PADLOCKS AND KEYS AND UNBREAKABLE BONDS

I never knew that padlocks and disappearing keys would tickle my fancy until four recent experiences that involved these necessary and yet mystical items.

Love locks are a symbol of commitment. Apparently, this custom originated in China where lovers put locks on bridges, fences,  gates or similar  public fixtures to symbolise unbreakable love. Others say it originated from Serbia. Some authorities see this as a public nuisance to the preservation of architectural heritage while others welcome it as a boost to tourism.

In Seoul, there is this place around the N Seoul tower where lovers write their names on padlocks and then throw the keys away. N Seoul Tower is a popular place for couples who go there to profess their undying love for each other and to lock their "padlock of love" onto the railing , hoping that their love will last forever. Across the world, there are about 40 attractions decorated with "padlocks of love." N Seoul Tower is just one of them. 

I was tempted to buy one, but the plastic looking locks looked cheap. Perhaps next time we would bring our own, solid looking, vintage lock that  would reflect our senior years better.

In Budapest, there is a Central Café which was a legend between 1887 and 1949.

When it was reopened in January 2000, the Mayor , the Minister for Culture and the President were present. 

As guests started to leave, there were some who went along with the proprietor to witness a hallowed tradition of throwing the key into the Danube, signifying that this coffee house would never close.

I think that is simply beautiful.

When I went there last month, I thought the  tiramisu was something to die for. The latte macchiato didn’t fail either. The lighting evoked an old time atmosphere. I’m glad they threw away the key, or I would never have got to taste that bit of heaven on earth.

In the musical Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Coat, when Joseph’s brothers went to Egypt to purchase grain because of the famine, Joseph falsely accused his brother Benjamin of stealing a royal cup. 

He says, ‘Benjamin, you nasty youth! Your crime has shocked me to the core ! Never in my whole career have I encountered this before. Guards, seize him! Lock him in a cell Throw the keys into the Nile as well…’

There’s something absolute about throwing the keys into the Nile. It’s akin to hammering the last nail into the coffin. Benjamin would be locked in the cell for all eternity.

Finally, in ‘The Song of the Sea’, an Irish animated fantasy film about a light house keeper and selkies. Selkies are mythical creatures in Irish folklore. Selkies are said to live as seals in the sea but shed their skin to become human on land.  There is a scene in the story where the lighthouse keeper was afraid of losing his little girl who was born to a selkie mother. So he put the white seal skin coat (that would make the child return to the sea forever) into a trunk and padlocked it.  Then he threw the key into the sea. 

there’s something very powerful in this act.

Locks and keys represent knowledge, mystery, initiation and curiosity.

What are the secrets in our locked chests or behind our locked doors? What are some of the painful and unpleasant memories or experiences that we have kept locked away?

Maybe it is time to find the key to unlock the stuff that we have kept hidden for so long. There is nothing to be ashamed of past mistakes. We do not need to carry that guilt with us to the grave.

Maybe it is time to release the greatness and potential that we have suppressed for so long.  

Find the key and be set free.

 This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 29 May 2016

LESSONS FROM IRELAND'S 1916 EASTER REBELLION

Exactly 100 years ago the streets of Dublin and skirmishes in counties Meath, Louth, Galway and Wexford saw  much turmoil and bloodshed during an armed insurrection, mounted by Irish republicans to end British rule in Ireland and establish an independent Irish Republic.

Every year at Easter, this event is remembered. All the more at Easter 2016 – the year which marked the centenary of the defining moments of the struggle for independence.

There was a military parade, including an Aer Corps flypast and a 21-gun salute. There were  synchronised wreath-laying ceremonies at strategic points around Dublin, starting with Dublin Castle. In addition, there was a ceremony for all those who have died during the events of 1916 in the Garden of Remembrance. There was also a state event for the relatives of those who took part in the Rising and the official opening of the Easter Rising Centenary Visitor Facility at the General Post Office (GPO) – an iconic building that served as the rebel headquarters during the Rising.

Internationally, centenary events also took place in 100 countries, including one at the John F Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, in Washington, DC, and one in Nigeria based on Roger Casement’s development-aid work.

I am not a historian but because of a natural interest in the affairs of the land, I have been collecting reprints of first hand accounts of the 1916 Easter Rising. These took the form of memorabilia or newspapers from Northern Ireland, the Republic of Ireland and the United States.

It was interesting to note that the very same event was interpreted differently by the different publishing houses. Their perspectives were very much coloured by where their sympathies lay.

The Easter Rising of 1916 is now widely regarded with pride. Patrick Henry Pearse was seen as the embodiment of the rebellion, and he was executed alongside 15 other leaders.

Those who were executed were venerated by many as martyrs; their graves in Dublin's former military prison of Arbour Hill became a national monument and the Proclamation text was taught in schools. 

This insurrection also provided fodder for great literary works, some of which are  O’Connell Street" and "Lament for the Poets of 1916" by Francis Ledwidge, ‘The Plough and the Stars’, a play by Sean O’Casey, and ‘Insurrection’ by Liam O’Flaherty.

Although the flame of Irish nationalism had begun to burn, some questions remain:

Was it justified as fighting for freedom or a futile battle? Who were the heroes and who were the villains? Could the 1250 insurgents in Dublin fight the 16000 troops and 1000 armed police in Dublin? Did the countless civilians have to die for an insurrection that they were not part of? Was it idealism at its best or a gross act of miscalculation?

Looking back, it feels surreal that people, male and female, from all walks of life would give up their lives for the greater good.

I wonder in this 21^st century how many of us will actually do that. And even if the young people had wanted to involve themselves in the fight for liberty, equality and fraternity, would their parents have allowed them? Or would they say – get your degree, get a job and put these idealistic notions out of your head!

I wonder too whether present day netizens would subscribe to a larger cause, rather than spend copious amounts of time taking selfies and checking feeds on facebook.

I wonder too, how those who fought in 1916 would judge us and our society today.

 This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 3 APRIL 2016        http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/160403nstnews/index.html#/23/

LESS IS MORE

‘There are two ways to get enough: One is to continue to accumulate more and more. The other is to desire less.’ – C.K. Chesterton, an English writer amidst many other vocations.

Somewhere between birth and death we are sucked into a zone called ‘More’. From needs we progress to wants and then suddenly without realising it, these wants become ‘must-haves’. And so we have more, need more and want more.

It was no shocker when I heard an advertisement on buying new tiles being aired recently. According to the sales man, the sole reason to get new tiles was to impress the neighbours!

Some of us have refrigerators that are bursting at its seams with new food, old food, good food, bad food and not surprisingly mouldy food that has escaped our attention in our eagerness to add more stuff into the fridge.

We buy bigger cars and bigger houses and bigger ‘everything’ as we get on in life and we have very good reasons why we do so and justify our purchases.

Suddenly, we are more senior in age and sanity bids us to downsize.

Just like human bodies shrink with age, we start to downsize the house because it has become a hazzle to mow that big lawn where we used to have birthday parties. We trade in the grand looking car for a smaller version so we can nip around easily in the city.

But the question is where do we start?

Enter the revolutionary KonMari Method for simplifying, organizing, and storing as spelt out step by step in ‘ The Life Changing Method of Tidying Up’ by Marie Kondo.

The New York Times  calls  this book entitled the greatest thing since sliced sushi.

The idea behind downsizing and minimalist living is living  very intentionally and allowing your surroundings and possessions to become an expression of yourself. 

Many of us have that jar of loose buttons or writing paper that we have carefully kept away on the shelf. In fact, they have been sitting on the shelf for quite a long time. Let’s face it – when do we actually need a spare button or hand write letters anymore? Even so, when one of our coat buttons falls off, we might not find an exact replica in the said jar.

To quote Marie Kondo, “the best way to choose what to keep and what to throw away is to take each item in one’s hand and ask: “Does this spark joy?” If it does, keep it. If not, dispose of it. This is not only the simplest but also the most accurate yardstick by which to judge.”

The end result?

When we own less stuff, it frees up the space around us. By clearing the clutter, we can enjoy the magic of a tidy home and calmness of the soul. If that is not real freedom, I don’t know what is.

When we focus on less jobs, it frees up the time that we have so we can pursue our passions and make real relationships. I heard of an elderly lady who suffered broken ribs because of an accident. After she was discharged from the hospital, a good rest would be most vital to speed her on the road to recovery. But alas, her healing was slow, because she was so used to doing almost everything in the house by herself despite having adult children who were  well able to help her out.

Minimalists like Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus, point out the personal anchors like debt and clutter that weigh us down and prevent us from moving forward. We need to hoist those anchors up if we want to sail.

I must now begin purging the cupboards and store room. Pronto.

This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 20 MARCH 2016
http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/160320nstnews/index.html#/23/

PLASTIC BEAUTY JUST DOESN'T CUT IT

When I brought a scarf to the counter the other day, I thought the salesgirl wore a beautiful shade of lipstick. So I paid her a compliment and said the colour on her lips looked lovely. Her response took me by surprise because she obviously had selective hearing skills. She smiled and said,

‘I’m glad you like the lips, I had them filled recently.’

I was both shocked and puzzled. I made a mental estimate of her age – probably 18 years old or younger. Surely, this is the prime of her life?

According to a local paper, the most popular non-surgical procedures among the 20 – 30-year-olds in Ireland are lip enhancements, fillers and botox.

Could an obsession with appearance result in body dysmorphic disorder?

I hear of accounts where the woman sneaks away to get certain parts of her body ‘fixed’ without telling the nearest and closest. Enshrouded in mystery, she exposes herself to certain risks. Apparently, women in Paris were having ‘lunchtime facelifts’ in the 1920s, even before botox came into the scene.

I wonder what makes a person go under the knife for cosmetic reasons alone? Could it be a boost to their self esteem? Could it be the idea that if they started cosmetic surgery at a younger age, the results would not be too drastic compared to when they go for a nip and a tuck when they are well over 50?

I remember laughing it off when my friend, who is also a plastic surgeon, persistently suggested that he could do wonders with my nose. My motto is if it is not broken, then don’t fix it. Besides, I have a very low threshold of pain and a high level of expectation. Imagine waking up from the operation to discover a very strange looking  nose. The idiom ‘cutting off the nose to spite the face’ would carry a new level of meaning altogether.

Sometimes a once-off experimentation with cosmetic surgery could also become an obsession.

We just need to look around and see how artistes and film stars succumb to numerous types of plastic surgery with some unfortunately ending up with a freeze frame face (a.k.a. ‘bat face’) and Ronald McDonald’s eyebrows.

In ‘The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock’ by T.S. Elliot, the poet delves into regret, frustration and an awareness of mortality as he observes how age has caused ‘a bald spot in the middle of his (my) hair’. No one likes to grow old or look old. Growing old seems to be synonymous with aching bones and popping pills. Looking old seems to make you feel ugly.

But then again what is beauty and what is age?

It is difficult for the aging person to tell herself that she is beautiful because the media tells her otherwise. The perception of beauty and age is also very much influenced by societal mores and culture. Some will never reveal their age while others remain at 40, year after year.  We gasp at the first strand of grey hair and the onset of wrinkles. It is like going to bed and feeling like you are 21, and then waking up to discover that you are 60. Where did the years go?

Towards the end of her life, Audrey Hepburn was asked about her beauty secrets. She replied most graciously, ‘

‘For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people. For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry. For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day. People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed and redeemed. Never throw out anybody. The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows.’

Beautifully said.

This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 6 MARCH 2016 http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/03/131264/plastic-beauty-just-doesnt-cut-it

TAKING TIME TO BE SILENT

I was unusually silent for a number of days and that was terribly inconvenient. Well, laryngitis does not discriminate and I was reduced to mousey whispers at best. How true it is that you never miss something until it's gone, in this case, my voice.

To humour myself, I attributed it to the possibility of viruses hidden on the walls of WW II underground tunnels as I had just returned from a historic tour of underground Berlin. I may not be too far wrong as the tour guide did mention that the walls had not been repainted, so think ancient Egyptian tombs that harboured yesteryear's deadly germs.

The beloved who always wanted to live a quiet life said, 'I had a quiet weekend' . The strange thing was, everyone else whispered to me too and that was really funny.

But there is another type of silence that is a conscious act.

I’m talking about entering the Room of Silence (Raum der Stille) in Berlin.  Located on the north side of Brandenburg Gate, this room has been there for 15 years. It offers a place of solace for Berliners and visitors to sit down in silence and relax.

It is a pretty small room where visitors can pick up a symbolic stone and remain quiet for some time. There is a wall hanging by Hungarian artist Ritta Hager on the theme of ‘light penetrating the darkness’. This room resonates the call for tolerance between all nationalities and beliefs.

This reminds me of the necessity to be silent and to reflect. Seemingly, there is scientific evidence that shows that adding 30 minutes of silence to a daily routine can reduce stress.

Silence has become a stranger to most of us. People are uneasy when we are quiet and assume that something is wrong. There are those who talk non-stop, as if they are afraid of being silent during a conversation.

I believe that most of us get out of bed in the morning and almost immediately reach out for our mobile phones and start checking the messages, alerts or calls that were left there while we were sleeping.

We rush to the shower, make a cup of coffee and switch on the ‘noise’ around us – be it the radio or the television. Then we get into our cars and listen to the airplay or our favourite music. When we reach the office, we talk and work or listen to more talk.

If it is not external noise that we deal with, there is also a stream of internal noises in our heads. Our minds start ticking and we start planning or worrying or arguing and justifying with our own thoughts.

Certainly, there is a lot of chatter going on.

Choosing a specific period of the day to be quiet can actually help us to deal with life’s challenges better as we capture the dynamic and dissonance in our hearts and the world that we observe. The adage that we are human beings who have somehow transmogrified into human doings is very true.

It is very strange but when I stand back in silence and reflect, things fall into perspective. I am in control of my emotions and circumstances rather than be controlled by them. I can be centred and still while everything else around me rushes by.

My immediate responses to challenging situations or ugly exchange of words morph into a different level of tolerance and understanding. Somehow the hurt inflicted upon me the night before does not sting as much. Because the rhythm of the body slows down, there is rest.

Close the door, breathe and then spend some precious moments in silence before the chatter.

It is time to power down intentionally. 

It is time to unplug.

This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA  21 FEBRUARY 2016 http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/02/128644/taking-time-be-silent

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

MEMORIES OF SNACK FOOD FOR THE SOUL

It’s very strange but every time Chinese New Year comes around, I think about food. Yes, like any true Malaysian, I think about food most of the time but during this time, I certainly think about it more.

It is not just craving for what I can eat or what I will eat, but it is usually something that I’ve eaten during my childhood formative years. Call me an old soul but yesteryear’s food and drinks seem to taste so much better than what is served these days at the fast food restaurant.

Maybe it is the nostalgia that comes with it. Somehow, when I attach good memories to the delectable morsels, they automatically become more tasty.

Researchers say that even during a simple associative taste, the brain operates the hippocampus to produce an integrated experience. In other words,  there is a connection between the parts of the brain responsible for taste memory and the parts responsible for processing the memory of the time and location of the sensory experience.

There are some things that I’ve enjoyed as a child that are no longer available, at least not in the way they were packaged. I’m talking about the Fraser and Neave carbonated orange drink that came in glass bottles. I can still buy the drink now but in plastic PET bottles and aluminium cans.

We didn’t have a refrigerator then so my dad would put the bottles in the cement water tub to keep them cool - the same water tub that held the water and the dipper for our showers. Imagine some lovely mosaic design at the bottom of a swimming pool. The bottles lying at the bottom of the tub gave a similar effect – more so because I could drink as much orange as I wanted during the Chinese New Year.  This fizzy drink tasted extremely good with Ngan Yin Hand Brand Peanuts from Menglembu, Perak.

These empty bottles were then returned to the seller for more drinks. To an overactive child’s mind, the glass bottles conjured images of orphans (from Charles Dickens’ novels) who must have cleaned and scrubbed them in work houses under the likes of Mr Bumble. I read the abridged versions of the novels as a child and felt sorry that I could drink the juice while others had to clean the bottles.

There are some biscuits too that conjure a picture of delight.

Iced gem biscuits – small biscuits topped with pink, yellow, green or white hard sugar icing. Originally the biscuit bottoms were made by Huntley and Palmer of Reading, Britain in the 1850s and the icing section was introduced in 1910. Few of us could afford imported biscuits during that era and so we bought the local substitute.

I remember getting them from the Tengku Mariam Primary School tuckshop. They were good value for me because I could get a bag of them for a few sen. Somehow my mother frowned upon them because she said they would give me worms.

I enjoyed the crispy twisted biscuits as well as the bolster-like biscuits, usually given to relatives during weddings. I wonder what they symbolise –they probably represent the new couple’s unity and prosperity.

The interesting thing about food is that each race or clan has its own delicacies. The fun part is that we mix with people from all races and also those who speak different dialects and we learn to enjoy their delicacies as well. 

I speak the Teochew dialect and I miss traditional delicacies like the Png Kueh (rice cake that is shaped like a peach) which is as scarce as hen’s teeth now.  Learning how to make them from recipes over the internet is never quite the same as the ones my parents bought for me from the market.

The best part is every time we return to Malaysia, my friends will bring us round to all these fantastic food joints to savour all that we have missed. That is the beauty of friendship and I cannot be grateful enough for such lovely homecoming treats.

This article was originally printed in the NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA 7 February 2016           http://www.nst.com.my/news/2016/02/126199/memories-snack-food-soul