On becoming a teacher
The other day my eldest asked me quite straight-forwardly? “Why did you become a teacher, Mummy?” A natural question I suppose. I then recall my own mum’s( a former teacher herself) disappointment about 13 years ago when I decided that after 3 years, I was leaving the glitzy, heartless corporate world, ‘to become a teacher.’
So today, I hope to answer my daughter’s question myself.
Many are surprised to learn that I had worked in a notable foreign bank for three years, first as a management trainee then as an account manager servicing clients’ unlimited credit card accounts as well as privilege/priority banking accounts, with my own office to boot, even working under a woman who wished she wore Prada everyday!
Not to digress, my banking stint taught me some lifelong skills, which I find really useful in my career as a teacher in an international school that doesn’t ever stop.
I learnt how to meet crazy deadlines, hit targets, do constant cold calls, work on PR charm and socialize with high nett-worth clients(who had strange requests from enquiring about interest and forex rates, loans, debentures, derivatives, to questioning the safety of our safe deposit boxes, to inviting me to their homes for tea, to removing incriminating transactions(usually for dirty mistresses) on their credit cards before wife no. 1 receives it, advising them about personal matters and even shopping for their Xmas, birthday presents, organize corporate events and road-shows, and once even physically counting loads and loads of cash from a Samsonite suitcase! As a manual teller, I truly sucked, from recollection!
I remember getting a high from dressing up in smart suits, panty hose, and kitten heels and taking the company car to meet clients for power lunches (and shop during lunch breaks if there was time especially during sales) Those were my hey days as a corporate financier. I would earmark every new IPO, read the Economist, the Edge and Personal Money diligently, hawk the Bloomberg channel and was eloquent in talking financial Shop (probably a bit of rot, too) being an English major that I am, who knew the who’s who in the world of MD and CEOS. What a colourful, self-important job it was!
Hence, teaching, compared to the world of high finance must surely be a comedown, you might think. I beg to differ. By the time I left my job I had stopped enjoying it due to sheer boredom, and wanted something fulfilling and more challenging.
.
When I chose to teach, I did it because I wanted to have more time. Plus slogging in a 9 to 9 job is no fun especially if the economy is crumbling around you (and in ‘97-99, it sure was)
Like every modern educated, career woman (worse, a married one), there are many things to prioritise in your young life. I had chosen to marry, at a relatively young age of 26. You want your career, you want your financial freedom, you want your cute babies and you want your beautiful home and annual holidays. Let’s face it, you want it all, but papa patriarchy calls out to you, and holds you back, and we’ve all been victims of that one way or another, making sacrifices along the way.
Being a practical Capricorn, I figured I would want to be home for my children DESPITE my career and I landed my first teaching job at a client’s office. Those hard-selling, public relations training at the bank sure worked wonders.
Moreover, with teaching, I figured I would have more time to write, which is something I truly enjoy doing anyway!
Teaching+ Time= Writing? Perfect equation! How wrong I was!
Sure, I have holidays that are the envy of friends but many do not know how mentally and physically hard we work during the term. The minute a new term begins, it’s like a javelin hurtle from one project after another, and I am not just talking about completing a syllabus, or marking homework or coursework. A whole litany of tasks awaits the new renaissance teacher, as many a students have termed us!
We plan, prepare, teach, mark, set exams and analyse results, write student progress reports, record, assess, fill up more data, have meetings, go for INSETS, conduct some sessions, get used to all these modern fangled teaching technology, update our methodological and pedagogical styles, mentor, do duties, run assemblies, attend events, run events, do trips, etc etc. The list goes on and on and I’m sure to have left something out.
But to me, the most endearing thing about teaching is really is about PR of a different kind- more personal relations than public. Every student and child is deserving of our time( even lunchtimes), listening ear and encouragement. Every student’s time is in our hands. Teaching teenagers who range from aged 12 to 18, I have come to sometimes be not only their teacher, but their advocate, their mentor, sometimes friend, a listening ear, their life coach.
English Literature and Language go hand in hand and though I don’t look like a native speaker, I must proudly declare that it is my first language, for I have spoken and written it far longer than I have any other language I know and it is the language I dream and cuss in and think with. How much more ‘native’ can that be??
Errrr...it doesn’t really pay for my uhmm…larger than life closet, or for my numerous holidays
(but that’s what husbands are for :)) but it is very gratifying, in every way. Every lesson can be a challenge and a whole new endeavour.
When my former students who are now my facebook friends catch up, it’s nice to know they are out there- working in highly-coveted high powered jobs in London and New York( saving British & American banks), directing a film, writing a metaphysical novel, taking the Hippocratic oath seriously, designing vintage Jean Rhys-inspired 1920s weddings gowns, publishing their own writing, winning scholarships in Ivy League universities, helping people in need, the list goes on and on. The best news, is hearing that a former student has chosen writing or teaching for their career- out of choice, not necessity! For, after all, if they all became top economists, doctors, lawyers, accountants, engineers, and the like, who would teach their children?
So, darling S, that’s why Mummy became a teacher, to be a better, working Mummy and to grow along with my 80.1 students every academic year, whom I learn from!
And Mummy, I hope you’re finally proud that I have chosen to teach.
After 11 years of it, teaching has become me. And I love it.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
A BIRTHDAY LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER
A Birthday Letter to my Daughter on April 11th 2010
My dearest darling I,
As you turn seven today, you probably don’t realize what an extraordinary influence you have had on the lives around you. On your 7th birthday, my darling, here is Mummy (& Daddy) wishing you life's most wondrous blessings, and our greatest love.
Your arrival into this world on April 11th 2003 at 2.02am was momentous and joyous to us in every way. After three false labours which included an overnight hospital stay where Daddy paid the Shangri-La rate to sleep on Gleneagle’s uncomfortable labour room chairs, you finally made your entry into this world quite easily as Mummy watched on CNN the Allied tanks barrage their way into Baghdad, claiming victory over oil, and as SARS waged its furor onto the world. Those were the first salient memories of your birth, my darling.
With violence and a health scare scourging the world, Mummy wondered even more than ever, how to bring you up in this ever increasing perilous world around us. But as ever, you are a little feisty fighter and has always been. And we, especially Mummy, has always been gentle and patient with you.
Your big che-che S embraced you immediately with open arms and the inseparable bond between you both have been forged ever since. The mantra that Mummy constant chants to you two girls has always been “to love each other like there is no one else.” So in the last seven years I have seen how you two darlings have loved, bicker(sometimes), love some more, share, plot, emulate each other, encourage one another, sometimes tiff but being always kind and loving to one another. That has been the most endearing things to see as your Mummy.
Little Belly Boo, as you’re often called, you don’t know how much you’re loved and adored. When your little bro came along, Mummy was worried that you might feel a little left out, being the middle of three. But you know what. I don’t have to worry too much. As I have told you, you are my sandwich ham- the middle part of the sandwich. So without you, there will be no sandwich! Yes, che che and di di are the slices of bread, but always remember that the filling of the sandwich is what makes a sandwich. So I know you gleefully and secretly love your extra nick-name- Hammie, for you are all that and more to me!
Being a bit of a PR pro, you always know how to make Mummy feel better, especially when you are in a ‘I want to please you’ mood. You ever smiley face and bright disposition always bring light to us all, even when mummy feels a little tired and down. I love your little massages and pampering, you notes of affirmation left under my pillow, and mostly your hugs and kisses.
So on your birthday, I want to give you the best present- that you are always allowed to always be yourself. You can be a little scared of night boogeys and strangers, you can dislike practising the piano, or dread your Mandarin lessons, you can do cartwheels and write whimsy poems all you want, you can have paint your nails on your birthday, watch a little bit of Glee, even, so long as you are healthy, happy and smiley, you make Daddy and I feel on top of the world!
Here’s Mummy saying to you, be yourself and find peace wherever you are. When you have that, it will be the best birthday gift you can give yourself.
Happy Birthday, my darling. God Bless you always.
All my love always,
Mummy
xoxoxo
My dearest darling I,
As you turn seven today, you probably don’t realize what an extraordinary influence you have had on the lives around you. On your 7th birthday, my darling, here is Mummy (& Daddy) wishing you life's most wondrous blessings, and our greatest love.
Your arrival into this world on April 11th 2003 at 2.02am was momentous and joyous to us in every way. After three false labours which included an overnight hospital stay where Daddy paid the Shangri-La rate to sleep on Gleneagle’s uncomfortable labour room chairs, you finally made your entry into this world quite easily as Mummy watched on CNN the Allied tanks barrage their way into Baghdad, claiming victory over oil, and as SARS waged its furor onto the world. Those were the first salient memories of your birth, my darling.
With violence and a health scare scourging the world, Mummy wondered even more than ever, how to bring you up in this ever increasing perilous world around us. But as ever, you are a little feisty fighter and has always been. And we, especially Mummy, has always been gentle and patient with you.
Your big che-che S embraced you immediately with open arms and the inseparable bond between you both have been forged ever since. The mantra that Mummy constant chants to you two girls has always been “to love each other like there is no one else.” So in the last seven years I have seen how you two darlings have loved, bicker(sometimes), love some more, share, plot, emulate each other, encourage one another, sometimes tiff but being always kind and loving to one another. That has been the most endearing things to see as your Mummy.
Little Belly Boo, as you’re often called, you don’t know how much you’re loved and adored. When your little bro came along, Mummy was worried that you might feel a little left out, being the middle of three. But you know what. I don’t have to worry too much. As I have told you, you are my sandwich ham- the middle part of the sandwich. So without you, there will be no sandwich! Yes, che che and di di are the slices of bread, but always remember that the filling of the sandwich is what makes a sandwich. So I know you gleefully and secretly love your extra nick-name- Hammie, for you are all that and more to me!
Being a bit of a PR pro, you always know how to make Mummy feel better, especially when you are in a ‘I want to please you’ mood. You ever smiley face and bright disposition always bring light to us all, even when mummy feels a little tired and down. I love your little massages and pampering, you notes of affirmation left under my pillow, and mostly your hugs and kisses.
So on your birthday, I want to give you the best present- that you are always allowed to always be yourself. You can be a little scared of night boogeys and strangers, you can dislike practising the piano, or dread your Mandarin lessons, you can do cartwheels and write whimsy poems all you want, you can have paint your nails on your birthday, watch a little bit of Glee, even, so long as you are healthy, happy and smiley, you make Daddy and I feel on top of the world!
Here’s Mummy saying to you, be yourself and find peace wherever you are. When you have that, it will be the best birthday gift you can give yourself.
Happy Birthday, my darling. God Bless you always.
All my love always,
Mummy
xoxoxo
Monday, April 12, 2010
SOFT RAIN
A poem
The soft rain tramples
The earth and soaks the soil
Flooding the garden
With her tears of wonderful, whimsical sadness
Of a little white rabbit
That stood still, had the runs and then died-
Flopped over, a wee thing.
The grief of a young child over
a dead pet knows no bounds,
Eyelids are heavy with drowned hopes
As Daddy has said ‘no’ to another rabbit:
Let’s make do with just one dog,
Four hamsters, two turtles
And a couple of fishes
swirling in a jar.
As Mummy sighs in raspy relief.
Inspired by a short-lived birthday present of Isabel’s, a little white rabbit named Vanilla that died the day after it came to us (poor little thing.)
The soft rain tramples
The earth and soaks the soil
Flooding the garden
With her tears of wonderful, whimsical sadness
Of a little white rabbit
That stood still, had the runs and then died-
Flopped over, a wee thing.
The grief of a young child over
a dead pet knows no bounds,
Eyelids are heavy with drowned hopes
As Daddy has said ‘no’ to another rabbit:
Let’s make do with just one dog,
Four hamsters, two turtles
And a couple of fishes
swirling in a jar.
As Mummy sighs in raspy relief.
Inspired by a short-lived birthday present of Isabel’s, a little white rabbit named Vanilla that died the day after it came to us (poor little thing.)
Friday, April 9, 2010
THE HONESTY OF CHILDREN
The Honesty of Children
A Light Bite on Appropriate Fashion
This morning when I drove my little I to her ballet exam, I told her she looked very cute in her bun. I expected her to say, “Thank you Mummy” as she would say when complimented but her response was short, brutal, honest and almost made me drive up the kerb!
“I look bald, Mummy!” I laughed out loud and insisted “No, darling, you look really cute!” and then thought about it and then looked at her again through new eyes via the rear view mirror and tried to see her through her own eyes, of a little girl one day shy of her 7th birthday. Little I, unlike big che- che S, has very, very fine hair. She has known from a young age that her mane would never be the same as her sister’s Rapunzel-like made who often needed a mega turbo hair dryer to dry. So when I’s hair was carefully combed into a tight bun for her ballet exam, she did feel a little bald. But to her Mummy, she was one cute, adorable little bunny and would always be and her pixie-like cuteness and tres petite manners are her through and through and we wouldn’t have it any other way!
Children can always be counted on to be your most honest critics. No holds barred too. Once, I attempted this new funky look of wearing a mini skirt over a pair of tights. My darling girls were quick to scream “NO”, in unison. “Mummy, you look funny, and you’re not so young anymore!” was the general opinion! That gave me giggles and I took a hard look at myself in the mirror. Yes, though dearest hubby always loved to see my legs(whoops-TMI), I do have to consider that I am not longer 18 or 28, but 2 years short of the big 40. Hence, these mini skirts on tights biz ain’t gonna work no more, Jose!
My girls are my best fashion critics too, when they tell me to my face that I’ve had too much makeup on my face, literally. Actually, I am not a huge make-up person. My normal repertoire is moisteriser, sun-block, light foundation and a dust of powder and maybe some blusher and a neutral-coloured lipstick, usually applied when the light is red.
So, on occasion, like on that hot & humid day in Singapore at Universal Studios I had applied more sunblock than usual and a thicker layer of foundation, and a redder lipstick, their verdict was “Mummy no, you look like Korean actress, Not nice!” I had to quickly tissue my face and tone my ‘look’ down!
Don’t get me wrong, my darling daughters really love me and are not at all like the Kardashian sisters (heavens, NO!) and just love their Mummy looking natural, good and pretty. Didn’t we all at some point wished our Mums were all Audrey Hepburns or Jackie Os and would love for them to dress up glamorously and stylishly and be the prettiest mum at school parent teacher meetings? I sure did! (and my Mummy in her maxis and long legs was quite a stunner in her own way despite her thick glasses! :)
Little I once asked me, not long after I have just delivered little T, why I always only wore my glasses all the time, lounged in Daddy’s baggy tshirts) which I hardly ever do as I am NEVER a baggy t-shirt person), and did not put on earrings on anymore?? I think she really wanted to say was, “Mummy, please get your act together!” Pretty or at least presentable mommies are nicer to look at.
No matter what we try to say and do and as shallow as it sounds, in today’s world appearances or the illusion of appearances do matter. A witty and sharp Scottish colleague once said, “a celebrity’s job is to look good, while we teachers have to teach, and to look good on the side, too!” Ha ha!
So, I thank my darling daughters for being my harshest critics. It’s not about appeasing the men or yourself, but rather your own most honest critics, your own girls! For if they approve, then nothing can go wrong, on this runway of life.
P.S. They’ve taught their little brother well too. Last week he said to me “Nice dress, Mummy!”
A Light Bite on Appropriate Fashion
This morning when I drove my little I to her ballet exam, I told her she looked very cute in her bun. I expected her to say, “Thank you Mummy” as she would say when complimented but her response was short, brutal, honest and almost made me drive up the kerb!
“I look bald, Mummy!” I laughed out loud and insisted “No, darling, you look really cute!” and then thought about it and then looked at her again through new eyes via the rear view mirror and tried to see her through her own eyes, of a little girl one day shy of her 7th birthday. Little I, unlike big che- che S, has very, very fine hair. She has known from a young age that her mane would never be the same as her sister’s Rapunzel-like made who often needed a mega turbo hair dryer to dry. So when I’s hair was carefully combed into a tight bun for her ballet exam, she did feel a little bald. But to her Mummy, she was one cute, adorable little bunny and would always be and her pixie-like cuteness and tres petite manners are her through and through and we wouldn’t have it any other way!
Children can always be counted on to be your most honest critics. No holds barred too. Once, I attempted this new funky look of wearing a mini skirt over a pair of tights. My darling girls were quick to scream “NO”, in unison. “Mummy, you look funny, and you’re not so young anymore!” was the general opinion! That gave me giggles and I took a hard look at myself in the mirror. Yes, though dearest hubby always loved to see my legs(whoops-TMI), I do have to consider that I am not longer 18 or 28, but 2 years short of the big 40. Hence, these mini skirts on tights biz ain’t gonna work no more, Jose!
My girls are my best fashion critics too, when they tell me to my face that I’ve had too much makeup on my face, literally. Actually, I am not a huge make-up person. My normal repertoire is moisteriser, sun-block, light foundation and a dust of powder and maybe some blusher and a neutral-coloured lipstick, usually applied when the light is red.
So, on occasion, like on that hot & humid day in Singapore at Universal Studios I had applied more sunblock than usual and a thicker layer of foundation, and a redder lipstick, their verdict was “Mummy no, you look like Korean actress, Not nice!” I had to quickly tissue my face and tone my ‘look’ down!
Don’t get me wrong, my darling daughters really love me and are not at all like the Kardashian sisters (heavens, NO!) and just love their Mummy looking natural, good and pretty. Didn’t we all at some point wished our Mums were all Audrey Hepburns or Jackie Os and would love for them to dress up glamorously and stylishly and be the prettiest mum at school parent teacher meetings? I sure did! (and my Mummy in her maxis and long legs was quite a stunner in her own way despite her thick glasses! :)
Little I once asked me, not long after I have just delivered little T, why I always only wore my glasses all the time, lounged in Daddy’s baggy tshirts) which I hardly ever do as I am NEVER a baggy t-shirt person), and did not put on earrings on anymore?? I think she really wanted to say was, “Mummy, please get your act together!” Pretty or at least presentable mommies are nicer to look at.
No matter what we try to say and do and as shallow as it sounds, in today’s world appearances or the illusion of appearances do matter. A witty and sharp Scottish colleague once said, “a celebrity’s job is to look good, while we teachers have to teach, and to look good on the side, too!” Ha ha!
So, I thank my darling daughters for being my harshest critics. It’s not about appeasing the men or yourself, but rather your own most honest critics, your own girls! For if they approve, then nothing can go wrong, on this runway of life.
P.S. They’ve taught their little brother well too. Last week he said to me “Nice dress, Mummy!”
THE DOG THAT WALKED ME
SPARKY & ME
I just got walked by our crazy dog, a mutt called Sparky. Don’t ask me how it happened, how we got the dog, and how I ended up walking the crazy canine. For those of you who know me well, you’ll know that how Sparky wormed his way into our hearts, namely M’s, is made of legendary stuff. How I ended up walking him this morning, is a totally different story. Like most writers, we digress a little and then we meld our stories.
When I woke up this morning, with a million thoughts buzzing through my head, I thought it would be a good idea to look for pandan leaves for my chicken rice dish to be made for lunch instead of driving out to the nearest market- i.e. TTDI, Sec 17 or Bangsar that would take at least an hour- driving, parking, haggling, etc. Curi pandan leaves? 5 mins!
SO I decided to go the truly ‘organic’ and kampung route, ala Malaysian and thought, why not just nick some from some neighbour who would have planted the pandan on the five foot pathway of everyman’s land anyway? As I was leaving the front door, darling Sparky came up and sniffed at me with mournful, longing eyes. Now, walking him has been ALWAYS my other half’s domain. Though M was dead against us having a dog in the first place (for obvious reasons), he actually loves dogs and pets very much and would walk him, on foot or sometimes “on his bike” albeit dangerously. (In the U.K, he would probably get a fine for doing that, no?)
So when N our lovely domestic passed me the leads for the dog, she looked at me rather doubtfully- “Are you sure, Ma’am?” “Sure,” I retorted without a blink of an eye.
So, out of the side gate we went, and I meant WENT! Whooooooooshh shot Sparky quick as a lightning bolt. It was better than the walking up Kiara Hill or a 90 min yoga session I tell you. 45 minutes later I was all sweaty and I’ll bet that my right arm will be aching like mad tomorrow!
What life lessons did I learn from my morning escapade with Sparky??
My mutt, who is big, I mean, huge, for a dog under one year can truly run. Sprinted he did.
Dogs love scents and boy did he make it clear that he did. He would lead me up and down the streets of our housing estate, sniffing for dog scents on tress, shrubs, bins, car tyres, etc. He would dig here and there controlling the whole show.
He pooed and I had my handy recycled plastic bag ready. I struggled to pick up his droppings, and he kept tugging at me.
Then he ran some more, across the park, up the slope to the other end of the estate and I was panting and heaving by this time.
Meantime, I had spotted a rather lush pandan bush so I quickly went for it before the, errmmm… occupants of the house saw me, tearing their plant apart, while Sparky impatiently was trying to yank me away for his next sniff adventure! I can tell you, it was quite a feat, trying to pluck 4 pandan leaves without killing the plant while a crazy, energetic big dog was trying to go find his next female dog scent!
What else did I notice on my ‘walking’ adventure? Yeah, that people in my neighbourhood love planting more lemon-grass than pandanus and many are quite patriotic for there are abundant hibiscus bushes around. Also, many neighbours are really friendly and smiley, especially my thoughtful Muslim neighbours, who did not bat an eye lid at this crazy woman in shorts and a pony tail being ‘handled’ by her dog! That was nice to know. :)
Our crazy dog? I love him to bits even though, and the EVEN THOUGH should be in bold, caps and colour, because there is a long list of ‘naughty’ things he has done!
1. He was TOOOOO cute as a puppy. Melted our hearts, esp the children’s, who like all children thought puppies are forever( NOT!),
2. He was so cute and regal looking that as a little wee puppy, a celebrity beauty queen actually thought he was a pedigree puppy- we know they don’t have half a brain anyway, but my point is, he was THAT Cute and Classy looking at the same time.
3. He then started looking like a real cute Jack Russell which made us love him even more!
4. He was so sweet that I bought him a posh pet basket from SSF and actually waited for two hours at a vet, just to let him have his jabs. I don’t even wait that long at the Paeds!
5. My dad had brought him home from the beach last July, so he is essentially a rescue dog. We actually thought that since the Obamas got a rescue dog( well, I know a Portuguese water dog isn’t quite the same as a Malaysian pariah dog, we’d still like to think we did something as cool as the Obamas! )
6. My dad had initially brought him home in an old towel in a recycled paint bucket, (yes, my dad’s a bit of a McGyver), and he thought he’d let his adorable grandkids play with it, and he’d return it to his Mummy back on the beach. (His mum is a bit of a bitch on the beach, sad to say, quite a bicycle.) But Sparky melted out hearts and he stayed, and even same home to KL with us.
7. I have never conned my husband into anything (and I say this with a straight face) but I admit to getting into a ploy with my kids over THIS DOG, to let them keep the dog. See Sparky was originally supposed to go to my father in law, for his new house and new wife(a separate story altogether), but we ended up keeping him.
8. We were supposed to look after Sparky for a week, groom and clean him, then go to Australia, and he would go to FIL as his new house would be ready then.
But luckily, we have lots of lovely kind angels surrounding us in the form of neighbours and friends. A, an angelic neighbour that befits her name, offered to look after the pedigree- looking pup while we were in Oz on hols.
After that, it was easy to convince Daddy after that as we would always have an eager and willing dog-sitter at any time we needed!
9. S showed us her truest, pet-loving colours the week before we went to Down Under. She looked after Sparky like a dream- fed him, helped bathed him, disciplined him, cleaned after him, nurtured him, and the whole works! As resident future vet, S had always been rooting for a dog. So eventually, the ploy worked, Daddy realized how much Sparky meant to the kids, and how we also had a network of willing sitters and walkers available for when we travel, which we do frequently; so how could he say no, esp. after we have named him, vaccinated him, and groomed him(spell-spent so much on him?) An investment had been made already!
10. Sparky grew and GREW. Yup, dogs do that. As a white dog with cute black patches, he would have been a Patch or an Oreo but little I named him Sparky, as 6 year olds liked to name their pets.
Sometimes, when I feel like it, Sparky became Ah Spark, for he is a true blood Malaysian mutt!
Damages so far?
Slippers, sock, Christmas ornaments, the kids’ toys, odds and ends, the grass and some shrubs in the garden, the walls, etc etc.
Major and exorbitant ones-The ABS braking system cable of my car( Twice) and the auto gate cables ( Twice as well!) Not so nice, well…
The cars are parked outside now and the auto-gate doesn’t work for the time being.
We all love and adore him to bits even though he is one mad doggity-dog!
Lessons from the mutt??
It’s a dog’s life! You’re still loved to bits even if you muck up.
And they make excellent exercise partners, I tell you! And yes, Sparky can heel, stay and sit though he prefers sniffing up ladies’ behinds more! Someday, who knows, I might get to be like Jennifer Aniston and star in “Sparky and Me” directed by Ang Lee!
Woof Woof!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Home is where the heart is.
Playtime
There is something soothing about being at home, having your three children with you, hearing them playing together. My children, despite sometimes possessing a social calendar that could give Madonna’s daughter a run for her money, are decidedly homebodies and I am proud of them for being so.
S will be ten later this year. I is nearly 7 this week and little T is all of 2 and a half going on twenty. My happiest, most contented moments are time spent at home- writing, reading poetry, decorating, but especially and mostly, watching and listening to my children interact and play with each other.
Three days ago, they had converted a corner of our open living room, into a ‘hospital’ cranny where they played ‘Doctor Doctor.” Little T played the resident patient. S the eldest was the doctor and little I was her helper/nurse. They had real life syringes minus the needles and had filled up a Tupperware tumbler of Ribena pretending to be medicine. They seemed to be having the time of their lives as I went in as ‘visitor’. The ‘patient’ had several ailments, from a broken leg, to dengue fever to H1N1 and yet was happy and compliant to be wrapped up and fussed over. They used their own bandannas as bandages. Little T loved the meds as it was sweet and syrupy and icy. Yum! I’d love to be a patient too if the meds were always Ribena. That’s kids thinking smart as they knew Mummy wouldn’t consent to random drinking of Ribena!
It’s their Easter school holidays now and despite have spent a sophisticated weekend across the causeway on the republic at a world-class theme park and having spent precious time with their cousins there, they are happiest at home. They truly are.
They love playing in the various spaces they can find around our home, a nook in the attic that now resembles a warehouse( time for a garage sale!) or they find the space under the TV cabinet in my room fascinating, for it acts as their trench when they play pretend war-fare. With all their stuffed animals, their bedroom gets transformed into a mega zoo. Sometimes I see and hear them on the back patio where they breed guppies and play horses and cowboys together.
Although they are essentially new-age techie kids- urging us parents to use I-phones so they too can use the apps, using Macbooks in school, are real adept with making power-point presentations even for their own little home projects and they know what Youtube is, we don’t let them have their own computers yet, at least not yet. Though Daddy has a first gen PSP, they don’t. No Nintendo DS. No Xbox. No Wii. Little I told me that she wouldn’t want a Nintendo anyway as she preferred to sit down and write poems. That’s her being very political correct at seven. :)
Are we depriving them of what’s out there digitally? I hope not!
Despite the age and gender differences between them, they play well together and I feel blessed and grateful. Today they have found a new game. The two older girls have decided to design clothes out of their old baby clothes. The eldest has drawn structured designs on paper, and no. 2 is helping her. I don’t mind that my Persian rugs are full of their cloth cuttings for I would not like to impede their creativity in any way. Little T is busy making paper cuts to model the designs of his sister’s creations. Who knows, there may be a fashion designer in the making!
I must admit that I am the laziest mum on earth when it comes to supposed artistic and creative kits. I almost rue birthday and Xmas pressies where the whole kit is ready for you to assemble so I try to hide them from the kids. I am such a sloth when it comes to projects like that despite being a teacher. Perhaps it is because I am a teacher, I despise such ‘ready to make’ kits. I would rather see creativity outside the box- Ribena as medicine, old baby clothes transformed into new fashion designs that will make Stella McCartney gape, or the ruler tied up as a gun, or two lolly sticks turned into a cross for a dead hamster’s tomb.
As for myself, I miss playing games like 7 stones, Chinese jump rope(spell:dacing), masak masak and even a simple game my primary friends and I created, called sand, sea, water, land, etc.
Although I think the new digital toys are funky, cool and so uber-chic, I’d prefer to see my kids play a game of ‘Teacher Teacher’ with a real blackboard anytime, rather than stay glued for ages on a computer screen, being easy prey for a pedophile predator. Call me an old- fashioned Mummy but home is where the heart is and where the best ‘games’ are played.
Digital Mummy I am, but not when it comes to good old-fashioned make-believe.
N.B. My kids aren’t always angels like this, by the way!
There is something soothing about being at home, having your three children with you, hearing them playing together. My children, despite sometimes possessing a social calendar that could give Madonna’s daughter a run for her money, are decidedly homebodies and I am proud of them for being so.
S will be ten later this year. I is nearly 7 this week and little T is all of 2 and a half going on twenty. My happiest, most contented moments are time spent at home- writing, reading poetry, decorating, but especially and mostly, watching and listening to my children interact and play with each other.
Three days ago, they had converted a corner of our open living room, into a ‘hospital’ cranny where they played ‘Doctor Doctor.” Little T played the resident patient. S the eldest was the doctor and little I was her helper/nurse. They had real life syringes minus the needles and had filled up a Tupperware tumbler of Ribena pretending to be medicine. They seemed to be having the time of their lives as I went in as ‘visitor’. The ‘patient’ had several ailments, from a broken leg, to dengue fever to H1N1 and yet was happy and compliant to be wrapped up and fussed over. They used their own bandannas as bandages. Little T loved the meds as it was sweet and syrupy and icy. Yum! I’d love to be a patient too if the meds were always Ribena. That’s kids thinking smart as they knew Mummy wouldn’t consent to random drinking of Ribena!
It’s their Easter school holidays now and despite have spent a sophisticated weekend across the causeway on the republic at a world-class theme park and having spent precious time with their cousins there, they are happiest at home. They truly are.
They love playing in the various spaces they can find around our home, a nook in the attic that now resembles a warehouse( time for a garage sale!) or they find the space under the TV cabinet in my room fascinating, for it acts as their trench when they play pretend war-fare. With all their stuffed animals, their bedroom gets transformed into a mega zoo. Sometimes I see and hear them on the back patio where they breed guppies and play horses and cowboys together.
Although they are essentially new-age techie kids- urging us parents to use I-phones so they too can use the apps, using Macbooks in school, are real adept with making power-point presentations even for their own little home projects and they know what Youtube is, we don’t let them have their own computers yet, at least not yet. Though Daddy has a first gen PSP, they don’t. No Nintendo DS. No Xbox. No Wii. Little I told me that she wouldn’t want a Nintendo anyway as she preferred to sit down and write poems. That’s her being very political correct at seven. :)
Are we depriving them of what’s out there digitally? I hope not!
Despite the age and gender differences between them, they play well together and I feel blessed and grateful. Today they have found a new game. The two older girls have decided to design clothes out of their old baby clothes. The eldest has drawn structured designs on paper, and no. 2 is helping her. I don’t mind that my Persian rugs are full of their cloth cuttings for I would not like to impede their creativity in any way. Little T is busy making paper cuts to model the designs of his sister’s creations. Who knows, there may be a fashion designer in the making!
I must admit that I am the laziest mum on earth when it comes to supposed artistic and creative kits. I almost rue birthday and Xmas pressies where the whole kit is ready for you to assemble so I try to hide them from the kids. I am such a sloth when it comes to projects like that despite being a teacher. Perhaps it is because I am a teacher, I despise such ‘ready to make’ kits. I would rather see creativity outside the box- Ribena as medicine, old baby clothes transformed into new fashion designs that will make Stella McCartney gape, or the ruler tied up as a gun, or two lolly sticks turned into a cross for a dead hamster’s tomb.
As for myself, I miss playing games like 7 stones, Chinese jump rope(spell:dacing), masak masak and even a simple game my primary friends and I created, called sand, sea, water, land, etc.
Although I think the new digital toys are funky, cool and so uber-chic, I’d prefer to see my kids play a game of ‘Teacher Teacher’ with a real blackboard anytime, rather than stay glued for ages on a computer screen, being easy prey for a pedophile predator. Call me an old- fashioned Mummy but home is where the heart is and where the best ‘games’ are played.
Digital Mummy I am, but not when it comes to good old-fashioned make-believe.
N.B. My kids aren’t always angels like this, by the way!
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
A Zen moment in KL
(I wrote this for a magazine four years ago, when my eldest had just started at my school. These days, with three kids, two in the same school, zen moments are rarer than ever!)
If you are like me, and barely have time to breathe and juggle with a repertoire of madness that is all about city living, read on.
This mused into mind when I was attempting to balance like a tree in a yoga class and keeled over.
I decided that zen moments are pretty rare for someone living the fast lane in KL for numerous reasons. My ultimate zen moment is the time I have sitting on my throne with a good book before I start my day as a educator in a large international school.
The minute I drive into the massive school complex, all hell breaks loose. Parents, drivers, teachers alike jostle with each other for limited space- parking illegally, going on wrong designated lanes, honking, driving each other off etc. Aahh, you grab that last legal spot of parking and hurry out, work-bag, food-bag and hand-bag in hand and screech at your 6 year old to hurry up as Mummy will be late for her briefing. You drop your girl at primary, run like mad back to the secondary block in whatever heels or wedges, you are wearing straining your back for sure. You go to briefing and are barraged by a slew of notices. You grab the class register. The bell goes, and kids stream into classes to be registered or they are ushered into the Grand Hall for assembly. The bell vibrates again for first lesson. You rush into class before your students troop in. You clear your mind for a killer starter lesson. You are the star actor of your daily solo play. How you start determines how well your student will learn.
Throughout the day, an orchestra of events unveil themselves- bass trumpeting, cellos cooing, the strings shrilling at you, as you, the professional bustle headlong until the final bell rings, crescendoing to the end of yet another hectic day at school. Then, there’s the endless marking…
We have a special name for people who live like I do. In the allegory Animal Farm, there’s Molly the vain horse who loves candy and ribbons and there’s dear old stoic Boxer, who does nothing but work. In real life, I don’t think I can stay idle, but I do love my candies and ribbons, hence, Moxer is my name. A moxer is one who works so hard that at the end of the day, collapses into bed in a heap of exhaustion. A Moxer needs her Zen moments.
Here’s what I do to stay focused, active, positive and chirpy:
-If I am awake by 5.00am, I try to savour a few quiet moments by myself, writing, reflecting, crafting.
-After my "throne with a book" moment, I try to savour my mixed-fruit power juice. I know every second counts and I have to rush into my car before I get stuck in traffic, but to savour the lovely and potent liquid even for one second extra is zen enough.
-I try to go to Hatha yoga at least once a week though the initial lofty idea was to yoga at least thrice a week. That’s tranquil enough for me. I get to sweat, and yell less.
-I write haikus- poetry in its most succinct form. It’s therapeutic.
-I know forwarded jokes and affirmations seem so last year, but I do laugh at them once in a while. Laughter keeps lines at bay.
-I update myself with the latest Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Gossip Girl gossip and zealously follow each episode, knowing that at least my life is less complex, less chaotic than the characters of the shows that I have started to enjoy. So shallow I know but it’s entertaining zen.
-When my chronic back problem doesn’t act up, I climb Bukit Kiara and walk the 5 km circuit twice, enjoying the privacy of a tiny sliver of nature that a crane or condo hasn’t sullied yet. It’s enthralling.
-I visit art galleries- a personal favourite is a gem of a gallery in Brickfields, and stare at canvases that were once void but now splashed with the genius of true artists. Art relaxes.
-I do my bit for charity, in whatever way I can. Others first.
-When I need to share, or cry, I call my girlfriends or sisters. They rock!
-I chat with the man who is my husband, who is my best-est friend really, and we still have the ability to make each other laugh. It seals our marriage.
-I play with my daughters( and son too). They complete me.
-I phone mum, or dad- whoever answers first and always feel better.
-I pray. It still works.
Yessss…….. Zen.
If you are like me, and barely have time to breathe and juggle with a repertoire of madness that is all about city living, read on.
This mused into mind when I was attempting to balance like a tree in a yoga class and keeled over.
I decided that zen moments are pretty rare for someone living the fast lane in KL for numerous reasons. My ultimate zen moment is the time I have sitting on my throne with a good book before I start my day as a educator in a large international school.
The minute I drive into the massive school complex, all hell breaks loose. Parents, drivers, teachers alike jostle with each other for limited space- parking illegally, going on wrong designated lanes, honking, driving each other off etc. Aahh, you grab that last legal spot of parking and hurry out, work-bag, food-bag and hand-bag in hand and screech at your 6 year old to hurry up as Mummy will be late for her briefing. You drop your girl at primary, run like mad back to the secondary block in whatever heels or wedges, you are wearing straining your back for sure. You go to briefing and are barraged by a slew of notices. You grab the class register. The bell goes, and kids stream into classes to be registered or they are ushered into the Grand Hall for assembly. The bell vibrates again for first lesson. You rush into class before your students troop in. You clear your mind for a killer starter lesson. You are the star actor of your daily solo play. How you start determines how well your student will learn.
Throughout the day, an orchestra of events unveil themselves- bass trumpeting, cellos cooing, the strings shrilling at you, as you, the professional bustle headlong until the final bell rings, crescendoing to the end of yet another hectic day at school. Then, there’s the endless marking…
We have a special name for people who live like I do. In the allegory Animal Farm, there’s Molly the vain horse who loves candy and ribbons and there’s dear old stoic Boxer, who does nothing but work. In real life, I don’t think I can stay idle, but I do love my candies and ribbons, hence, Moxer is my name. A moxer is one who works so hard that at the end of the day, collapses into bed in a heap of exhaustion. A Moxer needs her Zen moments.
Here’s what I do to stay focused, active, positive and chirpy:
-If I am awake by 5.00am, I try to savour a few quiet moments by myself, writing, reflecting, crafting.
-After my "throne with a book" moment, I try to savour my mixed-fruit power juice. I know every second counts and I have to rush into my car before I get stuck in traffic, but to savour the lovely and potent liquid even for one second extra is zen enough.
-I try to go to Hatha yoga at least once a week though the initial lofty idea was to yoga at least thrice a week. That’s tranquil enough for me. I get to sweat, and yell less.
-I write haikus- poetry in its most succinct form. It’s therapeutic.
-I know forwarded jokes and affirmations seem so last year, but I do laugh at them once in a while. Laughter keeps lines at bay.
-I update myself with the latest Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Gossip Girl gossip and zealously follow each episode, knowing that at least my life is less complex, less chaotic than the characters of the shows that I have started to enjoy. So shallow I know but it’s entertaining zen.
-When my chronic back problem doesn’t act up, I climb Bukit Kiara and walk the 5 km circuit twice, enjoying the privacy of a tiny sliver of nature that a crane or condo hasn’t sullied yet. It’s enthralling.
-I visit art galleries- a personal favourite is a gem of a gallery in Brickfields, and stare at canvases that were once void but now splashed with the genius of true artists. Art relaxes.
-I do my bit for charity, in whatever way I can. Others first.
-When I need to share, or cry, I call my girlfriends or sisters. They rock!
-I chat with the man who is my husband, who is my best-est friend really, and we still have the ability to make each other laugh. It seals our marriage.
-I play with my daughters( and son too). They complete me.
-I phone mum, or dad- whoever answers first and always feel better.
-I pray. It still works.
Yessss…….. Zen.
Starting my own blog
I have been talking about this for months if not years, and as someone sometimes, only sometimes, prone to falling asleep after I sing or read my children to sleep, I would have had a good seven/eight hours sleep by 5.00am and here I am, all fresh, all awake at 5.00am AND thinking about setting up my blog. So, this morning, when my eyes popped wide open at the ungodly hour of 5.00 am on my Easter holidays- I see it as a sign, that it's now or never.
So here I am, at my most favourite time of the day, when I can be ME, before the other parts of me unlayer, unfold, unravel.
Dawn- the ethereally quiet time of the day, where reflection happens, when the dew is lightly lacing the top of leaves and trees, it's when I can be myself- the poet, penning first draft verses in her journal, for that other time when she have the time, when she can go back to redrafting her poem, another dawn. This is the time when I think best, clearly, thoughtfully and without being sullied by the wearing down of the day.
At dawn, I can be me, writing an article, or musing on an issue I feel strongly about, without the other parts of me calling out to me. The stack of essays waiting to be marked( which unfortunately during term-time takes up my dawn), the little wound on the finger of my 2 and a half year old waiting to be kissed, the broken leads of a mechanical pencil of a seven year old waiting to be picked up, the pony tail of a ten year old waiting to fixed for a ballet class, or that grocery list, waiting to be crossed out, or that work email waiting to be answered.
Hence, the break of dawn is my most special time, for it is the time when I can be myself and be at peace at having myself for company. It is also a rather important time, for dawn is when most of my conversations with God happens as the morning birds start to trill. It sounds rather selfish, doesn't it? But it is so necessary, for when the rest of the household is awake, I become someone else. I can be me.
After all, one may think, you are a mother of three, an educator in a busy international school, a small-time entrepreneur, a closet poet, a wife, a daughter, a sister and a friend- loving and caring on all accounts, why do you need to be YOU? So, my answer is, more crucial than anything else, before I can be damned good at being all the rest, which I jolly damned well be, I better be the BEST at being myself. So at 5.00am in the morning, with my laptop in my very quiet and cosy open-plan living room, I can truly be me, and hence my blog begins.....
This is the beginning, the icing on my cake.....,,,( for lack of a worse cliche!) :)
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