"To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don't need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself." Thich Nhat Hanh
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Self-body image and the post- millennial teen
Of millennial excess and obsession with self- body image...
Growing up in the eighties, I was always called chicken legs or pancake face for my high wide cheek bones. Being from Penang and of part-Sumatran Peranakan blood, I was never the quintessentially fair maiden of Chinese bloodline, who plasters Hazeline Snow on her face to become even that much fairer to exude the stereotypical look of fairness and beauty.
My teen years were a blur of poetry writing, essay perfecting, Sweet Dreams reading, Scrabble-playing and plenty of books, playing tricks on teachers and gossiping about boys that didn’t really exist in our all-girls school and hiding myself behind the comfort of uber thick and uncool photo-gray glasses.
Did it affect my self- esteem? Surprisingly no!
Was I even aware that I was entitled to one? Perhaps not.
I was born very boyish looking, with fairly large (for a Chinese) dark eyes with double eye-lids and features that apparently weren’t terrible Chinese and a large nose with high cheek bones.
As my adolescent best mates grew breasts, mine probably stopped when I was 14 and a half, and it has stayed that way since. With my narrow hips, I was often also called 'no waist' by family members.
Hence, angular, awkward, chicken-legged and dark, I wasn’t exactly anyone’s dream teen girlfriend material, not to hetero- boys that didn’t exist nor the lesbian girls in my Convent school.
Instead, I grew and nurtured my inner Ninja-of feminist traits of confidence and intellectual and emotional strength, and acquired a self-esteem that suffered no fools.
In 6th form, I almost caused a scandal by dating the handsome and most coveted Head-boy, a boy of mixed parentage, Bollywood eye candy of sorts. I quickly discovered that looks aren't everything.
In summer school in Hawaii, I was smitten by a blonde long -haired hippie poet, who introduced me to Jack Kerouac and Milan Kundera, my summer romance, which I thought could pass off as Brad Pitt and he thought my almost purple hair was too beautiful for words.
I had my fair share of boyfriends until I met my better half, with his curly hair and Tin Tin t-shirts and the gentlest, kindest, funniest man in the world, who still rocks my world after 18 years together.
Did I let my body image and pop culture affect my crucial life decisions?
Luckily not.
For I was fortunate enough to be shielded from feeling shite about myself from looking at fashion or lifestyle teen magazines which celebrated sexy bikini- clad models, waif thin, smooth ivory skin, yet with boobs spilling out like no tomorrow. I was cocooned from all media of self-loathing.
-I didn’t have internet websites like Pro -ANA sites giving me thinspiration, no thank you.
-I didn’t have photo-shopped, air- brushed models with 6 -pecs and skinny arms jumping out at me to tell me that I was fat, ugly, gangly, uncoordinated , flat-chested, short.
-I didn’t have K-pop stars who look like fake double- lidded clones, and post -plastic surgery success stories staring at me at tell me that I needed my eye lids fixed, or my bulbous nose streamlined or needed a tummy tuck.
I remembered Karen Carpenter dying of self- inflicted starvation and my no nonsense mother telling me how tragic, silly and unnecessary that was. And I believe her till this day.
So, I never had the propensity starve myself( for I was taught to love food and to enjoy it or go hungry and offend my ancestors), or have the urge to throw up, or to be of one particular skinny, cool, gorgeous look.
I did have a hideous Diana Ross perm once and carrot jeans and big T shirts and large loop earrings.
Now, I am so aware, so alarmed and SO TERRIBLE SADDENED, by young girls self- harming or starving themselves to look a certain part or to grab the attention of somebody or create a drama or some show because of popular culture and in internet. Too many, too soon.
I know every child, every teen operates differently.
Kids these days have too much. They roll in a world of excess. Often the fault of indulgent parents who believe they are providing the best. These excesses of wealth, time, social media, have become a paradox of what is really wrong in our society today.
The need to carve the perfect image for social media, the pleas for help, the medium in which young children can vulnerably subject themselves to these threats; that never existed during my years of being an adolescent. From a young age, they have it ingrained in them that they need to look a certain part- fair, light-haired, sharp features, thin. Everything being so instant and constant-Twitter, Instagram, Snapshot.
Pecs , muscles and working- out have become de rigueur lingo for these modern adolescents.
They have so much yet can take so little. With all the excesses, the fragility within seems to have gone on overdrive.
The irony.
Admittedly, on the cusp of turning 42, I’m still not too keen about my seemingly permanent dark eye circles but I know that my slight mummy tummy is a testimony and a souvenir from having given birth naturally to three healthy, delightful, mindful children who I am fiercely and fearlessly protecting from the excesses of self- loathing, self -harm and depression.
I’m blessed that my husband thinks my chicken legs are sexy and that he loves my face, freckles, crooked teeth and all. Even my small boobs, spots of grey hair and all.
So, mothers, love your bodies so your daughters and sons will love them too.
We are so guilty of sometimes proclaiming that we feel bloated or fat or have a bad hair day, and surely we are entitled to that, we think, but think of your child, your mentee, your niece, your charge, all listening to those words of self- doubt which may turn into little seeds of self- loathing or a pattern for life-long self-criticism.
We all want happy, healthy, mindful children and we hope we are raising them right.
So every day, my kids know that they are lovely, thoughtful, generous, gentle, strong, loving, appreciative, helpful, genuine and kind instead of beautiful, pretty, stunning, slim, or handsome( though my little prince is a self-professed praise junkie).
And oh yes, they have survived many stereotypical situations to do with self-image:
My eldest girl has been classed too black to be Chinese by sales-women in Hong Kong and in KL.
( I tell them I had several husbands, or sometimes I tell them we have Hawaiian blood),
My second daughter gets told she has very Asian eyes and could be Japanese( well did I tell you about the dalliance our fore -mother had with the Emperor?)
Our son gets told he’s very good looking all the time.
( I just tell him not to let it get into his head and no conceit is allowed!)
As for staying fit and healthy, though they are aware of their mum cutting down carbs at dinner time, our family has a fond, fundamental and familial love for cooking and food that they know that not eating is not an option and keeping healthy is. We love it that our three children have healthy, happy appetites and are game for all kinds of cuisine.
Oh, how did we survive body image issues in the 80s? I guess we did survive it all through the heck and lack of it all.
We were lucky not to have the internet. The threatening evil portal where you can be made to feel inadequate, small and ugly. The TV shows of the time did not make me want to do crazy things to myself. I wanted to shoot JR like everyone else, but not myself.
Debbie Gibson and Tiffany just made me want to be wholesome and good.
Unless you are always and constantly keeping your teens in check and that they are lucky enough to have healthy, encouraging peers, or have build a really warm and open relationship with them, it pays to check on the websites and chatrooms that they are on, on their laptops, on their smart phones and in their heads. It's also important to know their friends.
I say this an educator of many teens, and as a self-professed life coach to many students, who in fact gave me that title a few years ago, and as a mother to a teenager, a tween and a 6 year old.
It only takes a tiny nudge before any negative impact on self -body image can spiral completely out of control. Though we are lucky now to have access to psychologists and hospitals which can offer professional help to look after these issues, staying safe is better than sorry.
Love, love, love your children and pray that words like anorexia, bulimia, depression, self-harm and self-loathing are Greek words in your family’s diction.
Every family is different, I know.
Love thyself first and always, and always and forever, keep your children in your circle of faith, hope and love.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Why early mornings are my sanctum sanctorum
Why early mornings are my sanctum sanctorum…
Lie- ins? That’s surely a huge lie in my book: come rain or shine, cold or warm, weekday or weekend, I am up and alert by the crack of dawn, mostly by 5.00 am or sometimes earlier. My husband of 15 years has noticed what a mental energizer bunny I am in the morning. As a night owl who normally goes to bed after 11, he has plenty of admiration for people like me who can ping, wake up in the morning mostly without an alarm, and be chirpy and annoying as heck and full of beans.
Sometimes the full of beans bit gets him irritated when he gets all bleary -eyed and struggling to even open his eyes. He looks at me incredulously, and asks, me if I am for real? This is when I wake him up for a bit of loving. Or chatting.
Sometimes in the early mornings, I feel most sexy, not that the morning dew or chirping birds act as au naturel aphrodisiacs but by 8.30pm most nights, I am exhausted and weary and I’m already dressed in my clown striped or polka pajamas and would fall asleep reading to my younger children. Not to mention that I pretty much would have packed a full-on 14 hour day before navigating through a quagmire of adult expectations, and I would be completely bushed.
Sometimes, I sing “Morning Has Broken” or “It’s a beautiful day” at the top of my voice in his ear, for a laugh and for him to know his wife is for real. It keeps our marriage intact.
Yes, my best energy is often expended fully in the morning.
But it has only been in recent years that we noticed this morning zest which seems to possess me from the hours of 5-9am. My first lessons are always packed potently with high energy activities; my poor poor students raging with teen hormones and very late nights and often inadequate sleep; I feel for them.
I falter a little bit by late morning and if I do carbs for lunch, the witching hour of 2pm sees me on the verge of falling asleep in the middle of my own sentence but there’s always a stash of little mints in my drawer to get that zing back. A power nap of about 5 minutes serves me well at about 4pm if I am home by then. By 7pm I turn into a grumpy witch.
Now, back to my 5.00am love for this part of the day. After my spleen, colon and liver and all that have been recharged, my first activity is a full-on detox session on my private throne where I’m usually on my iPhone catching up on the latest new feeds on Facebook which I would have, horror- stricken, missed from 9-5am- usually reading news links from the NYT, the Atlantic, Salon, France 24, the Guardian and the Elephant Journal. I am neither a yogi or a vegan but I do like my articles on news, life, arts and such. After that it’s at least 30 to 45 minutes of marking and some form of prep for school-without trying to get on my phone or ipad to check on the latest notifications and what not.
Before the advent of such rapid pinging technology, my mornings would best be spent doing some simple yoga twists and meditating and making notes on my writing.
Not checking up on the latest news feeds like every ten minutes. So sometimes, I turn my devices off to not get distracted.
Early mornings is my sanctum sanctorum. Holy of holiest. When I can truly be me.
When you have 3 children and about 100-odd students and a tiny business, all clamouring for your attention of a daily basis, peace and quiet in the morning when you think and perform best is highly valued. No one else is awake before me. The birds gently chirp outside. Your partner’s low humming snore is mildly comforting as you slip out of the fuzzy, soft bed covers and into the master bathroom and claim it all to yourself.
No 6 year old is going to come to declare that Mummy, your poo is smelly and to tell you that there is someone at the door. The dogs are still in semi-sleep and no one else is moving.
With a mug of very warm water or sometimes a herbal tea in hand, I sit on my study desk and write, or ponder. Or just be.
My mind is acute, sharp.
Some days, I get two hot used tea bags hastily dipped, and lie on my long sofa in my TV room and ponder, be still and think. Or two slices of cold cucumber to sooth my tired early morning eyes.
On holidays, I have caught stunning sunrises and experienced tuna auctions that only happen at dawn.
Some days, upon reading some fantastic student essays, I get so carried away with my feedback and comments and award more merits and stars than I would normally do.
Some mornings, well most, I stay still and pray in the darkness before I even get out of bed. I know THEY are listening as I can feel the ‘fissures’ of responses in my being. I pray for all good things for the world, for my family and friends and invite all positive thoughts into my head.
Some days, I write a lot in my organizer or on notes on my phone. The other morning, I wrote out 15 Christmas cards for overseas mailing. I still love good old fashioned snail mail.
Or I arrange cushions and redecorate a little bit. And when Bruno, our terrier wakes up, he comes for a cuddles and nibbles my toes.
Oh, the wonders and possibilities of early mornings. My poetry time. My running time. Sometimes, dog walking time if I’m not marking.
Because by the time the rest of the world wakes up, I’m screwed and scrambling for time that seems to run-away at a second a minute from the loose clutches of my palms.
Only from 5-7, those sacred hours can I preserve my sanctity in my sanctum sanctorum of early morning solitude.
I better treasure this for as long as I can as I have noticed of late, that my little boy, has taken after me in being a morning person too. Oh shudder!
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Malaysia at 50: Nostalgia of the good ole days
Malaysia at 50: My journey as a Malaysian
Growing up, I used to watch Bintang RTM with my mum on RTM1, a sort of Malaysian Idol of the time if you will. Rafeah Buang & Jamal Abdullah then Sudirman were some of the pop artistes we grew up with.
Before Hari Raya or Merdeka, we would sing along to songs like Balik Kampung and Tanggal 31 Ogos.
And the Merdeka parades shown live on tv. No one goofed off the leaders and parliamentarians like we do today. They portrayed more statesmanship and were somewhat respected. Mum and I would watch out for what the wives of the leaders would wear during the national parade and sometimes diss their lack of fashion sense and have a good laugh or two.
We would watch the parade and swell with pride when the national anthem came on. Till today "Tanah Tumpahnya Darahku" still resonates strongly with my bones. My soul.
We never fail to tear up when the flag is hoisted. Like when we watch a Yasmin Ahmad commercial together.
(Still waiting for our anthem to be played at badminton finals championships or the Olympics. Someday!)
For Hari Raya, my Nyonya grandmother would make kuih kaput for her Malay daughter in law, our dear Mak Su. Chinese New Year was always a riot of colours, laughter and fun harmless gambling.
I have never lived abroad apart from months of summer school or MA research work though I travel extensively and never am I prouder to declare to a foreigner that I AM MALAYSIAN. A true product of Malaysian system, I saw through the STPM and saw four years at University of Malaya studying English. For that alone, I'm an Anak Malaysia inside out! As a child of educators, we spoke English first at home, Hokkien as our mother tongue but could converse fluently and strongly in Bahasa Malaysia. I read Sejarah Melayu from cover to cover before it got politically adulterated. My friends and extended come from all walks of life and from the multicultural microcosm that is truly Malaysian. Breakfast could consist of toast and kaya, nasi lemak, or tosai with dahl. In the 70s, cereal, milk, spaghetti and all kinds of pasta were considered very Western and exotic foods. Family potlucks would consist of laksa, kapitan curry, satay, KFC, egg sandwiches and carved watermelons! Deepavali would see us eating itali and vadai made by our Indian helper and was more than just a helper to us. She was family and still is. At my grandmother's Buddhist funeral, she lit joss sticks as a sign of respect for the elderly dead. Aunty Mimi, Muslim and childless was a favourite neighbour. She made the best ice cream in the world. Her Sri Lankan Malaysian husband didn't eat ice cream so she would always make it for us. Delicious coconut, vanilla, strawberry and all kinds of lovely toppings. She introduced me to butterscotch and caramel even before I could spell! In Penang, tea-time hawker fare was de rigueur! It was normal to cycle out to pack mee jawa, char koay teow, ice kacang, fresh popiah. The portions were moderate so we never got fat. Mee Jawa was 50 sen a plate on the early 1980s! Delicious and wholesome. Sabah to me was always a part of Malaysia as my favourite Uncle Larry was posted there by Malaysia Airlines where he worked for 30 years and married a KK girl. They moved to the peninsular in the 1990s but I have fond memories of occasional postcards and letters from him & always looked forward to his visits coupled with ice-kacang afternoons. I have lived in KL now for twenty one years and all my children were born in our nation's capital. Our life in KL is comfortable; we find pockets of green escapes like the stream up Bukit Kiara, or that jungle spa in Bukit Penchala, or seafood on Carey Island! You can find anything you need in KL and if you know when to avoid traffic jams, potholes or water distruptions, it's one of the most liveable cities we know! Seriously. Crime those days was perhaps a drug addict breaking into your compound to steal a bicycle or a pair of trainers. We rarely have shootings or such random heinous crimes reported today! We were not polarised like we are today. There was no reason for it. The last 9 years have seen a stark change in the political landscape and emerging disdain and disgust of the Malaysian people. Perhaps it's a necessary purge and detoxification that we have to undergo as we turn 50. After all, being middle-aged, you do amass a lot of toxins as you journey through the seven ages of your life. Hopefully, this 50 year old will hold out with a little bit more dignity than what she has been bestowed upon. Underneath it all, it's the people. The ordinary people of everyday life that makes Malaysia unique and home. I still hold on to that belief. What's your favourite 'Malaysia at 50' memory?
Behind the Walled Villas: Bali Revisited
Bali Revisited : Behind the Walled Villas
I first came to Bali 17 years ago an impressionable young early twenty something with a very nice young man who was very keen to impress me. Needless to say, I saved him all the trouble of having to impress me further by marrying him a couple of years later.
Countless of holidays together and 3 children and a rock solid marriage of 15 years later, I have learned to why not, measure the worth of my marriage by using the metaphor of our travels and how we are with each other on each trip together.
Of course my better half now claims that 3.5 months into dating, I had conned him into coming to Bali 17 years ago with my sweet charm and demure ways(???)- we then stayed in a simple 3 star whose name eludes us now; it had a pool and a decent and clean air conditioned room and that was all it mattered. We had each other. And that bottle of Dom Perignon which he bought on the Singapore Airlines inflight store. Which only he drank. As his then girlfriend is still as lousy with alcohol as she was then.
Kuta was dusty then and quite primitive despite already having a Hard Rock Cafe and we had a lovely time. Taking photos, shopping & held hands a lot but mostly, we really enjoyed each other's company and laughed a lot. I think travelling with your boyfriend defines what kind of husband he would become. What a gentleman he is. How he takes care of the big things. Even though I have come to realise in the end that he is really a thrifty, coupon- loving man who doesn't really spend on frills, Or tip very much, I have learned that he's a truly good man, who looks after me well and will protect me at all costs. He's always polite and kind to the locals, the guides or the drivers .
On the other hand, I like my creature comforts which in my older age now may include a private villa with pool (and butler), if you like, and a generous tip for the boys or girls who often have to help lug my often heavy luggage. I don't mind eating in hotels or I occasionally order room service while he would cycle out( if the hotel doesn't offer him a bicycle) he would borrow one, and he would find the yummiest, cheapest eats that he can find and doggy bag it home to us. So though we sometimes like some fine dining, I am accustomed to the local flavours he brings back to us!
So Bali, I have come to realise or the metaphor of Bali is the essence of our marriage. We are the same people who were newly in love 17+ years ago as we are today.
We can now afford the private pool villa but we still love eating at warungs and ordering in from the local guy outside the nice resort.
I am much more discerning in my tastes in shopping- on our first trip together, god forbid, we looked at luna and solar themes candlesticks and bedspreads- what were we thinking??? We realised we both loved a good bargain and the thrill of the hunt, me more than him. But now we look at organic bamboo cotton or high-thread counts for linen and in buying less is more. These days he bonds with our son at the villa while our two girls and I have a gala time shopping together, stopping for foot spas along the way.
So, we have just spent a whole week in Bali- some say it's an overrated tourist trap but I would chose to see it as a metaphor of our marriage.
It's our 5th trip here together to the island of the gods. We have eaten, prayed and loved.
I discovered an amazing female Indonesian author. He's still on a quest for the best bakso!!!
We have grown up together and our marriage has grown too. Our children are flourishing but very very close to each other and to us both.
We came here with my parents once & they bonded with the locals and both our girls.
On another trip, when I was 4 months pregnant with son, our eldest had her first 6 stitches as a 6 year old in Nusa Dua when her chin split open and she bled profusely all over her white pyjamas when she fell on the floor jumping from our bed to her trundle bed. We were in the Westin and luckily they had an in-house doctor. As she was being stitched up, all I could think of was: would her scar be noticeable when she had her first kiss? We survived that scare and enjoyed ourselves after that.
On our last trip here in 2010, we caught up with special friends and enjoyed our first villa stay in Ubud. The kids had a ball at the Bali Safari then.
On this trip- 8 days long- our longest, we met many Mades & (made friends with them) in taxis who took us to cool restaurants in Seminyak and one of the Mades became our more regular driver who showed us wider Bali.
Now, we know which Naughty Nuri's has the best ribs! We know the best barbecued corn vendor in Uluwatu. I can safely say I prefer Bebek Bengil to Bebek Tepi Sawah. And we know that the Balinese have a very gentle and relaxed soul. The club and restaurant scene in Seminyak has the vibes of Rio, Melbourne & Montmarte combined but with its own unique Balinese pizzazz. We discovered a great Mexican by chance and romanced at Kudeta. We checked out Potato Head and Sarong; loved the ambiance in Sarong, thought the crowd in Potatohead was slightly weird but always, always had a good time.
We have bonded with the kids- meaningful chats, games in the pool, reading, rewatching old episodes of Modern Family and new Nat Geo Wild, writing, more chats & laughter, had our first brief holiday with father in law and in very his young family & survived it, and have got to know each other a whole lot better. The kids haven't been on their iPod/ iPhone for days and the teen daughter hasn't even bothered with headphones and just read a lot!
This what travel does to you:
It dulls your senses but it also heightens to you as to what is well and truly important! The little big things as you break from your daily routine of work and school pressures.
Travel has defined our marriage in so many ways.
On that very first trip to Bali together newly met and newly together, we discovered each other, treaded carefully and were furtive in our mutual exploration. And saw how we could be as a cohesive unit, as intrepid travellers finding our way in this wonderfully blessed but also messed up universe.
And we have stayed intact that way all these years later, more travel smart & even more street-wise now; maybe even stronger through our numerous sojourns, escapades and experiences in this journey of life.
Through super sunsets, sunrises, starry nights, dances, dinners, vistas, views and wonderful company, Bali will beckon again.
August 2013
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
10 LIFE LESSONS FOR MY DAUGHTER ON HER 13TH BIRTHDAY
Happy 13th Birthday, my darling first born
My dearest S,
As you turn 13, here are some thoughts from your Moops.
Not a day goes by without me reminiscing about what a cute baby you were to us, how you were born straight-laced, if ever there was a by-the-book new -born all at 8 pounds three ounces. Although we had a few 3.00 am Cranberries sing-along and cuddling- infused nights with you, you were MOSTLY a very easy and non-colicky baby. At two months, I would give you a 6.30am feed and go to work and you’d sleep till 11am and have the bottle that I expressed for you. And when I got home at 2.30; it was 2.30 clock out those days, you were ready for your next feed so it made leaving you for work much much easier to handle for a guilty working mum. At 4 months, you spat out the mashed papaya that I let you try, and at 6 months you did the same with banana and you NEVER ate these two fruits ever again. You olfactory senses must be so wired that you would reject my green apple breath kisses and tell me that you only LIKE red apples and I could only kiss you if I had eaten RED apples. When I took wee one year old you home on my own after your first Australian holiday by myself on the plane, you were so easy-going that I could watch 2 in-flight movies and you mostly just flipped through your books or played with your toy- Gino the giraffe. At Gymboree, you did not like the clown but you did all the right things at the right age, and are still pretty much the same now. At 3, you had a passion for animated Robin Hood and would watch it over and over and over again. Road trips with you to Penang and Singapore were a breeze. You would fall asleep the minute you got strapped onto your car seat and would only wake up when we arrived at our destination! That’s how you became a travelling nomad at such a tender age!
When you little sister was born, you embraced her with all your heart and soul and have been such a good sister to her ever since and for that I am so grateful for the immense bond you both share. With your little bro, you are always the sensible, sometimes bossy big sister but are well-adored by him.
Though you refused most fruits that were served to you, you LOVED any form of medicine, which made us nickname you ‘The Druggie’, and which made us compare you to Belly Boo who would spit out her medicine and who could not even be force-fed!
Now, you’re a tall, lanky 13 year old, albeit a bit too lean of a young lady with a ferocious appetite for sushi and steaks, with spectacular tresses; very serious about your studies and school achievements( still amazed at how you look at success criteria ladders and complete all your homework earnestly with full discipline without being told to), an accomplished ballet and tap dancer, debater, pianist, thespian of sorts, student volunteer and student council member and so son. MY darling daughter!
As you turn 13, here are 10 life lessons that I would like to share with you that you must never forget!
ON FAMILY
Always remember that no matter how many friends you have, blood is always thicker than water. Family matters above all else. Honour your grandparents. Respect your parents at ALL times. Don’t give them lip for they always have your back and try not to hurt them with your words or actions. No matter what, family always comes through for you and always love your siblings like no other. Don’t ever be envious of your siblings for you three are all loved immensely and are different but remember that what you think they have and what you think you lack may not be the same thing so always be happy for them and love them unconditionally. Be generous with them, spend time with them, talk to them; be close, stay close! Organise family gatherings and be a thread!
ON FRIENDSHIP
I see you now, and your close circle of lovely good friends who love you mostly for you, your laughter, your crazy jokes and your kind, sweet ways. But like all girls, there may be sometimes a tiny element of envy, of girls not saying or thinking nice things of you, or of girls gossiping about you. You will have many supporters and loyalists; and you may have some detractors sometimes. You will always know who your true friends are, so honour them and be loyal to them as they have been loyal to you. Don’t talk about them behind their backs and if there is anything negative that needs saying, say it to their faces in a gentle way. Don’t ever back bite. And stay away from taking sides. Remember your girlfriends are important and will be there for you when you are sad, lost or misunderstood.
ON SHOPPING & STYLE
OH YES, girl, you were born into the right family with the right kind of Mummy who lets you indulge in your love for clothes, bags and shoes. We’re women, girly girls and why not? If the dress fits, buy it, if it makes you look good, get it. But only if you can pay for it yourself. In cash. BUT NEVER ever go into debt shopping; don’t borrow and never hoard. ONLY BUY WHAT YOU CAN AFFORD! Fashion comes and goes and sometimes, what was fashionable 12 years ago may come back, who knows? Buy wisely! Don’t always go for cheap and cheerful and invest in ONE BESPOKE very good pair of shoes, a stylish little black dress and A VERY NICE handbag. Classic pieces last a mile though dispensable fashion may be fun. Accessorise but NOT too much. Keep your make up subtle. Sorry your Mummy was not born to do eye make- up and is still not very good at it. But you already have beautiful eyes and you don’t need too much makeup to look good, for you are beautiful au naturel. Don’t become too self-conscious and LOVE LOVE LOVE yourself! Smile with your teeth and OWN your style!
ON BEAUTY
Beauty is the eye of the beholder. We love you soooo much and we think you are beautiful. And you are. But don’t confuse beauty with vanity. It’s great to look good but beauty from the inside transcends everything else. Smile genuinely. Use kind words. Be generous, be sincere and always be good to people. But never be a pushover. Speak up and always protect yourself. Love your friends and family for their inner beauty. Beauty can be found in good deeds, genuine friendships, a pat on the back, a kind word. That’s karma in beauty. Glossy, air-brushed beauty is impermanent and superficial. Don’t fall for that kind of superficiality. But don’t let yourself go either. Dress up, if you must though it’s much better to be GOOD INSIDE! And in the words of Baz, WEAR SUNSCREEN!
ON LIFE in general
Like any paradox, life is as beautiful as it is is hard. School will get harder, friendships may get complicated. Your relationship with your parents and siblings may change. Things many not go the way you want it to go. You will start to find piano a chore if you haven’t already. You may love Science and find it like water on duck’s back more than English. You may suddenly be interested in poetry or current affairs, OR God forbid K-Pop! (But thank heavens you were born so sensible that you didn’t even have a Justin Bieber or a One Direction phase, so I’m, just waiting with bated breath for the Goth phase!) DON’T sweat over the small things. Study hard, work harder. DREAM BIG! Never under-estimate the power of a sound education and your network of friends. Travel. Reflect! Breathe deeply. Work hard, be honest, play hard, STAY HEALTHY- eat well and exercise, sleep sufficiently and rest loads and remember that every day is the best day of your life. Don’t waste it on negative thoughts. Keep yourself busy with meaningful activities. Do charity, reach out and give, give, give. Innovate. Laugh a few times a day! BE HAPPY!
ON TECHNOLOGY
The world does not owe you an S4 or a Iphone5. You don’t have to own one because your peers have one or the other, or both. You’re lucky to have a roof over your head, and a laptop that has a battery that runs out the moment you unplug it and your mother’s old iphone. No, it’s not because your parents didn’t have their first clunky mobile phones until they were in their 20s and that they don’t actually own smart phones till very recently or that they can’t afford to buy you one. Just because there are crazy people( like your mum) twitting, facebooking and instagramming everywhere, you don’t have to be like them. You have access to the family ipad, imac, kindle and your dad’s Samsung phone and frankly, that’s plenty. Yes, I know it’s cool to own the latest technological gadgets but I firmly do not believe in handing it out to you on a silver platter. As quickly as these gadgets become de regueur, they fade into obsolete-ism sooner!
ON BOYS!
Oh yes! I remember you laughing at me when I asked you about boys 18 months ago but now that I know that there are boys who heart you, it’s sent your daddy off the rails and Mummy is now on the look out on the school corridors! Poor, poor boys! They will like you, they will act sincere, interesting, silly, goofy or awkward. They are boys. You need to separate the boys from men. Enjoy the puppy crushes but don’t take them seriously. I once had a crush on a boy on my bus whom I though looked like Ralph Macchio and even spying on him made me weak. I chanced upon him on Facebook lately. And he certainly hasn’t aged like a Karate Kid should, so, while young crushes and boy attention are flattering, concentrate on the bigger things in life- like the famine in Africa, the labouring children in Pakistan or the dying pygmy elephants in Borneo.
And don’t waste your first kiss on someone lame! Frankly, though, first kisses are over-rated; for Mummy doesn’t even remember her first or with who? Oh dear!
ON SEX
Yes, I will talk to you about sex even though I am an Asian mother, and it is mostly not a done thing but I will buck the trend. You are only 13 and there will be hopefully a few many many MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY good years to go before you have to make a decision about sex. And everything that comes with it. This is more serious than a FIRST KISS.
As your mum, and a fellow female, I want you to know that there are always options for you. Abstinence is an option. (Haha. I tried, didn’t I?) But should the decision have to come, you can always talk to me, your mummy about it. Fat chance, I hear you saying. Keep yourself safe and protected. Know that you must be loved and respected before you even cross that line with any boy. For any boy/men to like you, respect you for who you are, you must respect and love yourself first. That is the fundamental rule. For it to actually happen, it must be worth it. And it has to be worth it with someone meaningful. So experimentation is really a non-option. Nor is promiscuity. DON’T ever feel pressured by your peers. Respect your body, all aspects of it- whether your have big breasts, small hips good hair, smooth skin of not, it doesn’t matter. Love yourself and make sure you are loved before venturing into this zone. And always be careful and protected. And carry your rosary with you at all times! (What! Huh? Mum?)
ON LOVE
Oh the clichés, like you’ll be head over heels, palms sweating, hearts beating…. I wish you love, of the splendoured kind. You will fall in love more than once; and sometimes you may even not be in love until later, as love can grow from LIKING A LOT and falling in love can be renewed year upon year. I do wish that you will find the kind of GOOD LOVE that your dad and I have found with each other. Cherish it, preserve it, work at it. Love is tough, love can slip easily away as it comes. Love comes with pure, unadulterated heart(hard)work. And when you do fall in love, it will be the most beautiful thing on earth but keeping that love will be even more precious, my darling.
ON FAITH
We may not be the most God-fearing family but we are believers. We believe that He lives in us and that in prayer, there is always faith. Always remember the teachings of the Bible in what you do and in what you plan to do for the rest of your life. When you are in doubt, He is there to lift you up. When you are happy, he is rejoicing with you. Never forget the power of prayer and never forsake the nighty prayer ritual that we have. Don’t let non- believers convince you that their faithlessness is more superior than yours. You can agree to be different but you don’t have to agree with them. There will be days when you will feel less faithful than others. Those are the days when He actually has you on his shoulders. You will find your way back into the Light and it will be alright again.
So, my darling born on the 4th of July babe, on your momentous 13th birthday, I wish you all these 10 wonderful things. I wish that your life ahead will be abundantly blessed with all the best things in life. I wish you good health and happy days. Even at your rare sleepiest grumpiest, you will always be my baby, and I’ll always be your mummy. I love you all the way to the moon and back and all over again.
Happy Birthday, Sammy Doll!
All my love always,
Mummity Moops xxx
Monday, June 10, 2013
My dad, my hero and his boat.
>My Dad, my hero and his boat
My dad, who lives 4 hours away from me, is on a whatsapp chat with my sisters and I almost daily. At almost 70, retired, alert and thankfully still healthy, he is a willing life-long learner and though thoroughly relaxed in retirement, he doesn’t let his mind stay lax. Though I do not agree with his choice of broadsheet, he reads it from cover to cover daily after his usual fishing session which lasts from 6am-1pm. With his smartphone, dial-up desk top and his satellite TV, he is in contact with the exponentially changing outside world on a daily basis.
From him, I learned about share investments, the wonderful world of the animal planet and the ethics of hard work and success!
His 69th birthday is coming up and I am getting him an Ipad with wifi/3G so he can get into the world wide web with a bigger screen. Mum grumbles that he’s addicted to wifi! When we travel together and get to a hotel, he, like many of the iphone generation knows how to ask for a wifi password!
He’s cool, my dad.
Dad and I when I was two.
This father’s day I am writing about my dad and his boat. You see, for as long as I remember, which is probably since moving into our family house by the beach on the mainland coast of Penang, in 1979, he’s always gone on his boat, either before school or after where he taught Science in an all-girls’ school, to fish, trawl or prawn for half a day. We always joked that Dad was a full-time fisherman and part-time Scientist. He hung around with a lot of the mostly simple fisherman-folk and has always been their consultant, scribe and go-to-guy to settle their banking and legal matters. He does it all pro-bono of course for he’s my dad, the good guy. No agenda, no hidden motive. At the same time, he is also the mobile animal shelter in the neighbourhood- having rescued many a stray dogs in his area and a fierce advocate of animal rights, often writing to the Editor’s page about illegal export of rare species such as pangolins and such. He has a menagerie of tortoises and is really a cross between McGyver and Steve Irwin. For him, fishing and life around his fisherman’s hut have always been a fundamental part of his life!
He’s ever so prudent and savvy-financially and though he is by no means rich, he is very comfortable and has a really good post-retirement life. His mantra in life is to live moderately and be humble and not forgetting to find humour in little things.
My dad is the kind of dad who lived in his gym shoes for work, and his squarish uncle fit flops for the rest of the time. Recently, he acquired a pair of sturdy Timberland sandals for long walks. He loves ochre, brown, khaki and olive green( colours which my Mum deems dirty) which don’t really complement his skin tone much to the chagrin of his sartorially-particular 3 daughters and wife who always try to dress him in crisp white, navy or baby blue shirts! He only ever wore dress shoes to our weddings and our graduations ceremonies.
When dad texted me about having sold his boat, I couldn’t get the image of him and his boat out of my head. His boat is not a 20 feet yacht but a humble sampan that many Malaysian fishermen use to go out to fish. Selling his boat is closure for him, closure from about 30 years of life at sea with his fishing partner- it’s been a daily ritual- dad goes out in his long-sleeved cotton fishing shirt, with a pocket often of a different colour or fabric which he would have sewed on for himself for he hates pocketless shirts, and his ubiquitous Chinese straw hat, at the crack of dawn after a breakfast of coffee and bread and jam. His boat is his domain. From his fishing, he always brought home the freshest seafood which made us all quite snobby seafood epicureans. None of us girls have EVER been on HIS BOAT. He fishes, prawns or trawls and gets back at mid -day and goes to afternoon session school. After his retirement nearly 15 years ago, he’s been able to go out for longer. In Dec 2004, he luckily missed the great tsunami as he was with us celebrating Christmas. His fisherman mates had some wild stories to share, of losing their pants instead of lives, of being miraculously saved though they lost their boats and everything but themselves. He never ventured too far out from the periphery of Penang’s coast and he always knew how to navigate a storm, often at Mum’s expense, worrying on her bed.
But I sensed his deep loss when he sent me his simple text.
I finally sold my boat.
Because my dad and his boat are ONE, really. He had to sell it as his fishing partner for many years, died suddenly of a heart attack. And mum wants him retired from fishing, forever. Now, he’s going out for more morning walks with Mum and they take long drives through the country lanes in the north through rubber plantations and rice paddies and he takes loads of photos of nature and sunsets for us. And he’s always sending us short, sweet texts to ask after the grandchildren. He visits us in KL and Singapore a few times a year and we visit them at least thrice a year. Plus we always have an annual family holiday together.
So, on Father’s Day, my dad- my simple hero, man of a few words, my tee-totaller, close to a monk/saint, kind and loving dad, a witty, funny joker when he wants to be, the master controller of the Discovery Channel, who taught us all to discover ourselves by giving us enough rope, and who helped us navigate through this mad, tough, but lovely world that we live in, I know you miss your boat dearly, but now you can spend even more time driving Mum crazy with your channel flipping, bond more over your coffee sharing or have swim races with your grandchildren knowing you have your own room in every one of your daughter’s homes OR you, who knows, might even start Bible study or take up golf! Or find amusement from Youtube!
Dad on holiday with us.
Dad and I when I was two.
This father’s day I am writing about my dad and his boat. You see, for as long as I remember, which is probably since moving into our family house by the beach on the mainland coast of Penang, in 1979, he’s always gone on his boat, either before school or after where he taught Science in an all-girls’ school, to fish, trawl or prawn for half a day. We always joked that Dad was a full-time fisherman and part-time Scientist. He hung around with a lot of the mostly simple fisherman-folk and has always been their consultant, scribe and go-to-guy to settle their banking and legal matters. He does it all pro-bono of course for he’s my dad, the good guy. No agenda, no hidden motive. At the same time, he is also the mobile animal shelter in the neighbourhood- having rescued many a stray dogs in his area and a fierce advocate of animal rights, often writing to the Editor’s page about illegal export of rare species such as pangolins and such. He has a menagerie of tortoises and is really a cross between McGyver and Steve Irwin. For him, fishing and life around his fisherman’s hut have always been a fundamental part of his life!
He’s ever so prudent and savvy-financially and though he is by no means rich, he is very comfortable and has a really good post-retirement life. His mantra in life is to live moderately and be humble and not forgetting to find humour in little things.
My dad is the kind of dad who lived in his gym shoes for work, and his squarish uncle fit flops for the rest of the time. Recently, he acquired a pair of sturdy Timberland sandals for long walks. He loves ochre, brown, khaki and olive green( colours which my Mum deems dirty) which don’t really complement his skin tone much to the chagrin of his sartorially-particular 3 daughters and wife who always try to dress him in crisp white, navy or baby blue shirts! He only ever wore dress shoes to our weddings and our graduations ceremonies.
When dad texted me about having sold his boat, I couldn’t get the image of him and his boat out of my head. His boat is not a 20 feet yacht but a humble sampan that many Malaysian fishermen use to go out to fish. Selling his boat is closure for him, closure from about 30 years of life at sea with his fishing partner- it’s been a daily ritual- dad goes out in his long-sleeved cotton fishing shirt, with a pocket often of a different colour or fabric which he would have sewed on for himself for he hates pocketless shirts, and his ubiquitous Chinese straw hat, at the crack of dawn after a breakfast of coffee and bread and jam. His boat is his domain. From his fishing, he always brought home the freshest seafood which made us all quite snobby seafood epicureans. None of us girls have EVER been on HIS BOAT. He fishes, prawns or trawls and gets back at mid -day and goes to afternoon session school. After his retirement nearly 15 years ago, he’s been able to go out for longer. In Dec 2004, he luckily missed the great tsunami as he was with us celebrating Christmas. His fisherman mates had some wild stories to share, of losing their pants instead of lives, of being miraculously saved though they lost their boats and everything but themselves. He never ventured too far out from the periphery of Penang’s coast and he always knew how to navigate a storm, often at Mum’s expense, worrying on her bed.
But I sensed his deep loss when he sent me his simple text.
I finally sold my boat.
Because my dad and his boat are ONE, really. He had to sell it as his fishing partner for many years, died suddenly of a heart attack. And mum wants him retired from fishing, forever. Now, he’s going out for more morning walks with Mum and they take long drives through the country lanes in the north through rubber plantations and rice paddies and he takes loads of photos of nature and sunsets for us. And he’s always sending us short, sweet texts to ask after the grandchildren. He visits us in KL and Singapore a few times a year and we visit them at least thrice a year. Plus we always have an annual family holiday together.
So, on Father’s Day, my dad- my simple hero, man of a few words, my tee-totaller, close to a monk/saint, kind and loving dad, a witty, funny joker when he wants to be, the master controller of the Discovery Channel, who taught us all to discover ourselves by giving us enough rope, and who helped us navigate through this mad, tough, but lovely world that we live in, I know you miss your boat dearly, but now you can spend even more time driving Mum crazy with your channel flipping, bond more over your coffee sharing or have swim races with your grandchildren knowing you have your own room in every one of your daughter’s homes OR you, who knows, might even start Bible study or take up golf! Or find amusement from Youtube!
Dad on holiday with us.
But don’t ever lose your will, tenacity, resilience, just like the old man, in Hemingway’s classic- for with or without your boat, you’re still our greatest hero. Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you loads. X -r
Monday, January 7, 2013
Haiku Therapy
Whenever I want to zone out or form a perspective on something, I turn to haiku writing as a form of therapy. It is a form of disciplined thought that destresses me completely, and works my grey cells and I derive a lot of pleasure & philosophy out of this creative process.
Inspired by Basho, the Edo Japanese poet who wrote haikus under the bamboo groves in ancient Kyoto, I find this poetry form of zen-ness and crisp lines both challenging and calming.
Haikus can be written in 5-7-5, or 3-5-3 syllable form
Here are the thirty I wrote recently while on a holiday in the Land of the Rising Sun. Many were inspired by real-life experiences and a couple were helped by my children!
Japan is magic
Where vending machines are wives
Serving you miso(hot soup)
*************************
The crane, the turtle-
Symbols of longevity
Greet us in our room
*************************
Nothing like service
The unique Japanese way
His/hers-everything
************************* Hotel Okura Where hospitality reigns The Japanese way ************************* Beneath the neon Metropolis of vastness Lies an old zen tree ************************* Face, like nice presents Must be impressively seen There's no other way ************************* Agony on loo Gentle squirts of warmth or strong Jets of cold? For bum. ************************* Cherry blossom cake For my dear tamadochi Have fun being ten ************************** A big white island Lies in a blanket of snow Snow angels are born ************************* My first white birthday Oodles of snow fun and love Of simplicity ************************* So Narnia it is Of quiet composed beauty Icy barren trees ************************* In the fleeting snow, I see love, light & laughter Which I hold inside ************************* Snowflakes in my tongue Cold magic that melts quickly As soon as it comes ************************* Skis off, onsen calls The hot and cold purifies The much-maligned soul ************************* It’s the change of scene That’s necessary for peace In stillness we sit ************************* The wind in your face As the chairlift blazes forth Agape, in awe, wow! ************************* Skiing gently down Is poetry in motion The quiet astounds ************************* Add San to your name Makes you feel special, innit? Japanese for you! ************************* Sake and sushi Sibilantly harmonious Heaven in your mouth ************************* Onsen here we come Steaming waters just for you Your skin is refreshed ************************* In the stark whiteness Of the winter wilderness My soul awakens ************************* The snow queen stares out Of her palatial white screen Her subjects await ************************* White is purity In bright, peaceful solitude Of still icicles ************************* Powder at your feet Kingdom of white wonderment Please wear your helmet ************************* In midst of chaos Of polyester wool haze A maple leaf flies ************************* Snow is Japanese Silent, stoic and gentle Impassively so ************************* Snow falls like soft rain Framing nature's wondrous stage Poetry in snow ************************* I ski on white ice Reflecting on time gone by Jolting me to now ************************* Barren stark cold trees Clump together in the snow Do they need some fleece? ************************* Haiku is spare verse Depending on state of mind. What is your haiku? ************************* -R January 2013
Notes on my 41st birthday-1st of January 2013
Faith & providence: God- my constant Father. Prayers, praying & knowing His word. That keeps me & my family centred. Praying as a family & praying with the children & for them. My eldest- stoic & silent told me this quietly: Mummy, do you know I pray for your back & your eye every single night? How touched I was as that truly is the best birthday present anyone can ask for. A gift of daily prayer. We pray but we don't profess to be pious or to convert others. Faith & providence to me are very important in my day to day survival.
Ageing( gracefully & fabulously): How do I not notice the growing number of grey hairs on my head or the increasing number of beauty serums & anti-oxidant products on my bathroom shelf? Or that I need a cat nap to recharge a hectic day? Or the stiffness & aches? Don't even start on the reading glasses! The key is to embrace that and be happy with what I see in the mirror every morning. Let the stray grays be for now until I need to start colouring, and as much as concealers help, I can't reverse dark circles & eye bags & god-forbid, water retention! Sigh! Be happy though! AND mostly, I'd like to say I have been blessed to have this truly wonderful gem of a gentleman in my life- my rock, my pillar & my best friend. My M. To stay together for 17 years and not wanting to kill each other yet is no mean feat in today's world! We work AT it, but I'd still like to wake up next to him in the morning, laugh with him at 1am in the morning over some inane thing and have him hold my hand while I wake up from surgery! I still make lousy coffee & don't serve him beer cold enough but if he still loves me for me after all that, I count myself pretty darn lucky! Plus he cooks and does the laundry while we are in holiday! Not to mention the number of "oh, that's a new dress?". This old thing? No, have had it for ages" moments that are enough to crack me up! And my 3 angels. Love you three forever and forever, my darlings! You complete me! "You'll always be my baby, & I'll always be your mummy!" So on my 41st birthday, I am happy. To be. To see clearly. To be with my loved ones. To experience amazing things together- praying, laughing, crying, travelling, fighting, healing, working, agonising, exalting! I am blessed. Indeed. Happy New Year! Thank you for being a part of my life. Love, light, laughter... R xxx 1 January 2013 .
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