WHAT A DAY ON A FARM CAN TEACH YOU

Wordsworth’s opening lines in the poem Daffodils are ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o’er vales and hills. When all at once I saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils.’

March heralds the start of Spring, the beginning of longer days and colour. Like Wordsworth I beheld a wonderful sight – a crowd, a host of dairy cows, in monochrome, not colour. Anything in black and white is stunning: the panda, the penguin and my handbag.

My friend Catherine had invited me to her dairy farm and I was really excited to see these lovely creatures, up, close and personal. For a farmer it could be just routine to walk amongst these majestic animals but for one who only sees them at agricultural shows or in the fields, it is something else.

I wonder what it is like to live on a farm. My exposure to rural environments consists of taking a scenic drive through the country or visiting a model farm or petting zoo that is open to tourists.

The closest I ever got to living on a farm was the hope to be a volunteer on an organic farm (WWOOF - World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms ) in exchange for knowledge, food and lodging. But somehow the timing wasn’t right so that pursuit is still on my bucket list.

Now, a dairy farm is different altogether.

As the electric bar rises for me to drive into the farm, I was already tingling with excitement. I’ve seen so many signs prohibiting trespassing, from beware of dogs to rifles, that I felt a great privilege of entering one without fear.

When I entered the house there was the smell of freshly baked bread. Heat was emanating from the AGA cooker - a cast iron cooker invented by the Nobel Prize-winning Swedish physicist Gustaf Dalen. I sat in the kitchen with the flotsam of a bucolic life around me - honey from the bee hives and of course jugs of milk – all products of the farm. The wellies stood by the door. I thought I had seen all this before, but then again, only on the pages of some Enid Blyton story book that I had read as a child.

As someone from the outside looking in, it is very idyllic. It is very quiet and peaceful. There’s this serenity about the atmosphere that helps you realise what is important and what is not.

It is the perfect outdoors to grow up in – to climb trees, to tease the cats, to hug a new born calf or simply to romp around in fields of freedom. In addition, the air is so clean you would think you are living on another planet.

It is also the place to learn to be disciplined and to work hard at chores like cleaning out the muck in cow pens. Work builds character.

Indeed there is a lot of hard work to be done.  The cows have to be fed and milked at certain times. Then there are the long hours, the elusive holiday and the leaving of a warm bed on a wintry night to help out with the calving of a cow.

My daughter once had a patient who is a farmer in Tipperary. She advised him to go to the hospital in Cork to have further tests done. Now Cork is only about 98km from Tipperary. There was a great reluctance on his face. His sister who was with him explained that he had never left his farm in Tipperary.

Farming is a vocation. And we who work in the comfort of the office complain that we are too busy.

But I can think of the feeling of security to have your beloved working close by especially in an emergency or even for simple things like the need for a pair of strong hands to open that stubborn lid of a jar. When lunch is ready, he comes in from the fields. Very convenient indeed.

I think I can have a lot of privacy. Imagine there are acres and acres of land around me. I can do a rain dance in my night gown and no one can see me.

What about at night? I wonder if I lived on a farm and looked up at the night sky, would the stars be brighter? Could I pick out the constellations?

There is this rich essence of life on an Irish farm.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 12 MARCH 2017. 

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

THE RARE ACT OF CHIVALRY

It was on a regular day that my daughter’s car tyre needed to be filled with air. So, on the way back from town, we turned into a petrol kiosk that had an air pump. She removed the valve stem cap, checked the air pressure, stretched the hose around to the closest tyre and inserted the hose into the valve.

It was then that I heard someone holler at us.

I looked up and there was a male driver on his way out of the petrol kiosk. He asked, ‘Are you alright? Do you need help?’

I gave him the thumbs up to indicate that everything was fine and he waved and moved on. We were chuffed as that took us by complete surprise. Either we looked ridiculous man-handling an air hose or he belonged to the last batch of those who practise the chivalric code.

The chivalric code, is a code of conduct associated with the medieval institution of knighthood which developed between 1170 and 1220.  This code contains virtues such as mercy, courage, valour, fairness and protection of the weak and the poor. An example of this in the twentieth century is protecting women from harm and helping them when needed.

In this part of the world, there are many who still pull out a chair or hold out the door for me. There are still others who say sorry or excuse me when I am blocking the way. Before I leave the counter after having purchased something, there is always a broad smile, a thank you and a general greeting to have a good day, in a very natural and genuine voice.

When I travelled alone on some of my working trips to parts of Europe and the States, it was always a delight when some random fellow passenger helped me retrieve my cabin luggage. There was no shoving or pushing to try to get out of the plane as quickly as possible.

Imagine the horror when I travel on budget airlines in some countries where some passengers are totally unruly. They let their children run up and down the aisle and it is worse if a clique has boarded the plane together. They will talk loudly and use pungent headache relieving ointment with no consideration for the rest of the passengers. Before you know it they are all rushing to get out before the plane actually lands and the poor stewardess has to constantly plead with them to sit down and put their seat belts on again. I can’t imagine anyone helping me with my luggage during such flights. Both chivalry and good manners are dead here.

Compare this to the sinking of the Titanic where the majority of the survivors were women and children. Research of the incident has shown that many male passengers refused to enter the lifeboats or depart the ship until they knew all women aboard had been brought to safety.

There are some who adhere strongly to the feminist liberation movement and argue that we need no help from the physically stronger men and that we are no damsels in distress. Women can fly planes or mow the lawn if they wanted to.

There are many arguments as to why there is a lack of chivalry these days.

Some contend that this is due to boys being brought up not to respect women enough. Others think it is a result of the post-feminist backlash. According to an article entitled ‘Chivalry is dead and feminism is to blame’ by Martin Daubney in the Telegraph, men have become afraid of helping women lest they appear patronising. The writer gives the example of the fear of offering to help change a tyre and getting a slap for being sexist. Even offering a seat in a bus to a perceived pregnant lady (only to be reprimanded that he is calling her fat ) or to a pensioner (and be accused of making a big deal of her advancing age) can lend a chivalrous man in trouble.

                                     

In most parts of the world, chivalry has a weaker emphasis in today’s modern society than in history. As for me, even if I could be an astronaut and walk on the moon, a little help in time of need is most welcome.

This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 14 FEBRUARY 2016
http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/02/127356/rare-art-chivalry

SAVING THE BEST FOR GUESTS

My mother had this set of dainty blue glass plates with fluted edges. They were very pretty to look at, and it was just that, to look at from afar as they sat in the glass cupboard, reserved for the guest.

And it is not only in my parents’ generation.

I find myself using an eclectic array of mismatched plates and cups while the Newbridge silver cutlery and Nicolas Mosse ceramic ware sit grandly in the cupboard, waiting for the occasion.

I can safely say that in almost every household, there are at least two sets of items - one for daily use and another set aside for the guest. It does not take much to guess that the bone china tableware or fine linen or even the box of chocolates with exquisite fillings is set aside for the guest.

I prefer to think that the reason behind this age-old practice lies in the importance of hospitality (we want to give our guests the best that we have ) rather than to impress.

But then again we have different types of guests.

There is the guest who can immediately recognise Orla Kiely’s stem design on a mug. She will say, ‘I love this design and coffee certainly tastes better from this mug’.  That statement alone makes it all the more worthwhile for the hostess to have bought and set aside the mug for her.

There is also the guest who does not differentiate between a Royal Doulton plate or one bought from the two euro shop, as long as what is being served on the plate tastes good. But that doesn’t deter the hostess from keeping aside special crockery for her guest either.

Over the years, we had invited many friends over for lunch, tea and dinner. During such times the Venetian lace table cloth made an appearance.  The table was adorned with a centre piece of flowers and candles, artfully arranged. Even the water in the jug had slices of floating lemon.

The reverse is true too.

When we get invited to our friends’ houses, there would be a fine display of tableware and food. One husband even commented, ‘You must come more often. Then only will she (the wife) make my favourite apple crumble.’

That got me thinking.

Do we treat our guests better than ourselves? When will we ever get to use those nice plates, towels and such?

Maybe now that we have toiled and laboured over so many dinner parties, we can sit down and treat ourselves as guests. Likewise, having purchased and wrapped so many beautiful presents, we can start buying ourselves items good enough to be gift wrapped and given away.

Just the other day I meandered down the crockery aisle in a shop around the corner. I saw a lovely porcelain mug with farm animals on it and it came in a box. So I took the box and the mug to the cashier.

She asked, ‘Is it a gift for someone else?’

I looked at her and said, ‘No, I am going to drink from the mug all by myself.’

Then there was another day when I fell in love with a Karen Millen dress. When I took it to the counter, the cashier trying to make small talk, asked.

‘Is this for a special occasion?’

I looked at her and said, ‘No occasion. I’m buying this because I’m living life.’

The expression of shock on the faces of both the cashiers told me that they hadn’t heard those lines before.

This article was originally published in the NEW STRAITS TIMES 22 NOVEMBER 2015 http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/151122nstnews/index.html#/23/

THE COLOURS OF THE SOUL

Recently  the biological parents of a prominent civil rights activist in Washington state have claimed that she has been misrepresenting herself as a black woman when her heritage is white. This is a grave matter because it borders on deception of the masses.

As onlookers, we wonder why anyone would do that because technically, we are born white, black, yellow, red or brown or a mixture of different colours . However, it gets more complicated when we talk about our cultural identities.

Granted, most of us think and feel according to how we have been brought up within our cultural boundaries. However, there are some who gravitate towards cultures that we have not been born into. I’m thinking of the Anglophile, the Weeabo, the Wapanese or the Koreaboo - strange terms that we use to make sense of conditions that we find hard to explain.

An anglophile is a non-English person who greatly likes and admires England and the things, people, places and culture of England. The Weeabo or Wapanese are non-Japanese who admire the Japanese culture  and they may even  dress or have their hair done like anime characters and go to anime events. The Koreaboo are non-Koreans who identify with all things Korean.

Some sociologists call this cultural identity.

This  is the identity or feeling of belonging to a certain nationality, ethnicity, religion, social class, generation or even locality. Factors that influence one’s cultural identity include education, exposure, media and social groups.

Many of us who were fed a good diet of nursery rhymes during our formative years become all excited when we see London bridge or eat Christmas pie for the first time – thanks to images of the iconic London bridge falling down and Little Jack Horner who sat in a corner.

When I step into a traditional sweet store, my eyes quickly search for the humbug made famous by Enid Blyton. In my mind’s eye, the humbug is some kind of sweet that is made-in-heaven and I never knew that it is a boiled sweet, usually with black and white stripes and flavoured with peppermint.

When I fell in love with gardening, I finally saw Wordsworth’s host of golden daffodils, the Cos lettuces that Benjamin Bunny nibbled on and the gooseberry bush where Peter Rabbit got caught in a net as he tried to escape from Mr. McGregor.

We enjoy British humour and try to keep a stiff upper lip in the face of adversity. We follow the lives of the Crawley family and its servants in the family's classic Georgian country house in the fictional Yorkshire country estate of Downton Abbey.  It is such a joy to hear clearly articulated sentence structures spoken in Standard or BBC English.

We think in English, we feel in English and we even dream in English.

Then there is this younger set that is totally overwhelmed by all things Japanese or Korean – be it the food, the pop idols or the drama series.

 I know of many who spend many waking hours watching such dramas, with a good box of tissues beside them. It comes as no surprise when Korea and Japan top the list of the countries that they would like to visit.  Korean and Japanese men or women would also be their choice of an ideal spouse.

It is good to embark on a cultural identity search – to know who we are and what our propensities are. If we find ourselves similar to every other person around us in thought and behaviour , that is well and good.

But if we find ourselves different from the norm, that is good too as long as we are not trying to deceive others.

The colours of the soul reflect the fact that we are unique and that we are wonderfully and beautifully made.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES 27 SEPTEMBER 2015

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/09/colours-soul

http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150927nstnews/index.html#/23/

JAM JAR LESSON FOR EVERYONE

With the bountiful harvest of fruit this year, I decided to get together with like minded people to make jam. We all agreed that it had been a ‘berry’ good year. Being an absolute novice, I had to start from basics.

So, the first step was to clean out used jam jars. Every small speck of dirt real or imagined had to be scrubbed clean. The jars were then boiled or put into the microwave oven to totally ‘scorch’ them to perfection.

Suddenly there was a eureka moment for me and the whole process became a jam jar lesson.

I believe most of us carry jam jars with us wherever we go. These are jars stuffed with  loads of good stuff.

For a start, let’s talk about accolades.

Certificates, trophies and awards can be our crown of glory. Like most achievements they have a shelf life. The mistake is to cling on to these forever because they may be rather meaningless in a different situation or phase of life.

I have met countless people who have talked again and again about their past achievements, the countries they have visited and the important people they met along the way.

Having said that, I can recall two people whose certificates did not just remain in a jam jar.

Hunter Doherty ‘Patch’ Adams is an American physican who founded the Gesundheit! Institute in 1971. Every year he leads a group of volunteers from around the world to travel to various countries where they dress as clowns in order to bring cheer into the lives of orphans, patients and people in general.

John Sung (1901- 1944) a brilliant student studied at Ohio Wesleyan University and Ohio State University earned a doctorate in chemistry in five years. When he decided to devote himself to religious vocation, he threw all his academic awards into the sea, only keeping the doctorate diploma for his father. A bit drastic I must say, but that was his way of emptying his jam jar of achievements to fill it with something new.

The next case in point is narrating personal episodes.

I think most of us would be quite happy if there is a law to protect the unwilling listener’s right to privacy from unwanted speech. I had been caught in situations where I just had to listen to talk, talk and talk and I couldn’t get in a word edgeways.

In the Pursuit of Attention, sociologist Charles Derber tells us that the Conversational Narcissists always seek to turn the attention of others to themselves by talking and everyone else pretends to be listening but are actually focussing on what they want to say once they find an opening.

I find it very strange when people (without being asked) start telling others about their travels and showing pictures of their round-the-world trip. There was this person who told me all the details of her faraway exotic trip as if it happened yesterday. Curious, I asked her when it all happened. Without blinking an eye, she said she made the trip ten years ago.

Granted it must have been an earth shattering trip. But I wonder why that trip alone had remained locked in the jar of memories. Why hadn’t she emptied the jar and made more beautiful memories since?

Just as we de-clutter every now and then, it is good to consciously make new and good memories and open the jar lid to let them in. Before we do that, we have to let go some of the old stuff that belonged to another era.

So looking at the jars of fresh strawberry, blackcurrant and gooseberry jam lined up on the larder shelf with their lids wrapped with gingham paper covers and tied with string, I am glad I emptied and cleaned out those jars in the first place.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES- 13 SEPTEMBER 2015

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/09/jam-jar-lesson-everyone

http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150913nstnews/index.html#/23/

Oh, To Be Young Again! (Or Not)

When I asked a little girl how old she was, she said ten and a half. I smiled knowing that at one time too, halves and three quarters made all the difference to our ages. Somehow we could not wait to grow up, in short to be an adult. Even the song Sixteen Going On Seventeen in the Sound of Music soundtrack echoes the same desire.

It is all very confusing.

Children can’t wait to become teens. Then you have the awkward age where you are neither a child nor a teen and you become  a ‘tween’. We also have teens who can’t wait to become adults and will try to dress and behave like their pop idols.

Through the eyes of a child, the teenage or adult world certainly seems more fun : staying up late, less parental supervision, being heard , going places or maybe even experimenting with make up. Certainly there are many things that an adult can do but a child can’t.

And then the birthdays roll by.

Before long people stop asking you how old you are because that has become a sensitive area. We no longer put numerous candles on the birthday cake. In fact, every year we just have one symbolic candle.

In a classic movie called Big starring Tom Hanks, a 12 year old boy made a wish at a carnival machine and became a 30 year old overnight. As movies go, he managed to become 12 again before the reel ran out. Near the end of the movie, there was a scene where he asked his girlfriend in the adult world whether she would like to go back in time with him to being a 12 year old again. 

Her answer was “No. I've been there before.  It's hard enough the first time.”

My sentiments exactly.

If a fairy godmother gave me a wish to be ten, twenty or thirty years younger, I would politely decline the offer even if that meant an 18 inch waist and flawless porcelain skin.

We evolve from being teased as the sweet young thing or the most desirable hunk to being called ma’am, aunty, uncle or ‘pak cik’ and ‘mak cik’. We are secretly happy when the shop keeper calls us ‘langloi’ (pretty lady) or ‘langchai’ (handsome guy), terms usually reserved for the younger set, even though we are aware that he uses the same term for almost any potential customer in order to get the person to buy something from his stall.

So, what age is the best age for living?

I feel that it is the time of your life where you feel very contented with yourself. You can be the child with all the attention focussed on you. There is the baby book when every milestone is recorded: the first step, the first haircut, the first word.

You can be the promising young adult whose school year book has a brilliant display of photos that highlight amazing feats: the school sports champion, the national orator, the best academic performance.

You can be the professional who has just landed on a great job and has bought a house or a car.

Or it can be that age when you feel secure because you are proud of who you are. You no longer need to compare yourself with others and are not worried about what others think about you. It is when you know the difference between what really matters and what seems to matter and you make choices and stand by them.

When I visited my friend Sarita on her birthday, I found her sitting most resplendently in her beautiful and well manicured garden. I think every birthday is special because it reminds us that the beauty of living is that you have lived and are still living life to the fullest.

Every moment counts. There is nothing like living in the now.

 THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES   http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150524nstnews/index.html#/22/    24/5/2015 

TICKING OFF THE YEAR'S LIST OF REGRETS

Before the year runs out, I need to tidy the garden and let it rest. This is literally putting the garden ‘to bed’ as a thorough clean up means a healthy and vital garden next spring. The declining light and dropping temperatures inhibit plant growth and once most of the crops are harvested, a layer of mulch or compost is added before the beds are covered.

It feels so strange that 2014 is drawing to a close as it feels like only yesterday when we were making resolutions as we ushered the year in. I am awash in a spirit of sentimentality as I reflect on the events that left me happy, sad, shocked or amused.

Churches in Malaysia usually have  a watch night service on 31 December where we share about the blessings that we have received throughout the year or the trials that we have undergone and overcome. I remember never missing one. Even when the children were young, we would go armed with pillows and comforters, until the clock struck 12 and the countdown to another year began.

With the new year just around the corner, it is a time of reflection.

What have I done? What have I not done? What should I have done? How could I have avoided that mistake made? How could I have prevented that relationship fallout?

It is that moment in time where I step back and honestly say ‘Did I contribute to that situation? Was I party to the crime?’

In any difficult situation, we always feel that we have been wronged against. In a group meeting which I facilitated on pride and humility, each of us had a checklist. All of us ticked yes to the many times we felt that someone owed us an apology or a word of thanks. We ticked yes to the times when we felt that we were not given due recognition or the times when we thought we deserved more.

While there are many who appreciate us, there are people who rub us the wrong way and bring out the worst in us. Ignorance and fear of the unfamiliar gives rise to prejudice and judgement.

Recently I was invited to a baby shower and that was both a challenge and an eye opener. We are used to the culture and people that we grow up with but we really do not know what to expect when we are in another community or in the midst of others from a different nationality. I find it strange to feel that way especially when I have lived in a multicultural society all my life. Yet whatever is new can be rather scary.

So I went with an open mind and an open heart.

I have not seen so much food served and how relaxed, hospitable and amiable everyone was. When we are among friends, beneath a different skin colour is a heart of warmth and generosity. I felt I was back in Malaysia among Malaysians.

Nicholas Copernicus (1473 –1543) believed that the earth moves round the sun and not the other way round as his contemporaries did. He believed that the centre of the earth is not the centre of the universe. His beliefs did not go down well with the society of his day and drew the ire of religious bodies and the like.

Likewise, if we remove ourselves from the elevated position of being in the centre of everything, it helps us to understand others better and have a ‘bigger’ heart and mind. We will not be overly sensitive and think that everyone else is talking bad about us and wanting to hurt us. We will learn how to step out of our comfort zone and embrace another culture, another person, another perspective.

Mark Twain said, "Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

Life is not all about me. It is about what matters most.

Roll on 2015.

This article was originally published by New Straits Times. You can  read the original article here .:http://www.nst.com.my/node/66609

The Power of Prediction

As the 20th FIFA World Cup 2014 in Brazil winds up, with all its pulsating, adrenalin driven excitement, Fuleco, the official mascot will take a bow.

Today, 20:00 • Final

Estádio Maracanã, Rio de Janeiro

vs

Germany

Argentina

I have fond memories of absentee students and staff calling in sick during yesteryear World Cup seasons. But most of all FIFA world cup reminds me of Paul.

Paul who?

                                                       

Paul the Octopus.

Paul the Octopus (hatched in 2008, died October 2010) lived  in a tank at a Sea Life Centre in Oberhausen, Germany. Apparently he had the ability to predict the results of football matches, usually international matches in which Germany was playing. He achieved international fame with his accurate predictions in the 2010 World Cup.

Following Paul’s footsteps are five (and still counting) psychic animals – Nelly the elephant, Flopsy the kangaroo, Shaheen the camel, Madame Shiva the guinea pig, and Big Head the sea turtle.  In addition to the famous five, there are English prophesying penguins and psychic Brazilian parrots as well.

But I still think Paul is the greatest with his uncanny accuracy and I must say that of late, I bear some semblance to Paul - I seem to be able to predict exactly what will happen to me or to others in given situations.

Whether this is because of myself being more observant over the years or because the waves of predictability take on certain familiar curves, I do not know.

Take my visit to the dentist for example.

When I felt something coarse between my molars and suspected that perhaps a bit of the filling had gone amiss, the most rational thing to do would be to make an appointment with the dentist, have it checked and fill it up again.

That was what I thought initially until the gift of predicting swept over me.

Somehow I saw in my mind the dentist shaking his head and saying ‘ You must take an X-ray…I have bad news for you….You will need to do a root canal which will cost you at least at least a couple of hundred euro or have it extracted for 80 euro.’

So, when my appointment came up, I sat on the dentist’s chair and waited as he examined my teeth. As if acting on cue, the dentist said, ‘You must take an X-ray…I have bad news for you….You will need to do a root canal which will cost you at least a couple of hundred euro or have it extracted for 80 euro.’

Wow, was that strange or what, I muttered to myself.

Then on a different occasion, I saw two teenage girls walking to a car park. Again, a picture started to form in my mind. ‘What are you thinking of now?’ Michael asked.

He had become way too familiar with my zone- out facial expression.

I said from the way the two teenage girls were behaving and the way they were dressed (in a style my mother would not have approved), I predicted that they were going to the car park to meet some teenage boys sitting in a decrepit car.

As we were going to the car park ourselves, I saw that I was right. The car was even of the colour that I imagined it to be.

I would love to think that I am bestowed with Paul’s gift. But reality tells me that we have far more knowledge and sensitivity than what younger people would give us credit for. Experience helps us to understand circumstances and foresee possible conclusions. The human race faces similar challenges, albeit disguised in different clothing and that is why we are able to predict somewhat accurately most times. 

I was given a week to consider what I should do with the tainted molar. This time round I did not have to predict anything, I knew exactly what I had to do if I did not want to burn a hole in my pocket.

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/node/12532

Seek Happiness within yourself and not with another

   I ENJOY reunions whether it is to celebrate a festival or a significant occasion. However, there are those statements or questions that will always crop up during such gatherings, and honestly, I cringe when I hear them.  A given is, "You have put on weight", or, "you have not put on weight". Sometimes you can receive both remarks at the  same dinner party.

Then there are questions like, "You have been married for some time now, when will we hear the patter of little feet?" But I guess the one that gets the Oscar is "Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend yet?"

When I was younger, I found the Oscar-winning question most repulsive because I felt it was not anyone's business to know whether I had a boyfriend or not.

To rub salt into the wound, someone would make remarks like, "You'd better not be too choosy or you'll be left on the shelf", or "you will not remain in the Red Spot (section for sought-after books at the library) for too long and will be moved to the open shelf if you don't get a special someone soon. Don't set your standards so high!"

What irked me was that these people who wished others to be married were not in happy marriages themselves. Then there was this stark reality that it was mainly the womenfolk who would ask such questions. Whatever happened to gender solidarity?

I thought that generation had passed, but I am wrong. These questions are still making their rounds! I wonder why people who were bothered by such questions once are now asking those questions themselves? Is it because of the images that surround us that limit our perception? 

Could it be the Prince Charming fairytale that we have been fed? That it is impossible to be happy unless we get a man or a woman? Or perhaps, these people are just awkward at making conversation and use such questions as fillers? I would rather they be silent than make ill-advised statements.

It is not surprising then that there are rent-a-boyfriend or boyfriend-for-hire websites. According to AsiaOneNews, some Singaporeans, instead of bracing themselves for interrogation during gatherings over their singlehood, are "renting" partners to pose as their intended. How sad.

I read a letter written by 7-year-old Charlotte Benjamin to the Lego company complaining of the lack of options for Lego girls. She wrote, "All the girls did was sit at home, go to the beach, and shop, and they had no jobs but the boys went on adventures, worked, saved people, and had jobs, even swam with sharks."

For as long as girls are sold this package, she is expected to go after the dream of getting a man.

I wish people will realise that it does not take another person to complete someone. We can be complete in ourselves if we want. Happiness and success lie in the individual. A single person can be successful and happy, and so, too, a married person. The reverse is also true that a single or married person can be unsuccessful and unhappy.

I tell my children all the time that we owe it to ourselves to pursue our own happiness and we do not need to rely on another to fulfil that role. I encourage them to tap into their inner resources while they can because satisfaction comes from deep within, not from what others can do for you. It is not a sin to be married and it is not a sin to be single. In whatever state we are, what is most important is to be content.

Amber Kelleher-Andrews, an American radio host and relationship matchmaker, says: "Stay single until someone actually complements your life in a way that it makes it better to not be single. If not, it is not worth it."

Source:  Seek happiness within yourself, not with another - Columnist - New Straits http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/seek-happiness-within-yourself-not-with-another-1.599846?cache=03%2F7.198169%3Fpage%3D0%3Fkey%3DMalaysia%3Fpage%3D0%2F7.266429%2F7.266429#ixzz3257lmzDq