the great challenge is the "I want to die!" preteen who would vomit out of fright because a dragon dance troupe was practising within ear range. It is made of loud booms of drums and shrill cymbal clangs.
I worked out of my repertoire of twelve years of experience of teaching many types of mildly or severely challenged children. None of any methods I know worked with the 11 year old. He is fair skin, somewhat good looking in a Chinese way. When there was no loud noise, his heart would beat normally and he would pour out his grievances of being punished in school for untidy handwriting. Yes, I myself have written many pages of "I must write beautiful scripts" for various Chinese and English Grade School mistresses. At this stage of my life, most writing is done by computer and smart phone, it no longer mattered that I had a mild dash of dyspraxia(which is part of the symptoms of dyslexia).
An old lady who was a prayer warrior in my church heard my concerns and suggested that I spend serious time praying for these students in tongues weekly. That I did for slightly more than one year two months. On every Tuesday, from 5 to 7 am I would dutifully pray that every one of my son's students would live out the perfect will of God's plans for them. At 7:01 I would proceed downstairs to answer the hungry calls of my pet chickens in my 22x60 square feet backyard. I would cut the grass manually until the sun was too hot for outdoor activity.
To be continued ...
I worked out of my repertoire of twelve years of experience of teaching many types of mildly or severely challenged children. None of any methods I know worked with the 11 year old. He is fair skin, somewhat good looking in a Chinese way. When there was no loud noise, his heart would beat normally and he would pour out his grievances of being punished in school for untidy handwriting. Yes, I myself have written many pages of "I must write beautiful scripts" for various Chinese and English Grade School mistresses. At this stage of my life, most writing is done by computer and smart phone, it no longer mattered that I had a mild dash of dyspraxia(which is part of the symptoms of dyslexia).
An old lady who was a prayer warrior in my church heard my concerns and suggested that I spend serious time praying for these students in tongues weekly. That I did for slightly more than one year two months. On every Tuesday, from 5 to 7 am I would dutifully pray that every one of my son's students would live out the perfect will of God's plans for them. At 7:01 I would proceed downstairs to answer the hungry calls of my pet chickens in my 22x60 square feet backyard. I would cut the grass manually until the sun was too hot for outdoor activity.
To be continued ...
Wednesday, August 14, 2019
(1141) Chicken Haven
About twenty years after the experience of rearing chickens in Silver City, my son and I found ourselves a few hundred miles away in a big island in the town of Seldorado. We bought a few chicks available that are flown in from some city weekly, and we proceeded to rear chickens again. After two and a half years, we gathered eight hens who lay more than enough eggs for personal consumption. We would sell individual egg for $1.50 to church friends. But one month before either of us fly back to the Klang valley, we would save all the eggs to be hand carried back in the plane.
Then suddenly, my marching order arrived and I was to return to the home town. Within a month I gave away lots of stuff I accumulated over some twenty months. The hardest thing to part with were my healthy and good looking egg layers. Most of them were laying one egg per day. I prayed and told God I didn't know what to do with the hens, it would be such a pity to kill them. Three of them just started laying a week ago. There were to be about a productive two year period of egg laying. The following Sunday the quiet holy spirit whispered, " Go ask the lady who make tea if she keeps chickens." I was too shy and scared to ask, the moment passed.
The following week I turned up earlier in church and met that lady face to face in front of the kitchen. This time I drew enough courage and told her I have chickens to give away as I was leaving town. My son was going to move to the second floor of a shop lot and he could not keep pets. The next day we caught the chickens and kept them in rabbit cages and loaded three cages of 8 chickens in the back of our truck. We found that our new friend squat on the hilly slope of Trick Hills. They live in two small cottages on two levels of the 30 degrees slope. Their native black chickens live in "apartments": each hen has a room with one window and one door each. There were like twelve units on three floors. At a glance we know that any one of our fat chickens could not fit into any of the units.
Later we heard that the husband of our new friend is a carpenter. He was so tickled with the big fat hens that he used old lumber to build the eight hens a detached house coop. He placed the coop strategically to block the big hole in his old fence. I gave one condition before handing over the hens: the new owners should not kill any of the animals until it stopped laying eggs. As each of the chickens was given a name by Elizabeth, they should be allowed to live as long as they are productive layers. That was almost three years ago.
Last Sunday I met my friend and heard that there is one chicken left, it still is laying eggs. It warmed my heart that my God cared not only for me, He cared enough for my chickens to find them owners who would take care of them and let them live out their happy lives.
Then suddenly, my marching order arrived and I was to return to the home town. Within a month I gave away lots of stuff I accumulated over some twenty months. The hardest thing to part with were my healthy and good looking egg layers. Most of them were laying one egg per day. I prayed and told God I didn't know what to do with the hens, it would be such a pity to kill them. Three of them just started laying a week ago. There were to be about a productive two year period of egg laying. The following Sunday the quiet holy spirit whispered, " Go ask the lady who make tea if she keeps chickens." I was too shy and scared to ask, the moment passed.
The following week I turned up earlier in church and met that lady face to face in front of the kitchen. This time I drew enough courage and told her I have chickens to give away as I was leaving town. My son was going to move to the second floor of a shop lot and he could not keep pets. The next day we caught the chickens and kept them in rabbit cages and loaded three cages of 8 chickens in the back of our truck. We found that our new friend squat on the hilly slope of Trick Hills. They live in two small cottages on two levels of the 30 degrees slope. Their native black chickens live in "apartments": each hen has a room with one window and one door each. There were like twelve units on three floors. At a glance we know that any one of our fat chickens could not fit into any of the units.
Later we heard that the husband of our new friend is a carpenter. He was so tickled with the big fat hens that he used old lumber to build the eight hens a detached house coop. He placed the coop strategically to block the big hole in his old fence. I gave one condition before handing over the hens: the new owners should not kill any of the animals until it stopped laying eggs. As each of the chickens was given a name by Elizabeth, they should be allowed to live as long as they are productive layers. That was almost three years ago.
Last Sunday I met my friend and heard that there is one chicken left, it still is laying eggs. It warmed my heart that my God cared not only for me, He cared enough for my chickens to find them owners who would take care of them and let them live out their happy lives.
(1140) Gender of chicks
Hatching was a thin and bad-tempered female chicken. My family became its owner when we moved into a semi-detached house in Silver City. Around that time I befriended an old retired lady teacher whom I called Mrs Lee. She sold me fertilised eggs at $1.20 each. I bought six and Hatching jealously guarded her adopted eggs and hatched them day and night.
It was funny that Hatching insisted on hatching her eggs in the garden under the noni tree. I attempted to move those eggs to a sheltered spot in the porch but she refused to co-operate. My fingers and toes were pecked many a time in those attempts. As it rained often in Silver City towards the end of the year, only two eggs hatched 21 days later.
The two chicks were drop-dead cute. One is mostly white with yellow spots. The other is a dull brown with a few black spots. Kenneth wanted the white chick but Elizabeth won the right playing one-two-som. Using their right hands, players could choose to be scissors, rock or paper. Should scissors meet paper, scissors would win. If rock meets scissors, then rock wins. When paper meets rock, then paper wins. The white chick was named snow white. Elizabeth dreamed about the many eggs to come out of snow white. She eats two half boiled eggs every morning. Three months later, we slowly realized that snow white was not a female.
Since we then lived within the city limits, actually we were not supposed to have chickens in our garden. But since the neighbours were so very agreeable and did not complain, we do not keep the loud cocks. Accordingly snow white at first crow was given to our right hand neighbour to slaughter. You see, there are many privileges of tolerating eccentric neighbours keeping chickens. I seemed to remember a few pieces of choice meat came back as curry chicken. Only my husband who usually ignored the chickens had the heart to eat those chicken pieces.
It was funny that Hatching insisted on hatching her eggs in the garden under the noni tree. I attempted to move those eggs to a sheltered spot in the porch but she refused to co-operate. My fingers and toes were pecked many a time in those attempts. As it rained often in Silver City towards the end of the year, only two eggs hatched 21 days later.
The two chicks were drop-dead cute. One is mostly white with yellow spots. The other is a dull brown with a few black spots. Kenneth wanted the white chick but Elizabeth won the right playing one-two-som. Using their right hands, players could choose to be scissors, rock or paper. Should scissors meet paper, scissors would win. If rock meets scissors, then rock wins. When paper meets rock, then paper wins. The white chick was named snow white. Elizabeth dreamed about the many eggs to come out of snow white. She eats two half boiled eggs every morning. Three months later, we slowly realized that snow white was not a female.
Since we then lived within the city limits, actually we were not supposed to have chickens in our garden. But since the neighbours were so very agreeable and did not complain, we do not keep the loud cocks. Accordingly snow white at first crow was given to our right hand neighbour to slaughter. You see, there are many privileges of tolerating eccentric neighbours keeping chickens. I seemed to remember a few pieces of choice meat came back as curry chicken. Only my husband who usually ignored the chickens had the heart to eat those chicken pieces.
(1139) Two Chickens
When we moved to a house in Solok Mansion, there were two chickens left by the previous tenants. One of them was black and the other is brown. We named the first Black Chicken and the second Hatching. The latter one was predictably wanting to hatch after every clutch of eggs. Nothing would get it out of the stupor of wanting to appropriate any egg in sight for hatching.
Until that month, we knew nothing about live chickens. But soon we realized what efficient garbage disposal machines they are. Apart from onion skin, just about any scraps from the kitchen were fair game for the chickens to eat. If there were eight adult chickens in the garden, they would run and rush at any scraps. Even fish heads were pecked at until only the biggest part of the head bone would be left like a miss shaped round pearl. Back bones would be pecked and repeated hitting actions would reduce it to small bones and therefore would be swallowed.
Once my husband threw out half a watermelon that was scooped out. A few hours later the red parts were eaten with gusto. Even the white part of the flesh was soon eaten, all that was left was the green skin, it soon dried up and became wrinkled bits. For as long as we were in that house, there was no kitchen waste. My trash was really all dry as the troop of chickens cleared up any food remnants.
Until that month, we knew nothing about live chickens. But soon we realized what efficient garbage disposal machines they are. Apart from onion skin, just about any scraps from the kitchen were fair game for the chickens to eat. If there were eight adult chickens in the garden, they would run and rush at any scraps. Even fish heads were pecked at until only the biggest part of the head bone would be left like a miss shaped round pearl. Back bones would be pecked and repeated hitting actions would reduce it to small bones and therefore would be swallowed.
Once my husband threw out half a watermelon that was scooped out. A few hours later the red parts were eaten with gusto. Even the white part of the flesh was soon eaten, all that was left was the green skin, it soon dried up and became wrinkled bits. For as long as we were in that house, there was no kitchen waste. My trash was really all dry as the troop of chickens cleared up any food remnants.
Friday, August 9, 2019
(1138) Life-time jobs
My first assignment was to take over an Arts remedial English class until the end of the semester. It was in a medium-size lecture hall. There were about twenty rows of seats in the form of wooden benches rising from the front to the back. Ninety per cent of the students in front were girls in black, literally head cover that falls to their knees and they wore a black robe that cover them such that I can't see their slippers. Once they sat down, I could see flowery and colourful cloth peeping out from under the robe. Most of the guys were at the back of the lecture hall, sometimes I see a few colourfully clad girls sitting at the back but a few seats from the guys.
My first lesson, I did try to invite the back benchers down to the middle of the hall. Try as I might, they refused to come down. Using my voice projection, I doubted if they could hear me from 35 feet away and forty feet higher than my teacher's platform. By the second lesson, I realized that they were there to earn their 80% attendance to allow them to sit for their final examination. Therefore I concentrated on the front students and slowly teach them, not attempting to finish every teaching goal but rather make sure they understand and really learn something new every single lesson. That goal must have led those majority number to perform well, much to my surprise, I was invited back the following semester as a regular part-timer.
It was interesting to find that those back benchers were all scholarship holders. They seemed to see English as a source of corruption, therefore they refused to be corrupted. Anyway, they were going to become Government servants and need not speak a word of English in their daily work. I elect to leave them alone, well, they are well set for life. There is no need to teach a second language to them who have the guarantee of a life time promise of employment.
My first lesson, I did try to invite the back benchers down to the middle of the hall. Try as I might, they refused to come down. Using my voice projection, I doubted if they could hear me from 35 feet away and forty feet higher than my teacher's platform. By the second lesson, I realized that they were there to earn their 80% attendance to allow them to sit for their final examination. Therefore I concentrated on the front students and slowly teach them, not attempting to finish every teaching goal but rather make sure they understand and really learn something new every single lesson. That goal must have led those majority number to perform well, much to my surprise, I was invited back the following semester as a regular part-timer.
It was interesting to find that those back benchers were all scholarship holders. They seemed to see English as a source of corruption, therefore they refused to be corrupted. Anyway, they were going to become Government servants and need not speak a word of English in their daily work. I elect to leave them alone, well, they are well set for life. There is no need to teach a second language to them who have the guarantee of a life time promise of employment.
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
(1137) Teaching days
I was teaching computer systems and methods in Help Institute. While the school of computer was having a break, the secretarial head who was combative and controlling thought I was too free and spending too much time reading in the college library. She conscripted me to teach remedial English to her girls. Out of the tiny library, I checked out two English reference books. Neither of them was useful as the students' grammar was atrocious. In the end two of my colleagues from the English Department was kind to loan me their extra exercises with answers.
Of many people, none would see me as an English teacher. In the first place, I started out in a Chinese medium primary school. Secondly, at age thirteen I could not string a simple sentence in English to ask a direct question on my first day in my secondary school. Looking back, that shrewd lady did me a great favour while she was bullying me. She backed me into a corner and I had to perform the seemingly impossible.
.....................................
Less than a year later, I resigned and applied to a Master's program. At six month pregnant, I applied for a part-time job teaching English in the Arts Faculty of Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia. As the original teacher went into the hospital for an emergency operation that would put her out of action for at least six weeks, I was the only candidate at one day's notice. At this point I must mention that even though I majored in Science, my small college only offered Bachelor of Arts. Looking at my B.A. Honours in my college diploma, the Chairman asked, " Where did you teach English last?" "Help." In a sense it was a truthful answer. I was accepted on a temporary basis until the end of the semester.
It was actually quite a hilarious journey. I was just one lesson ahead of my year one Arts students. Half an hour before class, Rachel or Nicole took turns to coach me for at least one month until I could figure out how to use the Teacher's copy. There were three books, yellow , red and green. I was in my first year of marriage, as green and game as another young person. I thought, "Since my English is better than the students, with some preparation I surely could swing it." Thank goodness there were lesson plans, teaching goals, texts, questions, exercises, home work, as well as answers printed in a most easy to use manner. Thus that was the real beginning of me becoming an English teacher.
Of many people, none would see me as an English teacher. In the first place, I started out in a Chinese medium primary school. Secondly, at age thirteen I could not string a simple sentence in English to ask a direct question on my first day in my secondary school. Looking back, that shrewd lady did me a great favour while she was bullying me. She backed me into a corner and I had to perform the seemingly impossible.
.....................................
Less than a year later, I resigned and applied to a Master's program. At six month pregnant, I applied for a part-time job teaching English in the Arts Faculty of Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia. As the original teacher went into the hospital for an emergency operation that would put her out of action for at least six weeks, I was the only candidate at one day's notice. At this point I must mention that even though I majored in Science, my small college only offered Bachelor of Arts. Looking at my B.A. Honours in my college diploma, the Chairman asked, " Where did you teach English last?" "Help." In a sense it was a truthful answer. I was accepted on a temporary basis until the end of the semester.
It was actually quite a hilarious journey. I was just one lesson ahead of my year one Arts students. Half an hour before class, Rachel or Nicole took turns to coach me for at least one month until I could figure out how to use the Teacher's copy. There were three books, yellow , red and green. I was in my first year of marriage, as green and game as another young person. I thought, "Since my English is better than the students, with some preparation I surely could swing it." Thank goodness there were lesson plans, teaching goals, texts, questions, exercises, home work, as well as answers printed in a most easy to use manner. Thus that was the real beginning of me becoming an English teacher.
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
(1136) chili mania
I was sitting in my alternate breakfast place at 6:30 am (the sun rises at 5:45am this part of the year) looking at a bowl of bland healthy looking dry rice noodle in a few drops of onion oil and black sauce. In my hometown I would be given a tiny saucer of pickle chili in soy sauce. Here I look at a small container of self serve watery chili sauce in vinegar.
A few years back I was feeling so deprived that I dreamed of chili padi(tiny green spicy chili pepper) at night. Normally I don't eat much spicy food. But after about eight months of bland Cantonese cooking, I yearned for hot spicy chili. I went to the local Giant looking for raw chili pepper. Would you believe it? Eleven tiny chili padi was labelled at $3.93. In the end I didn't buy. A week later I flew back to my hometown and collected every piece of chili served to take home to be consumed at my leisure. My daughter Elizabeth couldn't believe her eyes, I would take a small container whenever we eat out so I could build a collection of raw chili pieces in soy sauce in the freezer. That continued for weeks. It is strange that one misses some food type when we move far to another town or state.
This trip I intend to buy some bottle chili sambal (chili paste made from a recipe that includes belachan - dried small prawns) way before the total depravation state.
A few years back I was feeling so deprived that I dreamed of chili padi(tiny green spicy chili pepper) at night. Normally I don't eat much spicy food. But after about eight months of bland Cantonese cooking, I yearned for hot spicy chili. I went to the local Giant looking for raw chili pepper. Would you believe it? Eleven tiny chili padi was labelled at $3.93. In the end I didn't buy. A week later I flew back to my hometown and collected every piece of chili served to take home to be consumed at my leisure. My daughter Elizabeth couldn't believe her eyes, I would take a small container whenever we eat out so I could build a collection of raw chili pieces in soy sauce in the freezer. That continued for weeks. It is strange that one misses some food type when we move far to another town or state.
This trip I intend to buy some bottle chili sambal (chili paste made from a recipe that includes belachan - dried small prawns) way before the total depravation state.
Monday, August 5, 2019
(1135) shop lifting
I was reading girl talk by Lois Walfrid Johnson. There is a story in there that talked about shop lifting.
Many years ago I had a brush with that. I saw a classmate steal a handkerchief with the help of another friend. That was way before CCTV became a standard feature in all supermarkets.
Naturally I was confused and I chose to tell my mum about it. She gave me advice on choosing not to accompany them shopping. I remembered going swimming and watching the Saturday morning cheap cinema show with them once or twice more. Slowly we drifted apart.
The girl who took the handkerchief had a traumatic teenage life. She was devastated when her mom wanted to send her to a public school. My friend wanted her mom to send her to the private school her twin sisters went to. In a fit of anger, she tore her school leaving certificate . Her mom and dad were too busy or too disappointed to help her apply for a replacement. She stopped school.
At age sixteen she became pregnant and she married her present husband. She went through a tough time raising up two sons and a daughter in a big extended family. She is a strong person and could weather all kinds of insults and slights.
With her husband working for his elder brother in the family car accessory shop, at least it was a financially stable life. She gained the favour of her father-in-law and was given the back half of a house to stay in rent free. When her two boys were off her hands, she started a shop. She took care of marketing while her husband managed the service end. When we met again, she was a business woman but I was a homemaker. She was the one to advise me not to get into any business venture. As she used the proverb that said she was sitting on top of a tiger's back, that meant she could not get down even if she wanted to. If she gives up, where will her thirty two employees get their monthly pay?
We lost touch after I relocated to Silver City. I wonder what she is doing now? Probably still shouldering the responsibility of running a big work shop and working like a workaholic.
Many years ago I had a brush with that. I saw a classmate steal a handkerchief with the help of another friend. That was way before CCTV became a standard feature in all supermarkets.
Naturally I was confused and I chose to tell my mum about it. She gave me advice on choosing not to accompany them shopping. I remembered going swimming and watching the Saturday morning cheap cinema show with them once or twice more. Slowly we drifted apart.
The girl who took the handkerchief had a traumatic teenage life. She was devastated when her mom wanted to send her to a public school. My friend wanted her mom to send her to the private school her twin sisters went to. In a fit of anger, she tore her school leaving certificate . Her mom and dad were too busy or too disappointed to help her apply for a replacement. She stopped school.
At age sixteen she became pregnant and she married her present husband. She went through a tough time raising up two sons and a daughter in a big extended family. She is a strong person and could weather all kinds of insults and slights.
With her husband working for his elder brother in the family car accessory shop, at least it was a financially stable life. She gained the favour of her father-in-law and was given the back half of a house to stay in rent free. When her two boys were off her hands, she started a shop. She took care of marketing while her husband managed the service end. When we met again, she was a business woman but I was a homemaker. She was the one to advise me not to get into any business venture. As she used the proverb that said she was sitting on top of a tiger's back, that meant she could not get down even if she wanted to. If she gives up, where will her thirty two employees get their monthly pay?
We lost touch after I relocated to Silver City. I wonder what she is doing now? Probably still shouldering the responsibility of running a big work shop and working like a workaholic.
Wednesday, July 31, 2019
(1134) Friendship
I am in North-eastern Borneo. After leaving this place for slightly more than two years, I spent days mending my son's pants. Believe it or not, there is one remaining pair of short pants from a purchase in Cheng Rai in year 2000. I remember that was back in a time that a Malaysian dollar was changed for 14 Thai Bahts. We bought six pairs as the price was unbelievably low.
In the sewing box, I found a small heart hand made by my close friend in Form 6. She gave that to me prior to my leaving for USA to attend college. That little pink heart visited the States, travelling through Virginia and Texas and went back to my home country.
You may ask me, if I treasure such a small keep sake, why am I not in touch with her today?
I believe that friends should come from the same stations in life. Had I married my second choice suitor, I guess I would still be friends with her. Her husband is a person who has dollar signs in his eyes. My husband and I came from lower middle class. Of course as he was an engineer and I used to lecture, we did well before the children came. The minute I resigned and went part-time, our standard of living dropped.
My friend did not change much, she is probably the same warm, caring and fun person I was attracted to at age 18. But I have changed. In listening to my mum's advice, I did not choose inherited wealth. In choosing to spend time training my children to be all that God designed them to be, I learn to be content with whatever little I have.
I believe if I meet her today, we would still enjoy spending time with each other. The fact that she had worked in UK and had headed a foreign bank in the middle east would not come between us. Yet as her career probably ends at age 60, mine has barely begun. The life of a writer often starts later in life. Once again, our lives are out of phase. When she was building a successful career, I was minding children and dabbling in special education. Now that my troop of children are grown and independent, I could finally pursue my calling. Certain things are not meant to be. My friendship with her was like two ships passing each other, both could dock next to each other for a limited period of time. Then each would go its own way. I kept my little pink heart to remind me of her, of how much she meant to me for a few years of my life.
In the sewing box, I found a small heart hand made by my close friend in Form 6. She gave that to me prior to my leaving for USA to attend college. That little pink heart visited the States, travelling through Virginia and Texas and went back to my home country.
You may ask me, if I treasure such a small keep sake, why am I not in touch with her today?
I believe that friends should come from the same stations in life. Had I married my second choice suitor, I guess I would still be friends with her. Her husband is a person who has dollar signs in his eyes. My husband and I came from lower middle class. Of course as he was an engineer and I used to lecture, we did well before the children came. The minute I resigned and went part-time, our standard of living dropped.
My friend did not change much, she is probably the same warm, caring and fun person I was attracted to at age 18. But I have changed. In listening to my mum's advice, I did not choose inherited wealth. In choosing to spend time training my children to be all that God designed them to be, I learn to be content with whatever little I have.
I believe if I meet her today, we would still enjoy spending time with each other. The fact that she had worked in UK and had headed a foreign bank in the middle east would not come between us. Yet as her career probably ends at age 60, mine has barely begun. The life of a writer often starts later in life. Once again, our lives are out of phase. When she was building a successful career, I was minding children and dabbling in special education. Now that my troop of children are grown and independent, I could finally pursue my calling. Certain things are not meant to be. My friendship with her was like two ships passing each other, both could dock next to each other for a limited period of time. Then each would go its own way. I kept my little pink heart to remind me of her, of how much she meant to me for a few years of my life.
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
(1133) Why buy a 7 room house
Here is a tale between a mistress and a big house:
My friend and her young family out grew a 4 room terrace house. She went house hunting. Hundreds of viewing and possibly thirty agents later, she did not buy any property.
A middle-age real estate expert showed her two good buys that fitted her budget and criteria, they went for tea for it was a hot day. He asked, " I hate to give up but unless you tell me what kept you from deciding for the two I showed you, I could not keep on wasting your time."
She replied, " Really, if you can find me a house with 7 rooms which is not a mansion, then maybe we have a deal."
Four months later, he showed her a rental detached two storey house in a good neighbourhood. She bargained and cut the price down low. But since the owner has gotten tired of refurbishing old tired units to seek new tenants, he decided to sell to recoup the cash to invest into building another brand new house.
She painted the house, made some minor repairs and moved in. Ten years later, her two boys went abroad to study. Her husband suggested buying two connected four room condos and selling the old monster. For some reason, she objected. Therefor she ended with a house that is really too big in her golden years.
Now you are probably asking in your heart why does a family of four require a 7 room house? Here goes: Master bedroom and bath: husband and wife.
Bedroom 1 and 2 for the two boys when they start fighting
Bedroom 3 for the in-laws when they visit
Bedroom 4 is for home theatre viewing
Bedroom 5 is for the computers
The last small room with bath next to kitchen is for the maid
Oct 2019
Update
I received news that her grandchild was born. Interestingly the new family resides in a different geographical region. Her idea of having one son and his family live in her house and the other son and family live in a new house to be built in the empty back lot was clearly defeated by her daughter-in-law. I would be interested to look see what kind of woman her son chose. Probably an improved version of the most capable mum with lots of diplomacy and emotional quotient.
My friend and her young family out grew a 4 room terrace house. She went house hunting. Hundreds of viewing and possibly thirty agents later, she did not buy any property.
A middle-age real estate expert showed her two good buys that fitted her budget and criteria, they went for tea for it was a hot day. He asked, " I hate to give up but unless you tell me what kept you from deciding for the two I showed you, I could not keep on wasting your time."
She replied, " Really, if you can find me a house with 7 rooms which is not a mansion, then maybe we have a deal."
Four months later, he showed her a rental detached two storey house in a good neighbourhood. She bargained and cut the price down low. But since the owner has gotten tired of refurbishing old tired units to seek new tenants, he decided to sell to recoup the cash to invest into building another brand new house.
She painted the house, made some minor repairs and moved in. Ten years later, her two boys went abroad to study. Her husband suggested buying two connected four room condos and selling the old monster. For some reason, she objected. Therefor she ended with a house that is really too big in her golden years.
Now you are probably asking in your heart why does a family of four require a 7 room house? Here goes: Master bedroom and bath: husband and wife.
Bedroom 1 and 2 for the two boys when they start fighting
Bedroom 3 for the in-laws when they visit
Bedroom 4 is for home theatre viewing
Bedroom 5 is for the computers
The last small room with bath next to kitchen is for the maid
Oct 2019
Update
I received news that her grandchild was born. Interestingly the new family resides in a different geographical region. Her idea of having one son and his family live in her house and the other son and family live in a new house to be built in the empty back lot was clearly defeated by her daughter-in-law. I would be interested to look see what kind of woman her son chose. Probably an improved version of the most capable mum with lots of diplomacy and emotional quotient.
(1132) Atmosphere?!
Atmosphere! Lately I have been idly wondering how come I did not write when I was in Borneo.
One reason was because I did not invest in broadband. Another could be because I had an old cranky tiny computer that was rather temperamental. But I had had no excuse, there were many free hours, quietness, paper and pen. I certainly spent many long hours gardening and looking after my chickens. But as for writing, I did it whenever I flew home to the Peninsular.
I lived in a decent double storey house on a dead end road in a small "housing estate" within a km of the golf course - if you care to call two streets an estate. My left hand neighbour were a retired hospital personnel and his wife, the matron. My right hand neighbour were two newly weds. It was, however, not exactly peaceful at night. Dogs howled. "Squirrel" ran on wires at ten o'clock at night. It was a rather disconcerting place. Well, the rental was low, and the area rather safe. What more could I ask for?
Much later, when the land lord suddenly wanted to increase the rental, we gave notice and moved. Then a friend told us that the street in front of my old house was the exact route the death march was from town to the airport. The hundreds of prisoners-of-war trudged that route and a few died along the way, were buried in shallow graves. The survivors worked at clearing the air field and more died.
I was not afraid of the place. But I do know now that it was not a good place for writing.
One reason was because I did not invest in broadband. Another could be because I had an old cranky tiny computer that was rather temperamental. But I had had no excuse, there were many free hours, quietness, paper and pen. I certainly spent many long hours gardening and looking after my chickens. But as for writing, I did it whenever I flew home to the Peninsular.
I lived in a decent double storey house on a dead end road in a small "housing estate" within a km of the golf course - if you care to call two streets an estate. My left hand neighbour were a retired hospital personnel and his wife, the matron. My right hand neighbour were two newly weds. It was, however, not exactly peaceful at night. Dogs howled. "Squirrel" ran on wires at ten o'clock at night. It was a rather disconcerting place. Well, the rental was low, and the area rather safe. What more could I ask for?
Much later, when the land lord suddenly wanted to increase the rental, we gave notice and moved. Then a friend told us that the street in front of my old house was the exact route the death march was from town to the airport. The hundreds of prisoners-of-war trudged that route and a few died along the way, were buried in shallow graves. The survivors worked at clearing the air field and more died.
I was not afraid of the place. But I do know now that it was not a good place for writing.
(1131) Envy the Night by Michael Koryta
Like many well written books, I could sense the atmosphere of the place the author set this book in. I don't claim to have visited Wisconsin, I doubt if I will ever have the chance. It is not simply finances alone, I often visit a place because I have a friend there. Much as I ponder, I doubt I could name even a contact from Wisconsin. With due respect to those who hail from that state, or those who love the place; I would continue to look out for books written about Wisconsin so that I could get better acquainted with it.
For whatever reason, I think of Lee Child when I read Frank Temple III. If you think I am a thriller fan, then you are mistaken. I read thrillers because I enjoy good writing. All the better if it is set in a place I want to know better. It will be a bonus if I like the characters. This book fulfilled all three criteria, wonderful!
For whatever reason, I think of Lee Child when I read Frank Temple III. If you think I am a thriller fan, then you are mistaken. I read thrillers because I enjoy good writing. All the better if it is set in a place I want to know better. It will be a bonus if I like the characters. This book fulfilled all three criteria, wonderful!
(1130) Grasping Heaven by Tami L. Fisk
As books published by mission bodies go, this is a lovingly arranged one.
I cannot pretend to have finished reading it, more like I have read all I cared for within the time left. It is not worth the trouble to take it home and worry about how and when to return it to its owner.
If there is a focused life, this is probably a good example. If one could store up treasure in heaven, Tami found a way.
However, not everyone has the inclination to qualify as medical doctors. Neither are many called. Therefore, should one could bake beautifully, then bake for the enjoyment of the tasters. Should one choose to garden as a passion, then work on a garden for the King's pleasure. I happened to love to write, I certainly pray for many to read and be inspired in ways I originally did not intend. More than anything else, I hope my writing would steer my readers to think deeply.
"The good die young".
I cannot pretend to have finished reading it, more like I have read all I cared for within the time left. It is not worth the trouble to take it home and worry about how and when to return it to its owner.
If there is a focused life, this is probably a good example. If one could store up treasure in heaven, Tami found a way.
However, not everyone has the inclination to qualify as medical doctors. Neither are many called. Therefore, should one could bake beautifully, then bake for the enjoyment of the tasters. Should one choose to garden as a passion, then work on a garden for the King's pleasure. I happened to love to write, I certainly pray for many to read and be inspired in ways I originally did not intend. More than anything else, I hope my writing would steer my readers to think deeply.
"The good die young".
Monday, June 10, 2019
(1129) The Appeal by John Grisham
It is bad enough that big corporations has money and clout, now things are even worse with internet Moghuls owning amounts greater than the combined GDP of a few sizable countries.
But I guess there is no way things would improve or move backwards. Changes are here to stay. To those who read up on current affairs, 1MDB is old news. Possibly the beautiful girl from Mongolia who was blown to bits by c4 explosives was ancient facts, forgotten and ignored by folks who are bombarded with more news on mass shootings.
With US and China heading towards a total confrontation in the foreseeable future, perhaps the world's situation seemed more important that how the judiciary of any country functions. Yet could we really have any democracy without justice?
But I guess there is no way things would improve or move backwards. Changes are here to stay. To those who read up on current affairs, 1MDB is old news. Possibly the beautiful girl from Mongolia who was blown to bits by c4 explosives was ancient facts, forgotten and ignored by folks who are bombarded with more news on mass shootings.
With US and China heading towards a total confrontation in the foreseeable future, perhaps the world's situation seemed more important that how the judiciary of any country functions. Yet could we really have any democracy without justice?
(1128) A Time to Kill by John Grisham
This is a memorable story from Grisham.
Most of the time, there is a racist attitude deep in our hearts, whether we admit it or not.
However, I want to highlight one of my daughters' Headmistresses. She is known as the colour blind principal in my neighbourhood. In most Government high schools, At least one or the other of the Head Girl or Head Boy has to be of the majority race. Not so in this school, one year they had three Heads, two male and one female - all three of a minority race.
The headmistress, of course, is of the majority race. That is a certainty, nowadays. She actually treated each of her charges equally, she does not look at the skin colour, nor does she look at the religion or background.
To illustrate what a great person she is, I have to tell you a real story. I went to eat in the Mamak (Indian Muslim) eatery opposite the school mentioned above. A smiling young man served me. It was a quiet lull, the boss started chatting with me, for he is friendly soul. I told him I went to the school opposite to see a teacher who was very good to my girl.
He told me that my server is a student of the school opposite. His father had abandoned his mum years ago. To make ends meet, each child found part-time jobs to help the mum. Because of circumstances, the family had to move out of state to claim a wooden house and a bit of land in the mum's home town. The young man is short of one year to graduation, he did not want to change school and talked to his Headmistress. At the same time his boss supported his decision and allowed him to stay above the shop in a store room. With some stipend the Headmistress and the Parents Teacher Association managed come up with, some kindness from the Headmistress, the eatery owner, his Form Teacher, and the custodian in his school, he managed to hold his own and was doing well in school academically.
This young man, is of a third race, a much smaller group compared to that of the Head Prefects.
Most of the time, there is a racist attitude deep in our hearts, whether we admit it or not.
However, I want to highlight one of my daughters' Headmistresses. She is known as the colour blind principal in my neighbourhood. In most Government high schools, At least one or the other of the Head Girl or Head Boy has to be of the majority race. Not so in this school, one year they had three Heads, two male and one female - all three of a minority race.
The headmistress, of course, is of the majority race. That is a certainty, nowadays. She actually treated each of her charges equally, she does not look at the skin colour, nor does she look at the religion or background.
To illustrate what a great person she is, I have to tell you a real story. I went to eat in the Mamak (Indian Muslim) eatery opposite the school mentioned above. A smiling young man served me. It was a quiet lull, the boss started chatting with me, for he is friendly soul. I told him I went to the school opposite to see a teacher who was very good to my girl.
He told me that my server is a student of the school opposite. His father had abandoned his mum years ago. To make ends meet, each child found part-time jobs to help the mum. Because of circumstances, the family had to move out of state to claim a wooden house and a bit of land in the mum's home town. The young man is short of one year to graduation, he did not want to change school and talked to his Headmistress. At the same time his boss supported his decision and allowed him to stay above the shop in a store room. With some stipend the Headmistress and the Parents Teacher Association managed come up with, some kindness from the Headmistress, the eatery owner, his Form Teacher, and the custodian in his school, he managed to hold his own and was doing well in school academically.
This young man, is of a third race, a much smaller group compared to that of the Head Prefects.
(1127) The Testament by John Grisham
Giving away a vast fortune to charity is stuff of headlines. Sometimes it does actually happen. What I really like about this book is the second chance it accords to Nate O'Riley.
What would you think about a woman who knowingly took a baby and groom the child to be a future care giver so that she would have a kind of willing 'slave' when she is old and unable to walk and manage her own affairs?
If she then wrote a will and leave behind a sufficient amount for the now 35-year-old former carer with no marketable skills whatsoever to live the rest of her life on, does it absolve her guilt of ruining the girl's life?
If somehow, the trusted executor played the girl out and left her penniless at the mercy of relatives? Then the track record of this executor who adopted orphans, who supported the homeless just seemed to be marred by one thing that seemed out of character to the entire pattern. And if this executor happened some day use one of the younger adopted children for the same purpose as the earlier testator, how would you feel?
It is a good thing that the final arbiter is not our judges but God in the final analysis. However, if we believe that there is no God, then all is lost.
What would you think about a woman who knowingly took a baby and groom the child to be a future care giver so that she would have a kind of willing 'slave' when she is old and unable to walk and manage her own affairs?
If she then wrote a will and leave behind a sufficient amount for the now 35-year-old former carer with no marketable skills whatsoever to live the rest of her life on, does it absolve her guilt of ruining the girl's life?
If somehow, the trusted executor played the girl out and left her penniless at the mercy of relatives? Then the track record of this executor who adopted orphans, who supported the homeless just seemed to be marred by one thing that seemed out of character to the entire pattern. And if this executor happened some day use one of the younger adopted children for the same purpose as the earlier testator, how would you feel?
It is a good thing that the final arbiter is not our judges but God in the final analysis. However, if we believe that there is no God, then all is lost.
(1126) The Brethren by John Grisham
It is an interesting read on what three former justices could get up to when put behind bars. When they were pardoned and let loose, each of them spent their time doing different things.
I think of a retired couple who ended up transporting and feeding their troop of grand children with the help of maids in three houses situated within walking distance of each other. Once the pastor actually admonish them, with good intention, not to do too much for their beloved sons. Then seven years down the line, the good pastor himself made his own house the stomping ground for his son's three children under the age of five.
Most retirees who accumulated a certain amount of money while working end up taking three overseas trip every year for as long as they fancy travelling.
Yet the real athletic ones took sports full time when they retire. Then there are those who garden full time...
What will you do when you have the time, money and leisure?
If you have no hobby, no fun plans, you may belong to the group who up and die within a year. That's hard to believe, but the statistics bore witness to those lonely souls who could not find any cause to live for.
I think of a retired couple who ended up transporting and feeding their troop of grand children with the help of maids in three houses situated within walking distance of each other. Once the pastor actually admonish them, with good intention, not to do too much for their beloved sons. Then seven years down the line, the good pastor himself made his own house the stomping ground for his son's three children under the age of five.
Most retirees who accumulated a certain amount of money while working end up taking three overseas trip every year for as long as they fancy travelling.
Yet the real athletic ones took sports full time when they retire. Then there are those who garden full time...
What will you do when you have the time, money and leisure?
If you have no hobby, no fun plans, you may belong to the group who up and die within a year. That's hard to believe, but the statistics bore witness to those lonely souls who could not find any cause to live for.
(1125) The Runaway Jury by John Grisham
One of my brother-in-law is a US citizen, he has been chosen to serve as part of a jury before.
Most jury duty is tedious, boring and not dangerous. But what the panel of jury went through in this book is extraordinary.
Which is worse: a rigged jury or a corrupt judge? In many parts of the world, justice is for sale if you have the right amount and know the right people.
But, there is an ultimate judge: God. I will try and quote proverbs: the net of justice may be made up of holes but nothing much escapes it. (sky net grey grey, holey and no escape. Said in Cantonese) The wheel of justice grinds exceedingly slowly.
Most jury duty is tedious, boring and not dangerous. But what the panel of jury went through in this book is extraordinary.
Which is worse: a rigged jury or a corrupt judge? In many parts of the world, justice is for sale if you have the right amount and know the right people.
But, there is an ultimate judge: God. I will try and quote proverbs: the net of justice may be made up of holes but nothing much escapes it. (sky net grey grey, holey and no escape. Said in Cantonese) The wheel of justice grinds exceedingly slowly.
(1124) The Firm by John Grisham
Mitch graduated at the top of his Law class, yet he chose to work for a questionable firm under investigation. In the end he co-operated with the investigators and ended up having to run away. He successfully rescued his blood brother from detention and managed to disappear together with his wife as three fugitives in the high sea.
I have had no such exciting experience myself. But a friend of mine did once upon a time thought her husband was going to kill her. She ran! Interestingly it was people closest to him who helped her retrieve her "effects". Then her close friends helped her to transport those boxes from his home town to her hometown.
I met her as a neighbour more than 10 years ago. She was very suspicious then and it took me a while to draw close to her. Perhaps because I love to write stories and she loves to write poems, we see eye to eye about many things in life. If we ever get to collaborate together, we may be able to alternate chapters on our favourite topics: special education and marriage.
I have had no such exciting experience myself. But a friend of mine did once upon a time thought her husband was going to kill her. She ran! Interestingly it was people closest to him who helped her retrieve her "effects". Then her close friends helped her to transport those boxes from his home town to her hometown.
I met her as a neighbour more than 10 years ago. She was very suspicious then and it took me a while to draw close to her. Perhaps because I love to write stories and she loves to write poems, we see eye to eye about many things in life. If we ever get to collaborate together, we may be able to alternate chapters on our favourite topics: special education and marriage.
(1123) The Broker by John Grisham
Here is another one of Grisham's go to another country and disappear story. I have a soft spot for his tales.
This time it is a power broker who spent years in prison. At the end of the President's (who failed to be re-elected) first term, CIA wanted a pardon for a guy with sensitive information in his head, he was pardoned, sent to another country, assisted to assimilate and the establishment wanted him killed. The object is to see who came out to kill so they would know who bought the software. By now, there was a trail of dead bodies.
Miraculously, the fugitive survived and returned to USA. Circumstances changed and he was given a reprieve by fate. He still needed to run, he still needed to melt into the background, but by then he had the necessary skills to survive longer.
Six years ago, I flew to northern Borneo because of a cryptic prophesy in 1984 and a sense of adventure. Next month I am returning to the same town because I want a new life. Unlike the power broker, I committed no crime. I just want to blend into a small town and be a nobody. I want to be free to live and write, in a simple and humble manner, and earn a living without owing a debt of any kind to anybody.
This time it is a power broker who spent years in prison. At the end of the President's (who failed to be re-elected) first term, CIA wanted a pardon for a guy with sensitive information in his head, he was pardoned, sent to another country, assisted to assimilate and the establishment wanted him killed. The object is to see who came out to kill so they would know who bought the software. By now, there was a trail of dead bodies.
Miraculously, the fugitive survived and returned to USA. Circumstances changed and he was given a reprieve by fate. He still needed to run, he still needed to melt into the background, but by then he had the necessary skills to survive longer.
Six years ago, I flew to northern Borneo because of a cryptic prophesy in 1984 and a sense of adventure. Next month I am returning to the same town because I want a new life. Unlike the power broker, I committed no crime. I just want to blend into a small town and be a nobody. I want to be free to live and write, in a simple and humble manner, and earn a living without owing a debt of any kind to anybody.
(1122) Bubba Tea
Remember the neighbourhood girl at risk of being groomed as a drug mule? She is working in a Bubba Tea Café. In fact the tea mania started in Hong Kong, permeated to Taiwan and I think it multiplied in many places as a craze!
I personally have not had any. But back to my youngest daughter's teenage years, she used to share her classmate's tea after school whenever their Bus stopped and waited in front of a famous boy's school which is within walking distance of a shopping centre. That boy school is famous for producing many doctors trained in Malaysian universities. The shopping centre, however, is notorious for students spending their days there playing truant. I used to know the item as pearl milk tea in Cantonese.
Now, the craze is such that in a student area, there are five such shops on one short street doing roaring business. A typical plastic tall container of Bubba Tea on average contains fifteen spoonful of sugar. Grand mothers and aunties fall in love with it and it is the coolest drink of choice around town. If soft drinks caused diabetes in youngsters, then "teh tarik" might be the cause of diabetes for the middle age. "teh tarik" is hot, sweet milk tea being poured from one metallic container to another many times. The air that dissolves into the tea gives it a smooth taste. Then Bubba Tea may become the culprit that caused the aged to become diabetic.
There was at least one teenage girl in some part of China that landed in hospital after her entire digestive tract was occluded with the "pearls" which was made from sticky tapioca flour. She was sick enough to be termed critical but her addiction to the tea is going to survive the hospitalization.
Such a cup of tea costs between M$8.00 to M$20.00 ++. In a famous café, the average wait is 1 - 2 hours. They are usually taken away to consume at the aficionados' leisure.
I personally have not had any. But back to my youngest daughter's teenage years, she used to share her classmate's tea after school whenever their Bus stopped and waited in front of a famous boy's school which is within walking distance of a shopping centre. That boy school is famous for producing many doctors trained in Malaysian universities. The shopping centre, however, is notorious for students spending their days there playing truant. I used to know the item as pearl milk tea in Cantonese.
Now, the craze is such that in a student area, there are five such shops on one short street doing roaring business. A typical plastic tall container of Bubba Tea on average contains fifteen spoonful of sugar. Grand mothers and aunties fall in love with it and it is the coolest drink of choice around town. If soft drinks caused diabetes in youngsters, then "teh tarik" might be the cause of diabetes for the middle age. "teh tarik" is hot, sweet milk tea being poured from one metallic container to another many times. The air that dissolves into the tea gives it a smooth taste. Then Bubba Tea may become the culprit that caused the aged to become diabetic.
There was at least one teenage girl in some part of China that landed in hospital after her entire digestive tract was occluded with the "pearls" which was made from sticky tapioca flour. She was sick enough to be termed critical but her addiction to the tea is going to survive the hospitalization.
Such a cup of tea costs between M$8.00 to M$20.00 ++. In a famous café, the average wait is 1 - 2 hours. They are usually taken away to consume at the aficionados' leisure.
(1121) False Impression by Jeffrey Archer
Years after I blogged about Archer's books, I still am amazed by the thousands of searches targeting a few of those blogs.
Today, I found another Archer book but I am hard pressed to think of something to say after reading it. Perhaps this book is about famous pictures and a blue blood family. To be perfectly honest, the only time I wished to own or look at a picture daily, I was standing in one of the D.C. museums. It was a rather large picture, a forest and meadow scene. I actually bought a post card reproduction of it and brought it back to my home country. Each time I was in DC, I went back to admire it. The last time I saw it, I was pregnant with my number two. Little wonder she has really expensive tastes today, more than any of my other children.
As to blue bloods, the closest I came to it was when I befriended an ordinary-looking foreign student in my college. After graduation, I visited her in her home country; I was shocked to find that she came from the second richest family in that tiny nation. The following visit I made to that country I went to shop for my wedding finery. I found Sheridan sheets on sale and I bought the entire set of Chippendale, I think. During the third visit, she came to my hotel and related a most preposterous incident. We laughed and laughed about it.
Her mum gave her brother a sound shelling for not courting me while he had the opportunity in the States. The old lady would have preferred a foreign-educated person like me who was well brought up and know my place in life, after all I was educated in Chinese in the earlier years. My poor scholarly father drilled lots of archaic principles into me, his only literary heir in the Chinese language. According to my friend, her brother took all that angry words in silence. He realized that his chosen wife paled in terms of these traits which are unseen.
I honestly think her brother found me boring. He was one of those Asian students who tries to bed the blonds. I quite like him and actually attended a few mixers and perhaps a dance weekend double dating: his sister and a white friend, he and I. You see, life overseas is far from that of the home countries, the kind of qualities you look for in a girl friend and a wife are miles apart. At that point of time, I was all fired up to get my Ph.D. in artificial intelligence some day, although that term has not even been coined yet. I was not seeking to snare a husband yet, although he was rather eligible. Nevertheless, it was very flattering to have his mother having such high opinions of ordinary me.
Today, I found another Archer book but I am hard pressed to think of something to say after reading it. Perhaps this book is about famous pictures and a blue blood family. To be perfectly honest, the only time I wished to own or look at a picture daily, I was standing in one of the D.C. museums. It was a rather large picture, a forest and meadow scene. I actually bought a post card reproduction of it and brought it back to my home country. Each time I was in DC, I went back to admire it. The last time I saw it, I was pregnant with my number two. Little wonder she has really expensive tastes today, more than any of my other children.
As to blue bloods, the closest I came to it was when I befriended an ordinary-looking foreign student in my college. After graduation, I visited her in her home country; I was shocked to find that she came from the second richest family in that tiny nation. The following visit I made to that country I went to shop for my wedding finery. I found Sheridan sheets on sale and I bought the entire set of Chippendale, I think. During the third visit, she came to my hotel and related a most preposterous incident. We laughed and laughed about it.
Her mum gave her brother a sound shelling for not courting me while he had the opportunity in the States. The old lady would have preferred a foreign-educated person like me who was well brought up and know my place in life, after all I was educated in Chinese in the earlier years. My poor scholarly father drilled lots of archaic principles into me, his only literary heir in the Chinese language. According to my friend, her brother took all that angry words in silence. He realized that his chosen wife paled in terms of these traits which are unseen.
I honestly think her brother found me boring. He was one of those Asian students who tries to bed the blonds. I quite like him and actually attended a few mixers and perhaps a dance weekend double dating: his sister and a white friend, he and I. You see, life overseas is far from that of the home countries, the kind of qualities you look for in a girl friend and a wife are miles apart. At that point of time, I was all fired up to get my Ph.D. in artificial intelligence some day, although that term has not even been coined yet. I was not seeking to snare a husband yet, although he was rather eligible. Nevertheless, it was very flattering to have his mother having such high opinions of ordinary me.
Sunday, June 9, 2019
(1120) Surprising numbers
I have had enough of reading today and went on to look at the statistics provided by widgets.
By tallying the top ten countries in terms of page view and number of unique visitors, Germany and Poland are the only two countries which appear in page view but not in terms of many visitors. I did simple calculations and came up with the following:
Germany - average page read per visitor: 22
Poland - : 124
The result astounded me. Thank you for reading my blog, all my readers. Readers from Poland, you are really encouraging me. That means I have repeat visitors from Germany too.
By tallying the top ten countries in terms of page view and number of unique visitors, Germany and Poland are the only two countries which appear in page view but not in terms of many visitors. I did simple calculations and came up with the following:
Germany - average page read per visitor: 22
Poland - : 124
The result astounded me. Thank you for reading my blog, all my readers. Readers from Poland, you are really encouraging me. That means I have repeat visitors from Germany too.
(1121) The various Flavours of Coffee by Anthony Capella
This is the very first book I read about coffee, even though underlying it is really a love story.
As I close the book after I read the last page, my thoughts are about coffee.
I remember the many cups of store blend I had in college to stay up completing projects in the middle of many nights. I think of the first cup of real coffee Gaston, my favourite cousin in China, bought me in Kwangchow. I recall the many cups of designer coffee my millionaire friend June made me in her lovely home. I feel the hot, fragrant Secret Recipe brew I partook weekly in Silver City with a neighbour.
My cousin, Juliet who knows much more about coffee and tea than I, talked conversantly about fair price coffee and social justice.
I realize that once upon a time we used to have coffee as a minor crop in Malaya.
My mum, who is 86, thinks of coffee as an gift from God to human kind which she discovered regretfully late in old age.
As I close the book after I read the last page, my thoughts are about coffee.
I remember the many cups of store blend I had in college to stay up completing projects in the middle of many nights. I think of the first cup of real coffee Gaston, my favourite cousin in China, bought me in Kwangchow. I recall the many cups of designer coffee my millionaire friend June made me in her lovely home. I feel the hot, fragrant Secret Recipe brew I partook weekly in Silver City with a neighbour.
My cousin, Juliet who knows much more about coffee and tea than I, talked conversantly about fair price coffee and social justice.
I realize that once upon a time we used to have coffee as a minor crop in Malaya.
My mum, who is 86, thinks of coffee as an gift from God to human kind which she discovered regretfully late in old age.
(1119) Rosie's poem in 1114
'Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there. I did not die.'
If you follow my blog for any length of time, you would know that I can't write poems. However, I love Chinese "che" not "Shi" and some simple English poems. Here's a gem, I hope you like it.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there. I did not die.'
If you follow my blog for any length of time, you would know that I can't write poems. However, I love Chinese "che" not "Shi" and some simple English poems. Here's a gem, I hope you like it.
(1118) Perfect recall or photographic memory
I was surveying a handful of blogs as to the number of readers: it is interesting to find that play dough (1070) and The Red Seed Game (1075) are quite popular.
Here is the follow-up blog. I paid a visit to the lovely, artistic young lady up north and found that although she has less memory hooks than most people, her visual memory is one of the best I came across over the years.
This is the vital game which revealed that valuable piece of information. I took a pack of cards (poker cards, the kind we come down the airplane with after a long flight with children) and arranged them face down in rows and columns on a long table. Then I corralled as many old and young to play my game. It is called Memory Game. Each person opens two cards, whichever they wish, if the cards happen to match, then they acquired them and is given another turn. If not, it is then the next person's turn. Over the years, I have played this game thousands of times and became quite good at it. As I was the game master, I was not paying much attention to winning, I spent the time observing and recording each person's performance. It turned out that my target, the object of my visit, was the best player with her mum following closely behind. After a second game, I began to suspect that she may have a photographic memory that she did not refine over the years.
I am a one-track mind person. After my return, I was still unconsciously playing with the thought of how a person with such unusually powerful ability of recall could not hang onto pieces of information. It occurred to me then that memories come in the form of words, pictures, ideas, diagrams, music,... The answer seemed to be at the tip of my tongue and yet I could not touch it, let alone utter it. Then during worship in church one Sunday morning, the answer flashed like a light bulb: but of course she need no longer develop memory hooks, all she needs to do is to paint in her memory easel whatever she wants to remember: be it words, symbols, diagrams or pictures or a combination of any thing, snap a visual photo and file it away --"wallah!" she would be one of the world's best memory experts in practise.
After being challenged to pray and make a visit to a city 400 miles or so away, I am relieved to have no need of going there anymore. I was very fearful that I will be found wanting and was being treated as a consultant when in actual fact I know so little. I have had no formal training whatsoever. No degree, diploma and not even a certificate in the field in question. All I have is my own experience in over coming certain short-comings years ago, probably a smattering of very specific knowledge garnered with great difficulty and perseverance in a few cases I came across over the past decades. Enough to tell stories but not enough to consult.
Thereafter I had better turn to publishing e-books and not tell too much of my past activities in the bio data. I am most thankful that I survived this experience and there is a solution given to me, on my own I would probably be still puzzling over the seemingly contradictory pieces of facts.
Here is the follow-up blog. I paid a visit to the lovely, artistic young lady up north and found that although she has less memory hooks than most people, her visual memory is one of the best I came across over the years.
This is the vital game which revealed that valuable piece of information. I took a pack of cards (poker cards, the kind we come down the airplane with after a long flight with children) and arranged them face down in rows and columns on a long table. Then I corralled as many old and young to play my game. It is called Memory Game. Each person opens two cards, whichever they wish, if the cards happen to match, then they acquired them and is given another turn. If not, it is then the next person's turn. Over the years, I have played this game thousands of times and became quite good at it. As I was the game master, I was not paying much attention to winning, I spent the time observing and recording each person's performance. It turned out that my target, the object of my visit, was the best player with her mum following closely behind. After a second game, I began to suspect that she may have a photographic memory that she did not refine over the years.
I am a one-track mind person. After my return, I was still unconsciously playing with the thought of how a person with such unusually powerful ability of recall could not hang onto pieces of information. It occurred to me then that memories come in the form of words, pictures, ideas, diagrams, music,... The answer seemed to be at the tip of my tongue and yet I could not touch it, let alone utter it. Then during worship in church one Sunday morning, the answer flashed like a light bulb: but of course she need no longer develop memory hooks, all she needs to do is to paint in her memory easel whatever she wants to remember: be it words, symbols, diagrams or pictures or a combination of any thing, snap a visual photo and file it away --"wallah!" she would be one of the world's best memory experts in practise.
After being challenged to pray and make a visit to a city 400 miles or so away, I am relieved to have no need of going there anymore. I was very fearful that I will be found wanting and was being treated as a consultant when in actual fact I know so little. I have had no formal training whatsoever. No degree, diploma and not even a certificate in the field in question. All I have is my own experience in over coming certain short-comings years ago, probably a smattering of very specific knowledge garnered with great difficulty and perseverance in a few cases I came across over the past decades. Enough to tell stories but not enough to consult.
Thereafter I had better turn to publishing e-books and not tell too much of my past activities in the bio data. I am most thankful that I survived this experience and there is a solution given to me, on my own I would probably be still puzzling over the seemingly contradictory pieces of facts.
Saturday, June 8, 2019
(1117) Unmentionables
When I was young, my mum taught me that a lady should wash her own undergarments by hand separately from all other clothes. I have asked why many times, but none of the answers given by my mum, my grandma or any other older women would make any sense to me.
Now that I have grown daughters, even though I do not follow that rule at home; I taught my daughters the same rule should they live in other people's house. Interestingly, that rule applied in one of my daughter's landlady's house while she lived near the university. Even though her landlady owns a state-of-the-art washing machine, she still washes her delicates by hand daily.
When I visit friends with foreign maids, I carefully follow my mother's maxim. Though if I go visit a friend with no maid, I would ask if she washes her smalls in her machine and I follow accordingly. I have found that this little thoughtfulness puts me in great favour with many Asian maids.
If you ask me why, I could answer you two ways: either it is a form of respect for the dignity of the maids or I place my self-respect and my intimate apparel above the daily mundane touch of a stranger. I have come across a maid who looked down at her mistress simply because the maid chose to wash things by hand daily and she refused to keep dirty clothes for three days and machine wash them as instructed. It was very confusing: if the maid detested washing undergarments of another female, then she should stop hand washing altogether. Yet the pride of the good housekeeper did not allow her to keep smelly clothes overnight as there were only two employers living in the big house.
I wonder if this is true only in Asia?
Now that I have grown daughters, even though I do not follow that rule at home; I taught my daughters the same rule should they live in other people's house. Interestingly, that rule applied in one of my daughter's landlady's house while she lived near the university. Even though her landlady owns a state-of-the-art washing machine, she still washes her delicates by hand daily.
When I visit friends with foreign maids, I carefully follow my mother's maxim. Though if I go visit a friend with no maid, I would ask if she washes her smalls in her machine and I follow accordingly. I have found that this little thoughtfulness puts me in great favour with many Asian maids.
If you ask me why, I could answer you two ways: either it is a form of respect for the dignity of the maids or I place my self-respect and my intimate apparel above the daily mundane touch of a stranger. I have come across a maid who looked down at her mistress simply because the maid chose to wash things by hand daily and she refused to keep dirty clothes for three days and machine wash them as instructed. It was very confusing: if the maid detested washing undergarments of another female, then she should stop hand washing altogether. Yet the pride of the good housekeeper did not allow her to keep smelly clothes overnight as there were only two employers living in the big house.
I wonder if this is true only in Asia?
(1116) Adjusting to a new country and diet
In between my literary efforts: reading, translating, editing, blogging... and meals, I chatted with the new maid.
It is eye-opening to hear about things from the maid's perspective. This a household that runs with one full-time maid, one part-time gardener and one part-time window cleaner who happened to be a Filipina married to a local man.
Even though the two female maids are from two countries and speak different languages, the Filipina has learnt enough local dialect to communicate with the new comer. The former has worked for this household a long time and has befriended every maid employed for more than twelve years.
Interestingly the last maid used to ask the part-timer to purchase food she likes but have no access to. I casually asked what food, most of the items mentioned were desserts made with carbohydrates from roots, in other words tropical common street food in South East Asia.
I find it amazing as I could find more than enough things to eat in the fridge and the cupboards. Later as I thought about it more, I realized that forty years or so ago, even though the college cafeteria boasted of a wide selection of food round the week, I missed rice desperately. Once a week white rice was served, I would eat like five little bowls and pile on plates of other selection of meat and vegetables until tiny me could not carry the loaded tray back to the window of the washing place. The servers were huge black ladies who shook their heads at my slender waistline, wondering how I could burn such a lot of calories daily. On International day once in three months, I would chalk up four servings of Chinese fried rice or Japanese rice and meat, decent helpings that came on dinner plates. So I suppose a person from another culture would definitely miss something or other in the new country. Here the maids are from rural area, of lower socio-economic background, they could not easily hop into our urban sophisticated upper-middle class way of consuming lots of meat and vegetables and little carbohydrates.
It is eye-opening to hear about things from the maid's perspective. This a household that runs with one full-time maid, one part-time gardener and one part-time window cleaner who happened to be a Filipina married to a local man.
Even though the two female maids are from two countries and speak different languages, the Filipina has learnt enough local dialect to communicate with the new comer. The former has worked for this household a long time and has befriended every maid employed for more than twelve years.
Interestingly the last maid used to ask the part-timer to purchase food she likes but have no access to. I casually asked what food, most of the items mentioned were desserts made with carbohydrates from roots, in other words tropical common street food in South East Asia.
I find it amazing as I could find more than enough things to eat in the fridge and the cupboards. Later as I thought about it more, I realized that forty years or so ago, even though the college cafeteria boasted of a wide selection of food round the week, I missed rice desperately. Once a week white rice was served, I would eat like five little bowls and pile on plates of other selection of meat and vegetables until tiny me could not carry the loaded tray back to the window of the washing place. The servers were huge black ladies who shook their heads at my slender waistline, wondering how I could burn such a lot of calories daily. On International day once in three months, I would chalk up four servings of Chinese fried rice or Japanese rice and meat, decent helpings that came on dinner plates. So I suppose a person from another culture would definitely miss something or other in the new country. Here the maids are from rural area, of lower socio-economic background, they could not easily hop into our urban sophisticated upper-middle class way of consuming lots of meat and vegetables and little carbohydrates.
(1115) Good cooks, bad cooks
I commented how I enjoyed the yellow pulut (sticky rice) cooked with coconut milk as a savoury base to go with chicken curry. My host replied that the curry might be difficult to get cooked right. But he thinks anybody who tries cooking the rice using a good recipe could easily get it right after a few tries. As he puts it, it is a no brainer.
Interestingly, I have always used my mother-in-law's creation as a standard to measure such a dish against. While I have not tried cooking it, I would eat it whenever I see it during pot bless or in a buffet. Seldom do I get both cooked to my high standard of expectation. This dish is one of the Nyonya (Peranakan cooking is the legacy of Chinese who blended Chinese cooking with much Malay influence through the generations) dish. My mum-in-law's mum-in-law wore sarong and spoke Malay as a primary language at home all her life. Recipes are passed on from generation to generation. Sad to say, neither my husband's generation nor my children's generation took the trouble to learn these delicious recipes.
After picking my hostess' brain as well, it seemed that people who love good food often learn to produce it with little or no previous cooking experience while they could not purchase restaurant-produced food overseas as students or new immigrants.
Their children, who had never boiled water at home, were sent overseas with a minimum of two cooking sessions. Both girls could produce a list of good food, like barbecue pork(both char siew, siew yuk), chocolate walnut cake, lemon meringue pie, ... Their elder girl's fiancée could cooked up western steak with apple sauce without much problem at first try. He never entered his parents' kitchen prior to going abroad.
According to my son, good cooking requires a little basic experience and a lot of common sense. Maybe the fact I could never produce excellent food is because I lack passion. My daughters have no need to learn to cook well because they have not been overseas for the long haul, there was no need to learn to cook. After all, street-cooked food is plentiful and low in price in this country.
While I visited Arlington, Texas to look see the campus in 1984, I was lodging with friends of my brother's. I was so free that month, daily jogging in the indoor sports centre and morning swim in the apartment pool left plenty of time to experiment with food. I must have exhausted my usual menu of fried rice, fried bee hoon(vermicella), spaghetti, fried beef wanton, pork dumplings, ... I remember cooking asam laksa(spicy sour fish soup with rice stick and vegetables), black sticky rice with meat and mushroom, red bean soup, bobo chacha ( a dessert of yam, sweet potatoes in coconut milk soup). Personally I didn't think much of my attempts, but my temporary housemates were delighted with a volunteer cook. They were busy with classes, projects, assignments, part time jobs and dating. Before and after my visit, they subsisted with food from the cafeteria, instant noodle or biscuits.
Interestingly, I have always used my mother-in-law's creation as a standard to measure such a dish against. While I have not tried cooking it, I would eat it whenever I see it during pot bless or in a buffet. Seldom do I get both cooked to my high standard of expectation. This dish is one of the Nyonya (Peranakan cooking is the legacy of Chinese who blended Chinese cooking with much Malay influence through the generations) dish. My mum-in-law's mum-in-law wore sarong and spoke Malay as a primary language at home all her life. Recipes are passed on from generation to generation. Sad to say, neither my husband's generation nor my children's generation took the trouble to learn these delicious recipes.
After picking my hostess' brain as well, it seemed that people who love good food often learn to produce it with little or no previous cooking experience while they could not purchase restaurant-produced food overseas as students or new immigrants.
Their children, who had never boiled water at home, were sent overseas with a minimum of two cooking sessions. Both girls could produce a list of good food, like barbecue pork(both char siew, siew yuk), chocolate walnut cake, lemon meringue pie, ... Their elder girl's fiancée could cooked up western steak with apple sauce without much problem at first try. He never entered his parents' kitchen prior to going abroad.
According to my son, good cooking requires a little basic experience and a lot of common sense. Maybe the fact I could never produce excellent food is because I lack passion. My daughters have no need to learn to cook well because they have not been overseas for the long haul, there was no need to learn to cook. After all, street-cooked food is plentiful and low in price in this country.
While I visited Arlington, Texas to look see the campus in 1984, I was lodging with friends of my brother's. I was so free that month, daily jogging in the indoor sports centre and morning swim in the apartment pool left plenty of time to experiment with food. I must have exhausted my usual menu of fried rice, fried bee hoon(vermicella), spaghetti, fried beef wanton, pork dumplings, ... I remember cooking asam laksa(spicy sour fish soup with rice stick and vegetables), black sticky rice with meat and mushroom, red bean soup, bobo chacha ( a dessert of yam, sweet potatoes in coconut milk soup). Personally I didn't think much of my attempts, but my temporary housemates were delighted with a volunteer cook. They were busy with classes, projects, assignments, part time jobs and dating. Before and after my visit, they subsisted with food from the cafeteria, instant noodle or biscuits.
(1114) Rosie by Alan Titchmarsh
Rosie was in her eighties when she needed encouragement to live up a bit. My deceased dad was eighty seven when he decided he had lived enough and waited for death in front of the TV. Interestingly his mind was sharp enough to tell me how much cash he had in hand when I visited him daily : something like M$325. He did not count coins nor did he bother about one dollar bills. After three days' of treasure hunt in his room, I found it in unexpected places, besides some new notes hidden in Ang Pow (red packets usually given out to children during the first 15 days of Chinese New Year). I would be please if I could keep a mind like that to the end someday.
My mom is 86 now. She is eating well, exercising regularly and still hopeful she should recover enough for one more trip to Hong Kong after breaking both legs within two weeks, three years ago. She just came back from a town 180 Km away with my family in a hotel for three nights.
Her elder brother had Alzeimer's and it was surreal to listen to him talking about spirits playing in the court yard beneath his apartment in the town centre in bright day light. His wife and unmarried daughter told me that for about a year, he lost grip of reality and talked about unreal stuff seemingly true to him. I must say that he was quite a prolific author of fascinating, fictitious tales at least verbally. After a typical visit as I described, I felt like I just returned from listening to a professional oral story teller on the street such as during my early childhood. He passed on after a bad fall at 88.
His elder sister is a cool 90 years old. She could no longer remember her siblings nor children. However, she is mobile and physically active. She is a tiny slip of a slender old lady, active and playful. As long as someone is in the house keeping tight hold of the keys, she could not slip out and disappear. Twice my cousins had to seek police assistance to find her. Once she walked for miles and was sitting by the side of the highway to Kuala Lumpur in the late afternoon. For an ancient person with advanced dementia, she is friendly, fun and amusing to me.
My paternal grandma lived to a cool 99 and died after she could not eat for 3 days. She remained sharp to the end. She was a bit wobbly physically the last few days. According to her favourite grand daughter, my cousin whom I like, she was very good at pretending she could not remember those who were mean to her in the past. At 99, she could hear but most of the time she could not be bothered to listen, hence most people thought she was hard of hearing.
If I am not mistaken, the life expectancy of a male in this country is 78, that of a woman is 80. It does appear that all the folks I mentioned lived rather long.
My mom is 86 now. She is eating well, exercising regularly and still hopeful she should recover enough for one more trip to Hong Kong after breaking both legs within two weeks, three years ago. She just came back from a town 180 Km away with my family in a hotel for three nights.
Her elder brother had Alzeimer's and it was surreal to listen to him talking about spirits playing in the court yard beneath his apartment in the town centre in bright day light. His wife and unmarried daughter told me that for about a year, he lost grip of reality and talked about unreal stuff seemingly true to him. I must say that he was quite a prolific author of fascinating, fictitious tales at least verbally. After a typical visit as I described, I felt like I just returned from listening to a professional oral story teller on the street such as during my early childhood. He passed on after a bad fall at 88.
His elder sister is a cool 90 years old. She could no longer remember her siblings nor children. However, she is mobile and physically active. She is a tiny slip of a slender old lady, active and playful. As long as someone is in the house keeping tight hold of the keys, she could not slip out and disappear. Twice my cousins had to seek police assistance to find her. Once she walked for miles and was sitting by the side of the highway to Kuala Lumpur in the late afternoon. For an ancient person with advanced dementia, she is friendly, fun and amusing to me.
My paternal grandma lived to a cool 99 and died after she could not eat for 3 days. She remained sharp to the end. She was a bit wobbly physically the last few days. According to her favourite grand daughter, my cousin whom I like, she was very good at pretending she could not remember those who were mean to her in the past. At 99, she could hear but most of the time she could not be bothered to listen, hence most people thought she was hard of hearing.
If I am not mistaken, the life expectancy of a male in this country is 78, that of a woman is 80. It does appear that all the folks I mentioned lived rather long.
(1113) The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer
Here is another gem I found in my hostess' book shelves.
While laughing at some of the happenings in the book, I felt sad at other minor events. I have heard of the Canary Islands and even at one point in time might be able to quote the Capital. I have never heard of Guernsey before.
I have read of one book and a few articles on the Nanking Massacre. I grew up listening to my grandma and other old folks' accounts of the atrocities of the Japanese Occupation for three years and eight months in Malaya. Throughout my adult life, every book I have access to on World War two I would definitely read. I have come to the conclusion that humans do not behave the same way during war time as compared to peaceful era. With my limited contact to Germans and Japanese, they do not seem more extreme than the White Rednecks I met in South Carolina, for instance. In fact, I quite like my husband's host family from Nagoya who came to visit the Penang island. My husband participated in an exchange program in Japan in his earlier years. While in Silver City, I car sat for a German lady for a total of eighteen months over a three-year period. I find the Germans straight forward and reasonable to deal with.
While the ending of the above book was a little unexpected, it was all in a day's work. I have often found artists: whether designer, writer, sculptor, painter, ... a little difficult to predict. Probably my primary and secondary school friends would be shocked if I bury myself in Borneo in obscurity from now on. It is to be expected, isn't it?
While laughing at some of the happenings in the book, I felt sad at other minor events. I have heard of the Canary Islands and even at one point in time might be able to quote the Capital. I have never heard of Guernsey before.
I have read of one book and a few articles on the Nanking Massacre. I grew up listening to my grandma and other old folks' accounts of the atrocities of the Japanese Occupation for three years and eight months in Malaya. Throughout my adult life, every book I have access to on World War two I would definitely read. I have come to the conclusion that humans do not behave the same way during war time as compared to peaceful era. With my limited contact to Germans and Japanese, they do not seem more extreme than the White Rednecks I met in South Carolina, for instance. In fact, I quite like my husband's host family from Nagoya who came to visit the Penang island. My husband participated in an exchange program in Japan in his earlier years. While in Silver City, I car sat for a German lady for a total of eighteen months over a three-year period. I find the Germans straight forward and reasonable to deal with.
While the ending of the above book was a little unexpected, it was all in a day's work. I have often found artists: whether designer, writer, sculptor, painter, ... a little difficult to predict. Probably my primary and secondary school friends would be shocked if I bury myself in Borneo in obscurity from now on. It is to be expected, isn't it?
Friday, June 7, 2019
(1112) Sun at Midnight by Rosie Thomas
I believe my brother has been to all the continents except the Antarctica. I will never be able to travel as much as my brother as child rearing took me many years, on top of that I heeded the biological clock.
This is a beautifully written book that almost equals to watching an artistically made documentary of the ice world. Alice did not even realize she was pregnant when she decided and then rushed to make all the preparation needed to work in the silent and cold continent for months.
She reminded me of my ex-neighbour who kept her baby boy in spite of the threat of divorce from her then husband. Thirty years later, she has a loving son and a loyal daughter-in-law in Singapore who visit her a few times a year and they remit money to her. Her ex made himself another family with a Thai lady who fitted into his scheme of things and his own time table. When we think of the exchange rate of Sing dollars versus M dollars, it is significant.
Contrast that with my clay pot yee mee lady who aborted her child because her then husband thought she was too young. He married her at sixteen but he thought she should wait a few years to have her first child. Until today she remained childless as the abortion rendered her infertile for life. He divorced her anyway.
This is a beautifully written book that almost equals to watching an artistically made documentary of the ice world. Alice did not even realize she was pregnant when she decided and then rushed to make all the preparation needed to work in the silent and cold continent for months.
She reminded me of my ex-neighbour who kept her baby boy in spite of the threat of divorce from her then husband. Thirty years later, she has a loving son and a loyal daughter-in-law in Singapore who visit her a few times a year and they remit money to her. Her ex made himself another family with a Thai lady who fitted into his scheme of things and his own time table. When we think of the exchange rate of Sing dollars versus M dollars, it is significant.
Contrast that with my clay pot yee mee lady who aborted her child because her then husband thought she was too young. He married her at sixteen but he thought she should wait a few years to have her first child. Until today she remained childless as the abortion rendered her infertile for life. He divorced her anyway.
(1111) The curious incident of the dog in the night-time by Mark Haddon
I read this book quite a few years ago in my niece's house.
It is written in the words of an Asperger Syndrome boy. I have taught a similar but less severe boy in Silver City. He was actually my good friend's student. Despite the many books in the book shelve my friend provided, he was not interested. I told my friend that many boys in that category may be reading on a grade 3 level but do not read for pleasure. She asked me what would be the best thing to do?
I suggested the mum bring him to the town council library and each time I borrow my twenty two books I would supervise him for an hour. The very first time he just stared at me for that one hour. The second time I found him a few wordless book with beautiful illustrations and that occupied him for a few minutes. After that he roamed around the library and after half an hour found a cartoon book. He finished it right when I was done and I took him to his waiting mum. The third time his mum came in to apply for membership cards for him.
All in it took about six visits and he was then on his own. According to his mum, he selected his two allotted books, read them within a week and was always looking forward to the next visit. He progressed from cartoons to books with pictures and then moved on to higher level illustrated books with sentences. Gradually the sentences turned into paragraphs. After three years or so, he started reading books without pictures. Funny thing is : all his other siblings preferred TV to books.
It is written in the words of an Asperger Syndrome boy. I have taught a similar but less severe boy in Silver City. He was actually my good friend's student. Despite the many books in the book shelve my friend provided, he was not interested. I told my friend that many boys in that category may be reading on a grade 3 level but do not read for pleasure. She asked me what would be the best thing to do?
I suggested the mum bring him to the town council library and each time I borrow my twenty two books I would supervise him for an hour. The very first time he just stared at me for that one hour. The second time I found him a few wordless book with beautiful illustrations and that occupied him for a few minutes. After that he roamed around the library and after half an hour found a cartoon book. He finished it right when I was done and I took him to his waiting mum. The third time his mum came in to apply for membership cards for him.
All in it took about six visits and he was then on his own. According to his mum, he selected his two allotted books, read them within a week and was always looking forward to the next visit. He progressed from cartoons to books with pictures and then moved on to higher level illustrated books with sentences. Gradually the sentences turned into paragraphs. After three years or so, he started reading books without pictures. Funny thing is : all his other siblings preferred TV to books.
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