THE TRUE BURDEN OF HANDBAGS

I can abstain from most things but there is one thing that I cannot do without. The handbag. Not just one handbag, but I must unabashedly confess, a closet full of them.

The only way to get rid of some is to give them away but then after doing that, I crave for more to fill that gaping void and so the cycle of buying and giving away repeats itself. It used to be shoes but since corns, blisters and bunions appeared, I’ve resigned myself to sensible ones, which sad to say are certainly not the trendiest looking shoes.

Even as a child I love to toggle a little handbag across my arm when I went shopping with my mother. It was the perfect place to house the occasional treat or the handkerchief for the runny nose. (Yes, in those days we used embroidered handkerchiefs that were neatly ironed)

The fact that a handbag can be used to keep almost anything is also fodder for spoofs.

In the return of Mr Bean Episode Two, we see the infamous funny man at a restaurant. First, he writes his own birthday card, and orders a ‘Steak Ta-ta’. He finds he doesn’t quite enjoy the steak and so secretly disposes of it in the ashtray, the vase, the bun, the sugar bowl, the violinist’s trousers and yes, in another diner’s handbag!

Sometimes I wonder what people carry in their very big handbags. Maybe a big handbag is like Doraemon’s  front pocket that houses everything imaginable. Or it may be like Felix the Cat’s magic bag of wonders.

If clothes maketh the man, then handbags maketh the lady.

I would like to think that what we have in our bags reveal a lot about who we are. The usual stuff that we carry would be the purse, tissues, spectacles, pen, notebook and lipstick for a start.

The contents of bags we carry reflect the responsibilities we hold. A graduate school student’s oversized satchel contains her laptop and notes and a young mother on her day out with the baby probably has disposable diapers in her bag as well. When I was doing free lance reporting, I even had a pair of beautiful shoes in the bag as I hopped from bus to train in my trainers.

The mind associates the things that we see lacking in our surroundings with the things that we must provide for ourselves. For example, I can hardly find regular chilli sauce nor toothpicks at the café tables here.  So, before I leave the house, I find myself putting strange stuff into my bag - sachets of chilli sauce, toothpicks, dental floss and other unmentionable things. Sometimes the things that I put into my bag are not for myself  alone but for the others that I’m going out with, just in case that friend, that child or the beloved has forgotten to bring. An extra pack of tissues always comes in handy.

So what goes into the handbag often spells practicality and multi tasking.

Just the other day I was out at lunch when I found that I simply could not finish the copious amounts of food in front of me. Needless to say, my eyes were bigger than my belly when I saw the menu. In most places here, diners do not bring home leftovers. Whatever is left on the plate goes into the bin. That certainly would be a no-no for me so out came a container from the handbag.

The beloved said I had to do it discreetly but I said I have lived long enough to do necessary things covertly without a shade of shame.

Apparently the average handbag weighs  1 – 2 kg even though some may weigh a bit more. The trend now is to have a little bag for essential stuff so that the little bag can be taken out and transferred into any other bag. Small is the new big according to fashion gurus. Sometimes it is not just one small bag but a few smaller bags in a big bag as women opt for the modular approach.

To turn all philosophical, what we put into our handbag can be an object lesson in itself. When we actually give the contents of our bag a good look, we can repack it. Throw out the unnecessary stuff so that we are not carrying a burden but a thing of beauty instead.

That is what is going to take us ahead, not weigh us down. 

Source:THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  25 October 2015  http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/10/true-burden-handbags

FEAR IS LIKE THE MARAUDING VIKING

Looking at an actual Viking ship in the Viking Museum in Oslo is perhaps the most awesome experience I’ve experienced this year. Never before had I seen such a magnificent ship up close.

On 8 August 1903, a farmer visited professor Gabriel Gustafson of the University's Collection of National Antiquities in Oslo. The farmer called Knut Rom was from the Lille Oseberg farm in Slagen in Vestfold.  Rom had dug into a large burial mound on his farm and had discovered something spectacular. Thus began a long and demanding work - the excavation itself took less than three months, but it took 21 years to prepare and restore the ship and most of the finds. 

Vikings are among Norway’s most salient cultural icons and the Viking Age (800 – 1050AD)  in Scandinavia saw the height of warfare, trade and exploration. If the bulwarks of the ship could speak, I am sure we would learn so much more of the secrets and intrigues of an ancient world.

But imagine if I were standing by the shore centuries ago and suddenly I saw a fleet of menacing looking ships heading towards me? What would be the overwhelming emotion?

Fear.

With fear came panic, havoc and utter destruction.

We may not be attacked or raided by seafaring looters today, but then again fear comes in many forms and I am not talking about the ghouls and skeletons of the upcoming Halloween.

In  ‘Our 21 day into Minimalism’ Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus  wrote about the Fear of Loss: Loss of things. Loss of acceptance.  Loss of friends. Loss of love.

If we take a good look at our wardrobe or storeroom or attic or shed, we can see many things that we no longer need. Yet, the irony is that they are just sitting there because we are afraid to give them up. The reasons being: that fashion will return; that spare-part might be needed; that thing doesn’t belong to me so I can’t throw it out.

The loss of acceptance has a strong grip on our conscience and subsequently our actions. A phrase that I hear regularly is ‘What will people say? What will they think?’ Taken positively, we avoid doing reckless things because we want to be accepted. But when we become overly paranoid about what people think about us and our actions, we become slaves to our fear of not being accepted.

We can’t stop people from gossiping. We can’t stop people from spreading lies about us. But we can be in-charge of our own responses. If we let ourselves be upset by malicious gossiping, then we have become the victim.

I have been brought up to decide and be brave and accountable for my life choices. That I have my parents to thank for. One advice that they left me was, ‘Even if the whole town talks about you, if you know you are doing the right thing, then do it. It is your life after all.’

Fear is a choice – we can choose to be afraid and we can choose to live without fear. That is a conscious decision and it comes with practice. Every time something challenging confronts me, then it is time to ask myself: What am I afraid of? What am I afraid to give up?

Then only can I move on to live a meaningful life that I am meant to have.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES 11 October 2015

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/10/fear-marauding-viking

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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

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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

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FAMILY TREASURES THAT WE INHERIT

There are some days when everything is done and dusted and I sit on my favourite chair and twiddle my fingers, wondering what to do next.

Well just the other day, I was in that frame of mind when I suddenly had the brainwave to weigh the iron.

Yes, the same iron that is used to press out the creases in clean clothes.

According to an ergonomic study of muscular fatigue during ironing clothes with selected irons carried out by P. Aujla, P. Sandhu and R. Kaur, (2008) it was found that ironing clothes with a light weight iron causes minimum stress to the body. In contrast the heavy weight iron is most taxing to the human body.

So I took the bathroom scales and put the steam iron on it. The scales had no reading and I thought the iron must be too light to register a reading. 

Undaunted, I climbed on a chair to retrieve the kitchen scales in the top cabinet. (The beloved was watching me but he said nothing. Clever move in order to live a quiet life, I thought.)

It was a eureka moment when the iron weighed a hefty 1.8 kg.  I had finally found the reason for my sore right arm.

Like many things in life, I have inherited the iron by default.

This brings to mind the presents that I have received and the heirlooms that are in my safekeeping. There are some presents that I adore but there are so many others that are unused and simply kept, sometimes even in their original packaging, in the cupboard.

Truth be told, taste is a very individual thing.

I know of people who choose presents for others with great care and many who do not. To me, handmade presents are the most meaningful and I appreciate the time and effort that go into making them. Having said that, others might prefer store bought ones and may dismiss handmade ones as cheapskate.

The things we leave behind for another generation are the things that we hold dear.

That bracelet that belonged to my mother is still preciously wrapped in cotton wool for sentimental reasons. There are antique road shows where people bring their heirlooms to be valued. Most times, even when offered a high price, the owner of the treasured object would rather not sell it. However, not everyone appreciates what is left to him with the exception of hard cold cash.

One of my friends inherited a taxidermied moose’s head and every time she moved house she had to carry that moose’s head with her. It had become burdensome.

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I have heard often enough that jewellery should be left to daughters and not to sons, the reason being the daughters would surely mind the family treasures. I don’t know to what extent that is true. I remember my mother giving some of her gold pieces to her daughters-in-law. I wonder whether they are still kept by the daughters-in-law or they have been sold. To me material things are literally things that are temporal. It doesn’t matter whether they are kept or sold. I would prefer to leave behind a legacy - a life that is remembered with fondness. 

So I went to the electrical shop and got one nifty iron that had all the necessary functions but weighed 1.4 kg. I reasoned that a difference of 400 grammes will surely matter in the long run. It was perfect for my Asian muscles and bones. Besides that the baby blue colour was really appealing.

There is an Irish writer who said that every man must have his own dishwasher as he did not agree to how his wife practically left no empty space in it whenever she switched it on.

As for me, every woman must have her own iron and having said that, any other thing that she fancies, if money is not a problem.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES - 30 August 2015

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EVERY GIRL LOVES A DIAMOND

Much has been said about the allure of a diamond. Diamonds are forever and diamonds are a girl’s best friend. I never thought I would say this but I have fallen for a diamond too. This time round, it is Neil Diamond - the voice, not the man.

Truth be told, I was never quite his follower in my school years but tastes change with age.

Now I think his voice is something else and even at 74, he can mesmerise 14,000 people, mainly older women. I know this for a fact because I was sitting there among the crowd    at  3 Arena, an amphitheatre located at North Wall Quay in the Dublin Docklands in Dublin.

I was there early so I had time to indulge in my favourite past time – observing.

There were two huge screens upfront that had a running commentary of the audience’s tweets. It was amazing how the tweets shared a common vein –  every single tweet was about a daughter who had accompanied her mother or father for a never-to-be-forgotten experience.

When the man came on the stage, the atmosphere was electrifying. Suddenly the elderly people were clapping or waving their light sticks.  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the very same people who came in through the doors of the amphitheatre with their  walking sticks, spring up  and dance! I thought it was all very spontaneous and graceful.  Every grandmother or grandfather was  a young person again that night.

As Neil Diamond belted out the classics, the lyrics of ‘I am I said’ struck a chord.

As the song goes, ‘ I’m New York City born and raised...but nowadays I’m lost between two shores. L.A.’s fine, but it ain’t home....New York’s home but it ain’t mine no more.........’

Very true indeed.

There are some who have been born and raised in a village and remained there all their lives so they probably would not feel this predicament. There are others like myself who have moved from towns to cities to countries. We have more than one place to call home and yet there is a feeling of being ‘lost between two shores’

I remember participating in an ice-breaking activity where I was given this question. ‘What would you like to be said at your funeral?’ I thoroughly enjoyed that as I had been preparing all my life for this....sounds morbid...but that is one of the fun things the mind can do.

So I said I would like to model it after Michael Hess’s headstone inscription (from the true to life movie Philomena). ...’A woman of two nations and many talents’. And then I added, ‘For those who are here attending my funeral, who had never spoken or were kind to me when I was alive, what are you doing here?’ This is especially so in a society where being seen at a funeral is of utmost importance.

In the context of a sense of belonging, I find that there is this  phenomenon that I would call the ‘Ellipsis Effect’.

Ellipsis in the area of linguistics is the act of leaving out one or more words that are not necessary for a phrase to be understood.

It is very strange but when I stay in a place long enough, I feel that I have lived there forever and memories of other places where I had set up home before, fade over time. It would seem that I have never left in the first place. It doesn’t matter whether the places that I have lived are as varied as night and day. It doesn’t matter whether I have very good friends in any of those places. It doesn’t matter how many years I have spent in one place. So when I begin to settle the Ellipsis Effect kicks in.

Apparently, I am not the only one who feels this way Does this attest to the innate human instinct to survive and to put down roots wherever we are?

Home is where memories are made.  Home is where we feel comfortable, loved, relaxed, peaceful, and contented, 

Home is where the heart is.

 THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES - 16 AUGUST 2015

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WITH LIGHT THE DARKNESS CANNOT REMAIN

Now that summer is coming to an end, we will soon miss the sun that blazes through the sky for days on end and sets only after 10pm. During summer, the whole atmosphere is electric and everyone seems to have a sudden burst of energy. We are all too happy to hang up the bulky coats and put on shorts and t-shirts instead. Colours are vibrant, the grass is greener and the sheep look happier. We even rush out to buy the table fan when the heat threatens to be unbearable.

However, when it is winter and snow is like a soft white blanket in my backyard, I lament the possibility of not seeing the sun again. I get this feeling all the time, as if winter will last forever and I am permanently locked in a climate that will not change.

Strange but true.

Maybe it is because summer and winter  are poles apart. With Spring and Autumn the transition is more gradual. Cherry blossoms in Spring are quickly blown away as Summer’s warm clime heralds. As for Autumn, the  rich golden hues and falling leaves prepare us for Winter. We are so busy sweeping the leaves away, we hardly notice that tree branches are becoming bare.

What is it with the human brain that when we get accustomed to something  good or bad , we seem to think that it will become a permanent state? The mind is easily tricked by what it sees for a relatively long period of time.

Everything on earth is transient. They say that time flies when you are having fun. We are also well aware that misery loves company and when it comes to misfortune, it not only rains but pours.

Yet we have seen it many times that both good and bad experiences come and go.

It is just that when we are in the thick  of it, we think that it is permanent.  Going through a rough patch will leave anyone brow beaten. Much has been written on this topic and the usual response to overcoming difficult times is to analyse the problem, seek possible solutions, communicate, forgive and most of all learn not to blame yourself. This whole process may take months or years but it is comforting to know that tomorrow can be a better day.

Sometime ago, PIETA House (Preventing Suicide and Self Harm) organised a Darkness into Light walk. Starting at 4:15am and crossing the line just as dawn was breaking, the annual 5 km walk with 80 venues across Ireland and beyond,  celebrated its 7^th year.

I thought the walk was very symbolic.  Darkness which can be very intimidating and overpowering cannot remain forever when light breaks through.

There are so many of us who have experienced difficult seasons and great seasons in  life.  It has been said that beautiful paths could not have been discovered unless we are lost.

Catherine Fisher, writer of Incarceron  illustrates this in the Songs of Sapphique,

“I have walked a stair of swords,
I have worn a coat of scars.
I have vowed with hollow words,
I have lied my way to the stars...”

I rejoice when I  know someone finally has a breakthrough. It could be a bad habit or a limiting circumstance but to actually see a friend emerge victorious is great happiness. The humble person is one who has known defeat and pain and yet has found his way out of the depths.

I like this inspirational quotation that I have seen: Everything in life is temporary. So if things are going well, enjoy them because they won’t last forever. And if things are going bad, don’t worry, they can’t last forever either.

How true.

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THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  2 AUGUST 2015

http://www.nst.com.my/news/2015/09/light-darkness-cannot-remain

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