ICELAND HOLIDAY WAS ICING ON THE CAKE

Two weeks ago, florists were very busy indeed stocking up and selling flowers. According to a survey by the National Retail Federation in the United States last year, 36% of Americans bought flowers for Valentine’s Day, spending a total of USD1.9 billion. Men usually buy flowers, especially roses, for romantic reasons on Valentine’s Day and women also use this occasion to show their care to their sweethearts, parents and good friends.

We went to Reykjavik, Iceland recently and I would sum up the whole Icelandic experience as one of love.

The stunning landscape is something else. Although harsh and at times unforgiving I cannot help but marvel at the geysers, the shift in tectonic plates, the thundering icy waterfall and the postcard perfect city. I would certainly vouch for such a trip to be on one’s bucket list. Since it was winter there were only four hours of sunlight daily. In contrast, summer would see 22 – 24 hours of sunlight. Would I go there again? Yes. 

There are so many attributes of love and I will try to list down some from my observations of the trip.

Love does not seek its own. It is generous.

This trip was made possible because my daughter Sonya bought the package for her parents and her siblings. I have not considered Iceland in my travels thus far for the simple reason that the prices of most things are exorbitant over there. It is not surprising that quite a number of people living in Reykjavik hold two jobs. Our tour guide for example, holds a Bachelor of Science degree in Fisheries and works with the Department of Fisheries during the day and moonlights as a tour guide by night. If a regular burger costs around 30euro in Reykjavik, I cannot imagine how much the airfare, deluxe accommodation and tour expeditions would have cost my daughter. The icing on the cake was my son Samuel flying over to join us. Any mother would understand what having the whole brood with you feels like. Complete.

Love is kind.

As eating out was pretty expensive, my other daughter Audrey took to cooking most of the delicious meals. It is a delight to just sit back and watch another person cook for you and wash up as well. It was a 'real' holiday as the parent did not have to plan or execute the plan. Pure relaxation of the mind and body - a good rest indeed. When I saw her preparing sandwiches, I noticed that she gave others the fresh slices of bread while she ate the crusty ends. Just like how a parent would give the drumstick to the child and eat the less popular parts herself.

Love is responsible.

As the ground was icy and the snow thick in various places, the children constantly cautioned us to tread slowly and be careful lest we fall. The last time I fell, it took me more than 6 months for my ankle to recover.  I saw them skipping and prancing on the icy ground. Such is the advantage of youth.

  

Love is mindful over little things.

In this age of disposables and living off the State or worse still the parents, some young people do not know the meaning of 'waste not'. It was indeed a delight to see the next generation being careful with their money and living within their means and not easily persuaded by advertisements to buy things they do not need. 

Indeed I see this as one of the rewards of authoritative parenting. I wonder how much is taught and how much is caught – a good balance of both I think, although some may call authoritative parenting old school. This is a style characterized by reasonable demands and high responsiveness. While authoritative parents might have high expectations for their children, these parents also give their kids the resources and support they need to succeed. It is the teaching of boundaries, discipline, humility, selflessness and tough love. My parents brought me up on this formula, and I have done the same with mine and it still works even when the world gravitates towards liberal parenting.

Love is appreciative.

Polar bears visit Iceland either on an iceberg that melted or by swimming all the way from Greenland. Although highly controversial, it is national policy to kill polar bears on sight as they are inevitably hungry after their sea voyage, and a danger to residents and livestock. 

The beloved compares himself to the polar bear that has drifted into my circumstance and has not been rejected. He says, ' who else would have me?'

I thought that is very sweet indeed.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA, 26 FEBRUARY 2017 http://www.nst.com.my/news/2017/02/215418/iceland-holiday-was-icing-cake

THOSE UNATTAINABLE CRUSHES

The story of  A loves B but B loves C plagues Aunt Agony’s column. I am often tempted to think that this is a modern day heartache among teenagers but alas it is as ancient as the hills. The French call it La Douleur Exquise - the heart wrenching pain of wanting someone who is unattainable.

I used to wonder why poets would subject themselves to bouts of melancholy because of unrequited love. Sir Thomas Wyatt  (1503 - 1542) was one. He was a famous poet and ambassador at the court of Henry VIII and he was one of Anne Boleyn’s suitors but his love was unrequited. In his poem “Whoso List to Hunt”, we read about a deer (Anne) being hunted down (by Henry VII) and being out of the poet’s reach because she says “Caesar’s I am”. 

 
Unrequited love or one-sided love is love that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such by the intended. The intended may be oblivious to the admirer’s attraction, or may consciously reject it. 

Even in the comic strip, ‘Peanuts’, we see elements of unrequited love. Schroeder the pianist feels nothing for Lucy despite Lucy’s constant declarations of her love for him. Charles M. Schulz, its creator says, ‘Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.’ 

I was in Copenhagen recently and saw The Little Mermaid, a bronze statue by Edvard Eriksen. Before I went there I had re-read the fable by Hans Christian Andersen, so as to refresh my memory about the ill-fated mermaid who swam up to the surface of the sea on her 15th birthday just to have a glimpse of the human world. 

 
There was a storm and the prince was shipwrecked and the mermaid rescued him but he was not aware of who his rescuer was. She wanted to be near the prince and so exchanged her voice for a pair of legs. Only the sea witch could do that and every step she took felt like a knife cutting through her legs. The ultimate test was for the prince to marry her, otherwise in the morning after the prince had married another, she would become sea foam. 

Fast forward to the end of the story- the prince married another and the mermaid became sea foam. Some readers argue that the mermaid wanted to have a soul and she could only have that if she were to become human. 

But yet the theme about unrequited love and subsequently paying a huge sacrifice for it rings loud and clear. 

I wonder why people put themselves through situations such as this? Is it self delusion or are they being hopeful? Granted some people who carry on the waiting and hoping game do finally get their prize. These are few and far between but at what cost? 

Adele captures this hopelessness in ‘Chasing Pavements’ where she sings about flying around in circles leading nowhere when love is unrequited. 

 
It is easy for someone on the outside looking in to see how futile unrequited love is.I think most of us would have at least a friend who has been in that situation. We certainly deserve more than pining for someone who is unattainable 

After endless days of listening and advising a friend of ‘letting him go’, you see her still trying to establish links with the said party - stalking him online, texting and following him on social media. Pretty much a waste of time and energy. There’s this quote that goes, ‘I’m 99% sure that he doesn’t love me but it’s that 1% that keeps me going.’

 
Psychologists say that the way to get out of the misery is to acknowledge the injury done to yourself and the need to take care of yourself. Take comfort in the fact that many had gone through the same situation and emerged stronger. The biggest challenge is to give up the quest of chasing someone who doesn’t return your affections.

 
Only then will there be closure.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 16 OCTOBER 2016...http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/10/180594/those-unattainable-crushes

WE WERE ALL YOUNG ONCE

The first television set that my parents bought was a 17 inch black and white with antennae that we called rabbit ears. Most days reception was excellent but just when my favourite movies like The Brady Bunch (sitcom) and The Virginian (western) were on, the screen, as if it had a personal vendetta, would go fuzzy.

When football matches with Soh Chin Aun  alongside the late Mokhtar Dahari and R. Arumugam were on, I would see stripes on the television screen instead of the football field - vertical stripes that became diagonal stripes depending on where the wind blew. And I would soldier on, glued to the idiot box, praying for a miracle to happen.

Indeed those were the days when we had simple faith and entertainment was very, very basic.

Nowadays, with so many channels to choose from, we can literally sit and flick the remote control to find one that suits. It was in this manner one evening, that I chanced upon ‘Reeling in the Years’ on Sky Arts and the featured band was The Hollies from Manchester with ‘He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother’.

A name as archaic as the hills now, but during my teenage years, they were the bee's knees, at least to me anyway. I remember wishing for the Hollies to stage a concert at Stadium Negara and how I would save up to go see them if they ever came. But only after overcoming the initial hurdle – my parents. Like most parents at that time, pop bands from the West were all wild and a bad influence for their daughters.

I had posters of my favourite bands, poster boys like David Cassidy, advertisements of Wrangler and Texwood jeans all plastered on the walls of my room. Sometimes when no one was looking, I would even kiss the paper images and imagine myself being the girlfriend of one of them.

Deep down, many of us wanted to marry a Westerner.

Somehow Westerners seemed to be more handsome, more understanding and more romantic. After all the westerners that we were exposed to were mainly Hollywood or British stars at their best so the local boys down the street pale in contrast.

We would also sing the songs, having memorised every word. If my parents were within ear shot I would just hum those parts that had references to love or sex just in case they might understand those words although they spoke no English. The words in question of course were very mild and innocent compared to the outright and crude lyrics of some of  today’s pop songs.

We would imitate the way our pop idols look. For the boys, polo neck sweaters and bell-bottom trousers and long hair. 

For the girls, bob or curly hairstyle and mini skirts and jeans. I was one of the earliest to wear jeans in my town and after receiving a fair share of wolf whistles from total strangers, my parents deemed it was improper for a girl to wear jeans. There was a family conference with my mum threatening to cut the jeans and my dad wanting to keep them away from me forever. There were lots of protests and tears from the angry teen who thought life was not fair at all.

I never saw the jeans again until about five years later when almost every girl was wearing jeans in the town. By then jeans were a thing of the past and being a trend setter, I had moved on to something else.

With Valentine’s day around the corner, I am reminded of another event.

Just like old songs, a certain fragrance can also evoke a gamut of memories. It was also during that era that ‘Brut’ a line of men's grooming and fragrance products first launched in 1964 by Fabergé was the fragrance that men identified by.

I had my first valentine card when I was 13. The card measured 14 inches by 10 inches and was hand made by a student studying art in Toronto. Inside the card was a small piece of tissue soaked in Brut. I kept the tissue under my pillow for a very long time.

Such is the beauty of memories.

We were young once.


THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES 8/2/2015 :

http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150208nstnews/index.html#/21/

Empty Nest or Discovery Channel?

I was juicing a melon one evening when Michael wheeled in a wheelbarrow filled with coal. Although it is summer, we had to stock up coal for the colder months to come.

I had earlier put on a CD with lovely songs and the room was awash with the hue of soft lights. Seeing him close the door behind him, I just stopped what I was doing, moved to where he was, grabbed his hands and we started to waltz, as if that was the most natural thing to do, with the wheelbarrow beside us and some chopped melon bits still in the juicer chute.

No, we don’t do this every day, but we let spontaneity in every now and then. Especially so when there are no more wailing babies demanding the next nappy change or young people catching us in an awkward embrace. All the children have left home and it is now just the two of us.

They call it the Empty Nest syndrome but I call it the Discovery Channel. Somehow the Empty Nest syndrome sounds lonely and sad especially when two people who having been married for years may as well be like two strangers in a room. Now, the Discovery Channel is different. It spells of excitement, fun and wild abandonment.

Married couples are a strange species. While they usually start off bright eyed and bushy tailed, stories abound of how there is nothing left to talk as the years roll on. With all the slogging at the office and child minding years behind them, there are no more common topics of interest. You can almost cut the silence with a knife. Along the way, the spark had diminished, trust eroded and appreciation dwindled. In some bizarre cases, spouses who could no longer stand each other, commit murder even.

Yet society, culture, religion and most of all the presence of children have decreed that the two married strangers should still live together to present themselves as a married couple to the outside world.

It is wonderful to see elderly couples looking out for each other and there is certainly no shortage of that here.

I was watching with amusement the other day when queuing for an empty cubicle in the fitting room in a Polo outlet in Kildare Village. Suddenly a senior lady opened  a cubical door to ask her senior husband what he thought of her blouse. He said ‘No, not this one.’ Then after a few minutes, she opened the door again with another blouse and he said ‘Yes, this looks very good on you.’ The relationship was symbiotic – checking for approval and giving approval or disapproval.

In another instance, an elderly man with a walking stick was looking at the display of man’s attire through the glass. Beside her was an elderly lady who held a zimmer frame.

He said, ‘I like that tie, yeah. Them ties are nice, yeah.’

She replied, ‘ Oh, sure,sure,sure. I saw one the other day at Pennys. Lovely tie. Half the price. That’s a good bargain.’

As they hobbled along, I could hear them still talking about the prices of ties. I could see there was love and kindness in their eyes for each other.

One of the inspirational quotes that has found its way into my life goes like this: I choose to live by choice, not by chance; to make changes not excuses; to be motivated, not manipulated; to be useful, not used; to excel, not compete. I choose self-esteem, not self pity. I choose to listen to my inner voice, not the random opinions of others.

We are what we choose to be.

Every now and then I review my choices and just the other day when I was watching ‘Disney top 30 cartoons’ with Jungle book coming up in first position as viewers’ choice, I was reminded of how my children used to re-enact the scene where Baloo the bear was dancing in the presence of the monkeys and his disguise failed him. That was hilarious. I could actually hear myself laughing along with my children.

I felt I missed my children in Malaysia terribly and Audrey said, ‘Our family structure is different but there is love.’ With the next wedding anniversary around the corner, I asked Michael whether it is nice that I am his wife and he replied,

‘Tis.’

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/node/2874

Better safe than sorry

The latest spate of stormy weather left my garden in a mess. The birdhouse was blown down, the metal arch crumbled and the decorative butterflies lost their wings. If only I had anticipated the force of destruction, I would have done something to prevent it. But coming from the calm and constant Malaysian weather, how could I have known? If only.

I am generally a person who weighs my options and risks, who sets aside for a rainy day and who is basically prepared for things that may happen or may not even happen. So I have a number of plans. If plan A does not work, I move on to plan B.

Why even the scout/guide motto is : BE PREPARED which means being always in a state of readiness in mind and body. Be Prepared in Mind is to discipline oneself to think  beforehand any accident or situation that might occur, so that you know the right thing to do at the right moment, and are willing to do it. Be Prepared in Body is to make yourself strong and active and able to do the right thing at the right moment, and do it.

I have never been in a uniformed group but somehow such values have been ingrained in me since young by those that I looked up to. And because that forms the basis of my being, I find decision making natural and efficiency and time management part of the package deal as well. I have little tolerance for tardiness and procrastination.

We cannot be prepared unless we know how to prepare. This takes us to the why, what, where, how and when. A native of the land will usually know the fine details about how to deal with an event for example. But it is a different ball game for a non-native.

We cannot be prepared unless we have knowledge. If I were involved in a car accident in Malaysia, I would know exactly what to do and who to contact. But I will feel very inadequate in another country should an accident happen unless I have the specific knowledge of what to do.

Knowledge comes from many forms and one very basic form is by asking. I remember attending a school report day when the teacher unhappily remarked that my daughter ‘asked a lot of questions’ in class. To that statement, I replied that ‘that was how I brought up my children – to ask questions so they can get answers’.

We cannot be prepared unless we embrace different degrees of likelihood: will happen, may happen, may never happen. If it happens, I will know how to deal with it, and if it does not, well and good. Who is man in his puny mind to predict whether the impossible may happen?

We cannot be prepared if we are told ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’ This is fine for those who are quite happy to wash their hands of a problem. To  me, it is great if someone offers to take care of a situation, but I would also like to know how that situation will be taken care of. Imagine having a godfather who says he will take care of a problem, and the next thing you know are headlines in a local paper that some heads have rolled. The logical mind seeks answers, not ambiguity.

I have stood in front of a lecture room for the most part of my life. I had questions directed at me – those that I could answer and those that I could not. For the questions that I had answers, I was too happy to share them. For those that I could not answer, I searched for the answers or for someone else who would know the answers. At home, it was the same modus operandi. Children, whether toddlers or teens or adults, ask questions all the time, if they are encouraged to do so. They can be very general or specific; real or hypothetical; impossible or totally out of this world and they can also be personal or totally irrelevant.

Questions are usually triggered by something nagging in the mind. They can come anytime – when you are relaxed and happy or when you are tired and grouchy.

To all these questions, I see it as a privilege to share whatever I know. I see questions as coming from a genuine search for something deeper. Questions could stem from a pure thirst for information, an understanding of emotions and a clarification of doubt.

Wherever they come from and whatever time they are thrown at me, I feel happy that I can be part of building the bridge of knowledge. 

That to me is communication.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/better-safe-than-sorry-1.573138

Goodwill Hunting

We were walking along Arlington Street in Boston   recently when I heard someone shouting at me from a Pajero which had stopped at the traffic lights. I turned my head and saw a lady waving at me excitedly. She shouted ‘ We have the same handbag!’ and simultaneously lifted up her handbag and shook it vigorously to show me that what she said was absolutely true.

I laughed as I saw that I was also carrying the handbag with bird prints all over it. Then to further accentuate the fun mood, I unbuttoned my coat to reveal a matching bird print frock beneath it. I bought my dress and bag from Dublin and I wondered whether she got the same from downtown Boston. Well, that definitely caused an adrenalin rush.

Then we made our way towards Beacon Street where the famed ‘Cheers’ pub (of the American sitcom television series that ran for 11 seasons from 1982 to 1993) stood. I saw two tourists trying to make sense of the vicinity by pouring over a small black and white map of Boston. In my pocket was a big coloured map of Boston which I took from the concierge. I related what I saw to Michael and I was caught in a to-do or not-to-do situation as we walked past the couple. Michael gave me the affirmation and I ran back to the couple and gave them my big and coloured map and their broad smiles said it all.

What is it about random acts of kindness that make our day?

These may be very small stuff but yet again they leave a fuzzy feeling behind, after all we are tripartite beings – body, soul and spirit.

What touches our souls lifts up the spirit. That little encouragement, that gentle pat on the head goes a long way. We talk of chocolates being soul food and shopping as soul therapy. We can see what we look like in the mirror and we can try to improve what we are not happy with. But it is hard to see our emotions in the mirror and even if we do, we are seldom taught how to recognise our emotions and how to deal with them.

So what am I trying to say?

We often forget that although we look strong on the outside, we are fragile inside. Being constantly battered by words, accusations, injustices and name-calling leave us frail. Being told what to say and what not to say far too often enough leave us wondering if we can say anything to anyone at all.  Being misunderstood because of our perceptions or of our choice of words make us wish we had shared none of our opinions at all. We may be made of rock but constant chiselling will chip off many bits of us over time.

So why can’t we have acts of kindness instead of destruction?

To be kind is to be in the shoes of the other person, to empathise and to walk with her and hold her hand and show that you care. To be kind  is not to bring up the past over and over again. To be kind is to encourage but to correct at the same time when you can see another walking down the path that you would not like to go yourself. To be kind is to understand that not everything is personal and not everything is about you.

To be kind is also to take stock of our own emotional health. We cannot blame another person for what we are or are not. To quote Ann Bradford, ‘Tell the negative committee that meets inside your head to shut up and sit down.’ We owe it to ourselves to develop confidence, self esteem and self respect. When we have been told to do this and that for too long, we need to step aside and say to ourselves, ‘Do we want to fall into someone else’s mould or can we be ourselves?’

It is never easy to see the wood for the trees when we are in the thick of it. No one can identify with the intensity of emotions that we go through, and the choice is ours alone to decide what we want to do with our lives.

It is the stuff that we are made of that anchors us. I have often wondered how huge trees can be toppled in a storm and yet when I see how shallow the roots are, it all makes sense.

When our emotional health is in order, we have every reason to live.

                                                    All that is gold does not glitter     

                                                    Not all those who wander are lost

                                                    The old that is strong does not wither

                                                   Deep roots are not reached by the frost –

                                                                                                    J.R.R. Tolkein             

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/goodwill-hunting-1.551698?cache=03%2F7.203490%3Fpage%3D0%2F7.306867%2F7.321287%2F7.325431%2F7.325431%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.682829%2F7.124478%2F7.699950                           

Appeal of teddy bears

WHAT is it about teddy  bears that makes most of us go soft in the head? I for one have collected a number of teddy bears from different countries and have sat them all down in a cupboard and then carefully cleaned them whenever they got soiled.

Among the well-loved bears are the Paddington bear from Peru, Rupert the bear from England, Biffo bear from Beano, Yogi bear created by Hanna-Barbera (who claims he is smarter than the average bear) and the hand-raised Knut the polar bear that I saw at the Berlin Zoo. But these names are quite lost on present-day children, who are probably familiar only with Pooh, made famous by Walt Disney. But truth be told, the Disney version of Pooh is again rather different from the original A. A. Milne's Winnie-the-Pooh of Hundred Acre Wood.

History has it that the first teddy bear originated from the States after President Theodore Roosevelt and some of his friends went on a hunting trip to Mississippi in November 1902. After tracking down a helpless bear, one of the guides asked the president to shoot it but filled with compassion, the president could not bring himself to do so. Shortly after that, Clifford Berryman, a cartoonist, drew a cartoon of the event. A store owner in Brooklyn saw the cartoon, and true to the American spirit of entrepreneurship, decided to create a toy and named it Teddy Bear.

Teddy bears have gone a long way since. They are endeared by children and adults alike. In fact, I have even walked into a Teddy Hospital that specialises in bandaging that torn-out limb or re-stuffing that well-loved shapeless lump. Visitors to the hospital are asked to stay quiet for the patients.

Like doll houses and miniatures, they are also much sought after by beary (pardon the pun) many collectors. Sir Robert Clark, who died in January 2013, was recruited to Churchill's Special Operations Executive. He had a teddy called Falla, who was with him even when he parachuted into enemy territory in Italy and became a prisoner of war in World War 2. He later became a collector of more than 300 teddy bears.

Recently, Travelodge, the hotel chain, carried out a poll among 6,000 British adults on the significance of teddy bears (there seems to be polls on almost anything). More than half of the respondents still have a childhood teddy bear and 35 per cent sleep with one. Because of the great attachment between the teddy bear and its owner, the loss of one creates great distress. Travelodge said that in 2011, staff had reunited more than 75,000 teddies and their owners. And it is not only children that we are talking about but "frantic businessmen and women" calling the hotel about their forgotten teddy bears. In Teddy Bear stories for Grown Ups by Catherine Taylor, we have 23 fascinating stories of relationships between teddy bears and their owners, including the one about how a teddy bear survived the Titanic.

So what does a teddy bear provide that other toys do not? The respondents of the poll said sleeping with a teddy provided a "comforting and calming" way to end the day. In fact, 25 per cent of men said they even took their teddy bears away with them on business because it reminded them of home. Now I understand why Mr Bean does not go to sleep. I think deviant artist Begemott captures the idea of teddy the protector best in his drawing Sweet Halloween dreams where a teddy bear fends off a monster with a sword while a child sleeps on peacefully.

So with Valentine's Day just around the corner, I think teddy bears make excellent gifts.

They do not wilt like roses do, and unlike chocolates, they give great comfort without the extra calories.

Source: Appeal of teddy bears - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/appeal-of-teddy-bears-1.479943#ixzz2soKaSecE

A Day Off for Mums turns them back on

When my children were young, I would read to them every night before they fell asleep.

One of their favourite books was about a stay-at-home mother who would cook, sew and do practically everything until the father came home. Once in a while, her friends would call over and she would go out with them and the father minded the children.

A simple story but it reminds me of the times when mothers, whether they are working full time outside or at home, need a day out.

My mother had her own days out. She used to go to the Orchid hair salon every Saturday to "set" her hair.

She never missed an appointment and would come home with beautifully coiffured hair, resembling a pineapple, stiffed with hair-spray. Such was the fashion then.

And every Sunday, she would hang up her pots and pans and there was absolutely no cooking done.

Interestingly enough, there are church-run Mother's Day Out programmes, especially for stay-at-home mothers who do not have domestic helpers or relatives to help them mind their children.

Teenagers and young adults run the programme. There is no real structure to the programme, no curriculum or schedule of events.

These volunteers sign up to supervise the children who play, do crafts, learn letters, numbers, shapes, take naps, and eat with their friends. These are typically between three and six hours and are usually two to five days a week.

This gives the mother the much needed break to go grocery shopping without a crying baby, get her hair cut, take a nap, blog or do anything she wants.

The greatest obstacle is the mother's difficulty to deal with the "guilt" of leaving the child with someone else. Whatever form a mother's day-out can take, it is certainly therapeutic. It helps preserve sanity and breaks the mundane cycle of things.

I was in Dublin recently as my daughter was receiving an award from the university. I did not want to drive and thus I took an express bus. It was actually quite fun because I had not travelled leisurely on my own for a while. I had the whole day to myself as the ceremony was at night and my daughter had day lectures.

The bus stopped near Grafton street, which was perfect. All the mannequins in the window display were screaming at the shopaholic in me. I read somewhere that we should not shop on an empty stomach so I took a turn to Georges street where most of the Asian restaurants are. I was spoilt for choice and sat down at a Nepali restaurant for a three-course lunch of piping hot mountain rice topped with well-stewed lamb pakuwa.

I was not disappointed as I imagined myself somewhere in the Himalayas and tasting the food of gods.

There were pigeons everywhere pecking breadcrumbs from off the sidewalks. Obviously, they were not subjected to any signs of a recessive economy as they were so fat, I could not see their legs.

I chuckled when I saw a bus with a big chocolate chip cookie advertisement over it "Chip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah" (an ingenious twist of the song from the Disney 1946 animated movie Song of the South).

I thought of my bills that have been paid. I thought of the house mortgage that has been settled.

I thought of no more car loans or any other outstanding loans. I thought of my older two children who are working. I thought of my youngest daughter's education expenses at Trinity that have been taken care of.

It was time to go for the award ceremony. As I walked towards the university in my new dress and matching shoes and handbag, I felt like a million dollars.

It was indeed a mother's day out, a good beginning for a new year.

Source: A day off for mums turns them back on - Columnist - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/a-day-off-for-mums-turns-them-back-on-1.460352?cache=03%2F7.206773%3Fkey%3DMalaysia%2F7.288059%2F7.308059%3Fkey%3DKuala+Lumpur%2F7.320411%2F7.320411%2F7.330034%2F7.330034%2F7.480850%2F7.480850%2F7.480850%2F7.480850%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.490557%2F7.575117%2F7.575117#ixzz2qDDm5Win

A Partner Need Not Suffer without End

I WAS at a wedding recently and as with most weddings, the atmosphere was enough to move one's heart to bits. So I listened with interest as the newlyweds exchanged their vows.

Interestingly enough, the list of vows the bride made to her groom was twice as long as that of the groom's.

I do not know whether they wrote the vows themselves or whether they lifted them from a book.

I am not a feminist, but I thought it strange that while the groom promised to honour vows one to seven, the bride promised to honour vows one to 14.

This included honouring his dreams, his vision, his hopes and his forever while nothing was mentioned about honouring hers.

I could not help feeling that there would be a long road of sacrifice ahead for her.

She would have to give up something valued for the sake of something else regarded as more important or worthy, sometimes even negating her own dreams and desires.

Here, I would like to borrow Yeats' line in the poem Easter 1916: "Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart."

The poem was written in the context of the long, turbulent history of British colonialism in Ireland as well as alluding to the great psychological cost of the long struggle for independence.

May I be so bold as to stretch this concept to that of domestic bliss?

The question I pose is: who determines when the suffering will end and when the sacrifices are considered sufficient?

Some will smile to make it seem easier. They will put on a front because admitting it is hard. It can be seen as a weakness and many spouses feel they need to be strong for their children or be regarded as a stigma in society.

There are great husbands and wonderful husbands out there, but a cursory glance at the role of mothers and wives across cultures shows that responsibilities are certainly not shouldered equally.

I am not talking about instances where a calamity strikes the household or a spouse suffers a tragic event and is left incapable of taking care of himself.

In some societies, we see the women walking miles to the wells early in the morning to carry water in vats for their households. They then return home to cook and clean and take care of their babies while their husbands are idling away.

We are familiar with countries that "export" wives and mothers to work as domestic helpers while their own children are being cared for by some other relatives.

There is even one country that sees it as the norm for married and single men alike to have a "free Friday" where they can go to town and have non-committal sexual relationships and then return to their households for the rest of the week as if nothing has happened.

I welcome the blogging era because I find that many (women and men) can pour out their thoughts and inner feelings when before they were trapped.

I was reading a blog that went: "I'm wondering lately when enough is enough? There comes a point when you've been sacrificing for a little too long.

"I don't mean it in the general sense, because we all have to make sacrifices, but a specific situation where you give, and give, and give with nothing in return.

"I think we've passed the 'appreciation', sensitivity, compassion, beautiful point and have become desensitised, bitter, frustrated and exhausted.

"I don't think this is a permanent state of mind, or unusual, but we all have a limit."

We are human, lest we forget. There is this innate cry for some normalcy, love, companionship and a co-parent to absorb the never-ending stress of holding a home together.

To this end, I believe that every marriage should start on an equal footing, of love and respect, of bearing responsibilities together, of honouring mutual dreams and of working towards a common goal where no one is expected to shoulder more than she should.

Certainly, a good start would be to let the number of vows made on both sides be equal.

A Blessed Christmas to all Christians.

Source - New Straits Times http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/a-partner-need-not-suffer-without-end-1.432848#ixzz2nZKgSYwD

Adding a splash of colour

I love the colours of teal and coral. An unlikely combination, yet the kingfisher has feathers of teal and coral.

In colour psychology, teal heals the emotions and signifies trustworthiness,  reliability and commitment. It is a colour that recharges us during times of mental stress and tiredness, alleviating feelings of loneliness. The colour coral symbolises energy, warmth and joy. It is associated with characteristics such as homey, welcoming, excitement or adventure.

So as the time has come to give the exterior of our house a new coat of paint, teal walls and  coral doors won hands down over the original grey.

I would like to see our lives as a spectrum of colours. When I made my first trip to London in 1982, I had a 7R photograph of myself in jeans and an anorak at the changing of the guard. As computer graphics were non-existent then, I used the letter set dry transfers to print the words on the photo - ‘Colour my world in technicolour’.

Colours reflect our experiences, moods and passage of development. When we are exuberant, we burst into colour. Our days are radiant and bright with beautiful prints – the entrance into university, the first job, the first child. When we are trapped in sad situations our days are grey and the world is black – the failure, the retrenchment, the break-up. Yet, we take comfort in the proverb that ‘this too will pass’.

Colours also reflect our perception of things. It is so true that when I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a woman, I put the ways of childhood behind me. But sad to say, some of us are arrested in our own development as we refuse to let go of negative experiences and emotions that continue to grip us.

I remember during my first year in Ireland, I continually made a mental assessment and comparison of this country and the country where I was born. It is not unusual that I would say ‘In Malaysia, we would do this and we would do that….’ It was the soul trying to make sense of the new while appreciating the old and the familiar. The meandering, laid back pace of the countryside was a vast contrast to the fast-pace of city living where efficiency, promptness and reliability meant observing time frames.

I used to watch in amusement  when the customer and the cashier chatted about the weather and who had died recently while the rest of us waited in queue to pay for our groceries. I also had to consciously remember that the post office and the bank closed during lunch hours. In short, I would see red.

Now I watch with empathy when the customer and the cashier chatted about the weather and who had died recently while the rest of us wait in queue. I think that the cashier has loads of patience when she hears the little old lady muttering about her daily endeavours. I think the little old lady must have felt good to have someone listen to her daily endeavours. When she fumbles for her debit card to pay for the groceries, and the cashier says, ‘Take your time, there’s no rush. Whenever you are ready’, I think that is kind and I notice that there is a fuzzy glow of warm orange within me.

There is an elderly crowd here and even in their 80s and 90s, their minds are as bright as a button. Maybe it is because of the freshness of the natural surroundings, maybe it is because they take the time to soak in the colours of living and learning.

It is a pity that with massive development in the city the skyline is no longer what it used to be. Beautiful heritage houses give way to skyscrapers and green lungs and pristine forests vanish as lucrative plantations and condominiums encroach into them.

I have learnt to enjoy the blue of the sky, the purple of the lavender and the green of the fields. Just when I watch my children grow and fly the nest, I am thankful that I am surrounded by people who care for me and  I have learnt to live life.

As I look at Tony the painter put the final touches of teal and coral on the house,  Michael and I will have a new splash of colour in our lives. The old is gone, and the new has come.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/adding-a-splash-of-colour-to-life-1.327868?