Seribu tahun

This is one local song that I so fell in love with. Really. The music, melody and lyrics give me the goosebumps, however, the mtv failed to capture the true essence of the song.

This is a beautiful song - it made me visualise a beautiful epic film to go with it. It reminds me of one movie that I used to watch featuring the late Christopher Reeve and the elegant Jane Seymour. The title of the film is

Somewhere In Time and the byline captures it all - "He sacrifice life in the present to find love in the past." It's like waiting seribu tahun for that love, and in the case of this movie, it's literally finding love in a different century, crossing time through a thousand years. It's does not make common sense - the time travel thing - but then again, true embodied and passionate love should not make sense after all, isn't it? Anyway, it's a movie.

I could figure a Malay movie of this nature - transforming love into another century. It will feature that guy who played Haikal (Razif Hashim) from Gol and Gincu and perhaps the enigmatic Tiara Jacquelina in an aged make-up effects. Of course, we would have a cameo appearance of Imran Ajmain as some bloke from the past in his polished baju kurung Telok Blangah and samping kain pelekat with high songkok.I'm sure he will look regal!

Of borrowed titles...

I was seating on the red couch with hubby next to me watching tv quite absent-mindedly one evening, when suddenly, this Malay drama's trailer with English voice-over captured my attention because of its title. My jaw dropped as I turned my attention towards hubby and my eyes just opened wide.

"Yes, it is..." was his non-chalant respond, almost knowing what I might have ask eventhough I have not spoken a word.

I shook my head, heaving a longggg sigh.

"Oh well, darn, knowing them (very well), they'll definitely do it despite...(shaking head again)...whatever." If I was a juvenile, I was contemplated to make the letter "L" with my fingers on my forehead. But I merely shook my head, and just kept my peace.

So here I'm blogging, and decided not to keep my "piece."

Once, way after I had left the company, I was asked by the executive producer on my thoughts if they were to have a new season of Jeritan Sepi. Yes, I'm talking about Jeritan Sepi, the highly successful and award-winning social drama shown on MediaCorp TV12 Suria, which premiered in 2001. The first season of Jeritan Sepi won the ‘Most Popular Programme’ Award in Suria’s Pesta Perdana 5. This Award is based on the viewership figures of all programmes shown on Suria in that year. The series also sets a record as the highest ever rated programme of 8.2% P4+ (viewers 4 years old and above) which is equivalent to 306,000 viewers, since the channel’s launch in 2000. For more info, click here.

"It's a possibility," I answered, as I thought of a third season of Jeritan Sepi but of course, the new team needs to sit down and peel all the issues and problems and see how the story can develop where it was left off after the second season. It will not be an easy task.

"But what if it's an entirely different cast and different storyline...?" asked the executive producer.

"Errrr........."

I cringed at the thought, as I know, this was not the first time that they had borrowed popular titles. And though it was not the idea of the executive producer to borrow the popular title, it looks like it's a battle that she'd rather not get into with "unchanged minds" of some people.

Borrowing a popular title does not make a popular drama - even if it's the second season of the show. Look at Felicity - the popular American teen drama flopped in its second season. This is exacerbated if the entire casts and storyline were entirely different. What's more if some of the key personnel who were instrumental to its success in the first season where not part of the new team. Even a young kid understands this equation.

Popular Title = Popular Drama (Wrong!)
Borrowed Popular Title = Drama when current cast and storyline has nothing to do with the original show! Duhhh?!

It's excruciatingly painful to see this unoriginality stemming from one of the more experience and perhaps wise production team. And the most tiring, it's their inability to comprehend a simple formula, and their overriding egoistism as if they know all, when yet in fact, they don't seem to have the slightest clue or simply refuse to accept a simple logic. And they are running a station for the consumption of the masses.

Even during the first season of Jeritan Sepi, the then people at the station was not completely convinced that Jeritan Sepi could make it on its own, so it decided to ride on a previous popular drama - Selagi Ada Kasih - the one featuring Eda Farida as the kidney patient. As a result, if viewers can recall, Jeritan Sepi's opening title was tagged as Selagi Ada Kasih - Jeritan Sepi.

Because of the unprecedented and phenomenal success of Jeritan Sepi season 1 - it overshadowed the previous success of Selagi Ada Kasih - Jeritan Sepi was given the green light to stand on its own in season two, but not without every single somebody out there from the station and even outside agencies wanting a piece of the successful pie. The second season which was aptly and simply titled Jeritan Sepi, however did not make it at the "box-office" like the first season as it became a case of "too many cooks spoil the soup".

Now this so-called third season is titled as Jeritan Sepi - Memburu Kasih. Why not just "Memburu Kasih"? Doesn't the new team have the confidence and the ability to ensure that their new story of gambling, elderly neglect and a Malay/Muslim couple living the high life of women, sex and booze can perhaps be a success if all the ingredients are right? Why borrow popular titles time and again?

It seems that lessons were not learnt from a previous mistake of borrowing the popular Rahsia Perkahwinan title. The first season of Rahsia Perkahwinan featured the award-winning veteran actor S Effendy who jollied his CPF money with a Batam girl leaving his heck-care-in-appearance wife bitter. The second season, which was a totally new cast and storyline, featured singer-turned-actor Fauzie Laily as the unconvincing new stepfather, and Rahima as the wife who refused sex with hubby. The second season did not make it. The second season did not usurp the previous success ratings of the first season of Rahsia Perkahwinan. The simple truth and logic is out there. Open thou eyes. There's no one else to blame - not publicity or the viewers - it's just a simple logic.

It's time to get over borrowing. Move on. The days of Miss Universe is over! If you know what I mean.

The road less travelled

Robert Frost, entitled "The Road Not Taken"

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Change is a good thing...

We have moved...to a bigger, brighter and breezier place. Though pricier than before, it is still less than what the previous landlord was asking for.

Yet to find the time to enjoy the facilities as I'm still unpacking but will promise myself to do so, I have to do so!

I really need a real break...

Embrace change...for whatever it is.

Destiny detoured...

After I came home last Thursday, I did not return to The Alchemist. I have bought The Alchemist and two other paperbacks at the same time at an MPH sale at the Expo and on that Thursday evening, one of the paperbacks still tightly wrapped in its clear plastic beckoned me.

It was another of those 'destiny' book, and for that night alone, I read 48 pages of it as compared to 28 pages of The Alchemist on the first day of reading. However, you can't compare one with the other as one is a work of fiction, while the other is a non-fiction.

After ploughing 48 pages, I am glad to say that I was less perturbed about my own situation. You would understand the situation if you have read the previous blog entry. It made a difference in the way I see things. Within that hour or so, and after 48 pages, a more positive mind emerge from me.

I should have read it much earlier. What power that book has given me - if it's only to make me feel better. Thanks to Rich Dad, Poor Dad by Robert Kiyosaki.

My destiny?

I wonder what my destiny is. Perhaps I shouldn't think too much as it's probably 'maktub' (it's written)

I'm in the middle of reading The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. And I'm not done yet.

***

I never expected to be living in rental houses, at least not in Singapore, my birth country.

When we were holidaying in Melbourne back in 2005, we bumped into a Malay family who were formerly from Singapore and had made Melbourne home. The husband had become an Australian citizen but the wife was still a PR. The wife told me that prior to the husband becoming a citizen, they had lived in rental homes for about 10 years. Only after the husband had changed his citizenship and withdrew his money from CPF, they bought their very own abode in Melbourne.

10 years living in rental property! That sounds quite right. But for the fact that I'm Singaporean, living in my own birth country - putting up in rental houses don't seem quite fit the profile of the typical Singaporean family. And I don't own any property either. Well, perhaps we are not so typical after all.


***

This has made me think about my destiny. I don't think I am destined to live in a rental home indefinitely. Yes, we have given ourselves deadline. But before we even get to that deadline, the landlord has decided to change our destiny again but increasing the rental ...

This has made me feel very perturbed. The high cost of rental vs the high cost of owning a home in Singapore. Everything is $$$-driven. Even the price of rice has increased 100%, but not our salary.

***

Could I be a businesswoman with a successful business? That's a destiny I'm thinking. But I'm fearful to embark on the unknown.

"...I'm going to hold on to what little I have because I'm too insignificant to conquer the world" p41

I just don't know and not ready to take any risks!

"I'm just a tiny speck of dust in this whole wide world." That's me saying.

***

Ok I'm back to my old real world...let me finish The Alchemist first.

The "how" of things

It is not what we teach, but how we teach that made the greatest difference to our children.

A newfound wisdom came from a mother of two children, who told me the above. I had gone to her house to do a maths intervention programme for my master's research paper, and the methods that I used made her rethink the ways that she had been teaching mathematics to her children. It was an awakening for her. As for me, it was the stamp of approval that what I was doing was perhaps the better way of teaching mathematics to very young children.

It may not be the absolute way or the school-approved way, but the "how" is very important when we teach young children. You can get the child to add 2 + 2 using worksheets, or you can play a game of two dices and get the child to add the two numbers when the two dices are thrown. That made a whole world of difference to the child and to the mom. And it is probably one of the best ways to teach young children to love and appreciate maths, and ultimately score in maths.

The "how" of things crept up again when I was revisiting a research project that I was involved some years earlier. This time, it was a father of three children who was reminiscing about his childhood - a childhood that he would remember albeit with a bit of bitterness and grief. When he did not do well in his exams, his own father would be disappointed and told him to study harder. But he does not know how to study harder. "How" does one study harder to get better grades when one is not being shown, or demonstrated or have a role model to emulate? This made the father more adamant that he will show the "how" to do things to his own kids and not simply just telling them what to do. He said that it is akin to telling your young child to read, and yet you yourself do not read to your own child, or teach him how to read. That will be disastrous in itself.

I've seen the ad many times in the paper, about some accelerated program that promised to make a difference to your child's grades, of course with improved grades and not vice versa. I've spoken to the founder once, and somehow I decided to attend her free seminar and see for myself what exactly is this program all about. Again, what I felt she is telling to her potential clients is - it is not what we teach, but how we teach - that could make or break a child's grades and esteem. We can study so very hard and for very long hours, but if we do not have the right method or technique of learning, it may just go to waste as we will not produce the kind of results that we wanted. According to her, our human brain is only using less than 5% of the potential it can reap. She does make sense especially to parents who do not understand that it is important to show your child the better way to learn. Show, not just say. Saying the wrong words may ultimately do more damage to your child than you think.

I didn't sign up for my child because eventhough she claimed she will impart 8 different ways of learning, at least I think I may have two or three of the "hows" in my pocket for my kid. That will be enough for now. And if my "hows" are not working for my child, I'll find out more "hows" for him in the future.

My embrace with the hejab

When I officially donned the hijab on 10th January 2006, at an over the prime age of 34, it brought queries to some unsuspecting Muslim friends and they had to ask, “What makes you?”

And I usually gave a tongue-in-cheek reply of “I dah bertaubat.” (I’ve repented).

Some would dig further, and my next answer will be, “I guess it’s time.”

What else should I say? By right, all Muslimah should be hijab-ed, isn’t it? It’s just that I am not doing what Muslimah should be doing, and I guess the curiosity from friends is “what is the turning point to this tudung wearing?”

Non-Muslim friends will not ask directly, but they were curious. In fact, one expressed surprise and thought that I would be more westernized since living in the US. However, another friend interjected that it may just be the opposite for some, as they may discover their religion more when they are overseas. She’s partly right, and they have came to the answer themselves without even me saying anything. They had their own discourse about the new hijab-ed me.

As a Muslim lady, I know it is my duty to be modest, and to “veil my bosom and lower my gaze,” as described in the Al-Quran, loosely translated from An-nisa’s verses. But living in cosmopolitan Singapore, I don’t see the need to, since I have such an active and adventurous lifestyle. It’s not controversial for a Muslim lady not to be wearing the tudung in Singapore, and much less so if you are in the US.

I have never asked or discussed with anyone about wearing even though the thought and the niat to wear the tudung has crept into my mind at a few times in my life though I can’t exactly recall when. I have occasionally tried out tudungs in front of the mirrors. And even at very fewer times, wear the tudung in the house. I kept telling myself, if I decide to wear, it will be for good. And it is not something for me to call it off and give it up later. I want to be a tudung-wearer not tudung-weary. But I was fearful of being hejab. One of the major reasons is, I’m ashamed of myself. Though I am not deviant, and I would think that I am morally a good person, I am not a good Muslim. I am a lazy and ignorant one. I neglected my prayers. I didn’t complete my Quran. I’m too lazy and too involved in worldly affairs to further my knowledge in Islam. If I wear the tudung, and I am still lazy and ignorant, what’s the point? I can’t be Muslim on the outside, but be so unknowledgeable and less practicing on the inside. This stopped me from covering up.

It was during one of my online chats with a friend, R that I summoned the courage to ask the same questions that a Muslimah shouldn’t for the answers are just obvious. What makes you? And what is the turning point for you? But isn’t it too sudden? R quoted in her blog, she hejabed a day after her husband’s marriage proposal eventhough the day before she was wearing an ill-fitting jeans and a see-through blouse. Whatever she told me at that time made much sense to me. “I can’t wait to be a better Muslim to be hejab-ed. Perhaps being hejab will make me a better Muslim.” Even then these words of wisdom haven’t moved me.

At that point in time, I was also adamant in teaching my son good Islamic values especially living in a foreign western land, and with little contact of Islam and good Muslims, I felt that it was even more dire on me to teach him Islam. However, I can’t be teaching my son good Islamic values without practicing them properly.

In later chats and emails, R asked, “what if your son goes to madrasah and finds the ustazah covered up, learned from the Quran about Muslim women being hejab, only to return home to find his mummy, not hejab? Wouldn’t he be confused? What do you say to him then?”

That hit me. I want my son to learn good Islamic values but I am not practising it. What do I say if my son really asked me, “Mummy, why aren’t you wearing the hejab like the Quran says?” Being a good role model, is what parenting is all about isn't it?

For the sake of Allah, and for the sake of producing a good Muslim lineage, I have embraced the hejab but my journey is only the beginning. I am still no less lazy and no less ignorant. But I am trying my very best, and I know my very best is still not good enough, to Him and to me. I have no one else to blame except myself.

The life of Uncle

My uncle committed suicide last year. He jumped from a flat.

"He must have been very depressed." Mom said. Her voice was calm over the phone but I could detect her flinching nerves.

I was quiet, unsure of what to say. Then I asked, "How did everyone take it?"

"Your Ah Por was crying. Aunty Nanz also cried..." Mom's voice started to crack.

She told me that her sister will contact her once the body can be brought home. I just told her to keep me in the loop, and if she needed me to send her to any place, just let me know. In the meantime, I told her to take care of herself. I was not sure whether I should ask her to pray for him, but I guess it's ok to wish for something good for someone who had passed on eventhough you are not sure whether your prayers to the deceased will do any good, in this case.

Life really took a turn for uncle, the youngest and only son of four siblings. The son who would have carried his family's surname, and who would be the most important person to attend to his parents' funeral. But this was not to be.

When I was young, I knew him to be a well-established person, at least from my mom's description of him. Groomed and endowed in his pockets and wallets, he was generous with his ang pows whenever we met during that once a year Chinese new year. Eventhough he drove a taxi, he was also helping another of his relative in the money-lending industry. They are legal money lenders, not loan sharks. He was also into doing business, one of which was opening a store selling video games in the heartlands. Thus, driving a cab was just a hobby. He enjoyed the 'high life' too - life in karaoke lounges.

He fell in love with a woman, much to some disapprovement of family members. But it just goes to show he has a big heart. The woman was mute. They were blessed with two daughters.

Fast forward many years later, in which we did not really keep in touch with the going-ons in his lives, we heard news that he had taken a second wife. But the marriage and everything associated with it was hazy.

The woman was Malay. They met at a karaoke lounge where she was working. They married in Thailand (or some other remote places). He had converted to Islam. He was called Atan by his Malay in-laws but it was probably an extension of his Chinese surname - Tan. Again, many disapproved of this marriage believing that the woman was only after his wealth, and nothing else. Her - being Malay was not an issue for the family, perhaps because, their daughter who is my mom was given away by them when she was a baby to be adopted by a Malay/Muslim.

He did not divorce his Chinese wife, but had left her to be with his Malay wife. Again, he was blessed with two daughters with his Malay wife.

Then, things just spiralled down. Mom would get snippets of going-ons in his lives whenever we visited Ah Por for Chinese new year. Every year, something major would happen.

- Second wife wanted a divorce, but then they got back again.
- His elder daughter from his first marriage got pregnant out of wedlock. But it was a non-issue, as she got married to her boyfriend. Uncle never attended his daughter's wedding.
- His younger daughter from his first marriage got caught for drug abuse and was sent for rehab
- His first wife got depressed and stayed with Ah Por for a while. She does not have family members in Singapore. She was from Malaysia.
- He had kidney failure
- He had some bad skin ailments
- His second wife finally wanted a divorce
- He was jobless and penniless and went back to live with Ah Por


We met him during one Chinese new year - maybe last year, maybe the year before last. He was thin and frail, far from the prosperous man that I used to know and see when I was a little girl. He left after some small conversations with my mom, giving the excuse that he had to be at the dialysis centre. Mom gave him money, and I could see the shock on his face but Mom insisted. It was a reversal of role - he used to give my mom and her children money, but now it was the other way round.

That was the last time I saw him - alive.

On the second fateful evening, my husband and I went to the Singapore Casket at Lavender Street. Mom was already there. Ah Por looked devastated. Everyone else looked calm. Aunty Nanz even managed to 'grumble' about him taking his life a day before her birthday, and now she was spending her birthday on his funeral day. In fact, she was supposed to be taking a holiday to Vietnam with Ah Por and had paid for the trip. All that was left were huge regrettable sighs.

At the corner of that small room lies his coffin which we did not immediately go to. Both his wife and ex-wife and their children were there. True to what my mom had thought, he had never quite converted. His Malay ex-wife did not request for a Muslim burial. I don't think she knew what is to be done. I saw her elder daughter whom I had seen when she was a little girl. She was a pretty little girl, very cute and adorable but seeing her now, I'm sorry that we were never close. I may have been judgemental, but from the first look at her again, you would describe her as an 'anak metropolitan' - the fame tv show on Suria Malay channel that had rebellious, angst-ridden teens associated with tattoos and gangsterism. She had an almost bleached hair, nose studs and a small tattoo - the ones visible to my naked eye and she is my niece whom I never quite get to know. But then again, I may be wrong. We didn't talk to each other eventhough her mom made her 'salam' me. It was a lacklustre 'salam' without her holding my hand firmly or properly.

When my husband and I decided to take our leave, we went over to the coffin. Deep inside me, I was a bit fearful. Mom and Aunties told me that I do not have to see him if I do not want to, or am afraid to. But I wanted to, so I did.

The coffin was small, made of wood, but it had a glass top near the face. This was my first time paying my last respects to someone in a coffin. It was a strange feeling. Uncle looked really small and rested. There was a certain sombreness in the look of his face - I was not sure, I do not want to read too much into it.

The funeral was a simple affair, unlike the many Chinese funerals I had seen. Mom attended all the way until the cremation day at Mount Vernon accompanied by my sister. I did not attend the cremation. Aunties did what they needed to do there. Mom was a bundle of steel, believing in her Islamic faith put her in the right frame of mind.

If Uncle did not find the happiness and peace that he wanted when he was alive, I wish for the happiness, peace and guidance of Allah to the family he left behind especially for the niece I never really get to know.

All that I want, is just another...

What shall I blog about? Reflections and resolutions ...nah. It was an uneventful start to the new year. No reflections, no resolutions... just a fancy do. I rebonded my hair for the first time. I would still like a nice crown under my hejab without the unruly kinks, and yes, I'm pretty delighted with the outcome. It wasn't about vanity, it was about not having a bad hair day. Yes, I could have a bad hair day eventhough my hair is covered.

That aside, I didn't ponder about 2007, but I guess now that I am writing this, I am beginning to think about the shape my life has taken this year. I went back to becoming FTWM in March but in an industry totally different from what I used to be in. It was more sane, I guess, clocking in sane number of hours, and leaving on the dot or even lesser than the exact dot. Some people may think that I have caved into the rut of the admin lady - the one who does not care about the grand vision of the company, who just need to do her part and off she goes home to her loving husband and child.

Hey, but I do have a grand vision, a vision of a good life for me - that without a doubt. If you believe in Maslow's Hierarchy of Human Needs, the higher we move up the ladder, the more self-actualization we want. And I believe, I'm selfish enough to make it all about ME now. Yes, ME! Like the song goes, "All that I want, is just another..." (FILL UP YOUR OWN WORD).

I have had some great fulfilments in my career in the last decade, and though there's more higher peaks to scale in that area, I'm happy to leave it for the others. But if I do decide to climb that same peak again, it has to be different. It has to be about a cause, a personal cause. A cause that will lead me to the right path and direction, not necessarily the highest peak.

That's fulfilment.

Between Standard and Foundation

Just recently, the ministry of education came up with newer plans for children taking the normal course in secondary schools. It looked like a better plan, because for once, the needs of these children are really looked into. Among them is the creation of a head of department for normal technical education in secondary schools. This only means that there would be someone to look into the affairs, needs and matters of normal tech's curriculum and students. There would also be refinement in the Sec 4 and Sec 5 curriculum so that the children can go direct into Higher Nitec at ITE or the polytechnics respectively. There are other initiatives, like getting ITE lecturers to be seconded to secondary schools so that they are better able to share their expertise and inspire the students. There will also be the creation of new posts of educational associates to be attached to schools as well.

The reason that these being good news to me, is that, I know, many of our Malay children are in this stream. And if it's being refined to give them more opportunities, they should grab this opportunity and not let it slip by.

One other thing that I found out is that there are no more EM3 and the merge EM1/EM2 banding in primary schools anymore. There are only two types of subject bandings, and they are foundation subjects and standard subjects. This only means that children can choose to take up all standard subjects or one or two foundation subjects depending on their ability and affinity in those subjects - English, maths, science and mother tongue. This is great as instead of labelling the child, we label the subjects, and if a child is not able to take up a standard subject, then they should consider a foundation subject. And children will be mixed in a class.

However, a word of caution from some educators:

This is especially the case for foundation maths. Many educators believe that it is still necessary for the child to take standard maths instead of foundation maths, as the requirement for entry into most faculties in post-secondary education, except ITE, requires standard maths. If you want to take up "O" levels maths, you have to learn standard maths, not foundation. In that sense, these educators felt that if a child already took foundation maths in primary school, it will only limit his/her choices later on. And as we all know, some children are late bloomers, and we also do not want to doom the child before he can bloom.

It is just an advise for parents to plan and think ahead - not only of their child's abilities, but their child's interests and the possible choices ahead. Unless, a parents' feel that their child can only do an ITE track, then they should nurture the child to realise a higher nitec track in ITE, and later diploma in poly. If, however, they feel that their child is still able to perform better than expected, they should consider giving as much assistance in standard mathematics at the primary level so that their children can have many more options and choices to choose from for his education later in the future.

To give or not to give

Do you think we, Singaporeans, have too many help at hand? Or maybe too many organisations or individuals canvassing from funds all year round all the time?

I am just wondering, would you give your loose change to the countless number of times that you would be approached at the hawker centres, or the markets by some elderly religious man or woman, or some young innocent kids? If you give, do you also questioned their 'authenticity of needs'? If you don't give, do you feel guilty for not extending your arm to the unfortunate, if truly they are unfortunate.

How would you respond, if it is not once, but many times to these modern-day begging when the "askers" looked quite polished in terms of clothings. Of course, there are others, and especially so during holy months like Ramadan, that made me feel we have a plethora of "askers" this time around looking rather dishevelled on the streets of Geylang, Bussorah and entrances of mosques all over Singapore. The reason being is that we tend to be more giving during Ramadan as compared to at other times, and this could be the reason for abuse by some people in need of that extra cash.

I bumped into two young kids - playful, as they were going down on an up escalator at the Joo Chiat Complex, and they shoved a 'makeshift' box, which looked more like a tupperware that has been cut a hole on the cover. They also gave a slip of photocopied paper. I looked at the paper. It was the prayer schedule for this Ramadan period which I already have and could download freely from the internet. So I declined the paper but I slotted a two dollar note into that little hole made on the cover of their tupperware, and then I asked the young girl, "where are you from?". This question was more of me wanting to know which organisation that the kid came from, and her innocent respond was "Yishun Avenue 5". I wondered whether there was any welfare organisation at Yishun Avenue 5. Hmmm...would any parents do this to their kids? I mean, as much as you are in dire straits, would you get your kids to beg with the guise of donation boxes. I wondered.

And I wondered again, about a certain organisation organising a "ready-for-school-fund". Don't we have enough? Like the Kindergarten Financial Assistance Scheme, Educational Trust Fund, Prophet Muhammad Trust Fund, School Pocket Money Fund, and every other organisations giving out free books, uniforms and school bags come every end of year. Can't we tap from these funds, or from one fund that has the same objectives? Are there checks in place or that the same applicant can received all the funds? And then in the end getting more than three free schoolbags that year. Does giving schoolbags alone helped educating the minds of the young? Yes, you can go to school with a fancy new school bag, but has the community made any progress?

And when I think about it, wouldn't it be better if this new fund is not merely for buying physical items for the families that we already have enough, but educating the Malay families about the importance of education, importance of progressive education, educating the child in 'premium' playgroups for literacy and numeracy skills so that they can possibly catch up with their peers? Out of 19 children identified for help in literacy and numeracy in kindergarten, 14 are Malay families. I wondered why? Not so much because of the large number of Malay families, well... that too, but only 19 needed help. That's not too bad a figure, isn't it? Really? 19 only...?

I've said to a friend before. We are trying to chase the Singapore dream for us Malays, who were supposedly indigenous to this land. Thirty years on from merdeka, we are still working towards getting our kids into post-secondary education and this only mean polytechnic and junior college education. And by the time we reached our target in getting our kids into post-secondary education, we would be burdened by the fact that the others have left us again far behind, this time the others would have had double degrees and phDs, and we just got our diplomas and A-levels certificates. Are we to jump for joy?

It does not take thirty years to see this happening. It has happened. Just recently, it looked like the polytechnic holders of the other communities are hungry for a university degree. They are moving on, shoving their way forward that the government realised the need to built a fourth university to cater to this group. But do our children fall into this group? Out of a 1000 applicants, how many can we safely say are our Malay children who are degree hungry? We are always happy and would spread it in the Malay news, if one of our Malay kids get it. Why one? Why can't it be 150 Malay children or even more. Then, that will be greater news, isnt it? Therefore, I ask, are our outreach approach and goals to educate the community outdated? I wondered again.

The life of Apul

Apul was eating the food that his mom fed him on the roadside. It looked like a bowl of rice with soup that she had gotten from the street vendor. They sat with their bum squarely on the pavement - she fed him, he ate. Apul's face looked like he needed a good scrub. And maybe a change of clothing. His mother too.

Apul looked active, like any young child would be. When we waved and called out to him to come to us, he seemed shy. His mother kept encouraging him persistently to go to us. Such agility, such innocence, as he toddled his way through. Apul came to us, with 'reserved daringness'. My mom gave him a pack of boiled peanuts that she bought, and then I offered him 1000 Rupiah. He took the boiled peanuts, the 1000 Rupiah and another 1000 Rupiah from my mom. He waddled away like any happy child who was just given candy. His mother beamed from the pavement and hollered a thank you. When Apul came to her, she said to him in her endearing tone, "Have you said thank you? Have you said thank you, Apul?"

We left them in their own world, but as I caught glimpses of that little world of theirs on the pavement, how priviledged a life I felt I had, and how priviledged my son is as compared to Apul. On the other hand, there was that carefree spirit, and a sense of happiness that both mother and child share, without any worries or cares of the world around them. I realised that the mom finally paid the street vendor for that bowl of rice from the money that we gave Apul. Perhaps, she had an agreement with the street vendor. If got money, pay. If not, no charge for this bowl of rice. This is the life that Apul is growing up in, a life on the street.

It looks like street kids and street youth are a common feature in the streets of Bandung. The kids sell stuffs - stuffs that you probably don't even need or want, or maybe hastely dust the windows of your vehicle as it stopped by the red traffic light. Many drivers keep loose change, so if you feel like being generous, you give. On the other hand, the teens strummed their guitar at every car that stopped at the traffic light, and serenaded a pop song, hoping for some loose change. Red traffic light is an opportunity to get into business. However, how much loose change do you have if you happen to live here, and get this every day and at almost every traffic stop. I saw a man in a vehicle who parted with a stick of cigarette for one of the strumming cum serenading teen. Unlike those who looked extremely poor and who purely solicit for money, there were many others, that being on the streets is perhaps like a job (?), a culture (?), a lifestyle (?), or maybe a part of the fabric of their life (?). I'm not certain.

A family friend recounted a story whereby a couple who sympathised with a street kid decided to adopt him. They gave him a home, clean and nice clothes to wear, good food to eat, schooled him but alas, the boy ran away from home and decided to remain on the street, where perhaps he was happier, stress-free, rule-free, and be part of a group or culture or lifestyle that he knew best, and most comfortable with.

Unlike those stuck in the thick of poverty, and had no choice but to beg, there were others, I believed, and it seemed to me from my naked eye, that do this for a living. But seeing many young children on the streets doing it for a living, really made me wonder about what the government is doing to help their countrymen, women and children even if I sensed that the children seemed at ease with their 'lifestyle'. Or perhaps they have been 'acculturated' or 'socialised' in this life that they were born into. Perhaps this is the only life they know, so they never need to ask for more. And thus, conveniencing their leaders.

And as I leave this place with memories of the good and the heart-wrenching, I hope Apul will meet a fate better that his peers and some of his countrymen, women and children but whatever path his destiny may take him, I pray and wish that he is happy and healthy and may the All-Knowing bestow more rezeki on him and his mother.

Of meet and greet...

The morning was still blanketed in bluish dark skies as we made our way out to school and work. As he waited fidgetyly for his school bus, I waited with him. There he was, the other boy, the shy neighbour from the opposite apartment, in the same school uniform waiting for the same school bus. He is a foreigner, judging from his accent. Initially I thought he was Filipino because of his Catholic-inspired name, but now, I think he may be Indonesian. His companion who could possibly be his maid, aunty, sister or mom, was not friendly. I did talk to her on the very first day of Afzal's taking the bus there, to ask about the school bus. But after that first day, it was my maid who would send Afzal every morning so I haven't seen them.

Yesterday and today, I was there, waiting together with them but she did not turn her head to me or say good morning or even a simple hi or hello. If only she had looked my way, I would gladly holler a good morning but she didn't. So I didn't greet her either. She left hurriedly after the boy went up the bus without even a wave, or a smile, or a greet...oh well.

Slowly, I walked to the bus stop. It was barely 200 metres away, and as I strolled to the main street, the bus that I was to take had passed the bus stop. It was only 7 am anyway. The neighbourhood had a very kampung-like atmosphere especially when I see a white cock with a very red comb having its morning pecks among the grasses but the traffic on the main street was proof of bustling activity. Despite the fact that it was not a major road, it had the busy-ness of the morning rush hour. Everyone is either to work or school, and for the cock - to scratch a worm or two for its breakfast.

Fifteen minutes later, the next bus came - rather late, I thought for a morning rush hour schedule. My bus card beeped as I placed it near the reader, and more beeps came after me. Ten minutes later, I alighted near the mrt station, and as I passed the wet market, I bought two carrots and a 'stalk' of broccoli. The genial apek said in clear structured tones, "it's one dollar and ninety cents." I passed the apek a two dollar note, and he smiled, thanking me while taking a change of ten cents to return to me. It was a pleasant marketing experience. All of these vegetables in a red plastic bag, I tucked them in my Atienne Aigner beaten bag and what a bulge it made, and off to the train station I went.

Vegetables in my designer bag and a free blue kfc pouch in one hand that contained my solat items, I was on my way to work. I was lucky to get a seat only after two stations away, but when a little baby arrived on her mummy's chest looking at me adorably, I had to get up and offered her mummy the seat. She was so adorably cute, and she wanted to hold my finger, but at the same time wary of me. They only sat for a couple of stations before the mum got up to leave. But before that, little baby girl waved good bye and blew french kisses at me. And for someone who is only one year old, her social skill is endearing and even her fine motor skill is rather superb as she was tossing and turning the morning newspaper.

At about 8.11 am, I reached my destination. And I smsed hubby to let him know I was already at the station. Hubby was working the night shift which is very near the mrt, so he picked me up at the station and sent me to my workplace before he drove home. Isn't he a sweetheart for that?

As I was passing the bus interchange's canteen, it was bustling with makciks selling breakfast of nasi lemak, mee goreng and epok-epok. So I bought some for me, but not for hubby today as he would have home-made breakfast later at home.

Before I alighted from the car, I put the carrot and broccoli at the backseat so hubby can bring it home for the maid to put it in the soup that I made last night. My vegetables would have gone cross-country before it landed into the pot.

And as I staggered to the office, I met this fatherly professor, whom we occasionally bumped into each other along the corridor and would greet each other with our hi's and goodbyes, and little small talks. We had a small talk yesterday and he continued it to this morning on the subject of where do you live, and how do you come to work. So he had to ask this morning, "did your husband send you this morning?"

"Oh yes..."

"Ah...you are good!" With a bit of a cheeky tone, "or maybe he is good..."

I smiled while churning out a naughty cheeky reply. "Oh well, I have him wrap around my fingers..." His wrinkled eyes with silver-coloured brow lighted up, he smiled and waved me off.

Except for the unfriendly neighbour, I had a good morning, with some friendly banter with strangers and the occasional acquantainces. I mean, how can anyone go wrong with a good morning, or a hello, a sleepy smile or blowing french kisses or husbandly pecks. It takes as simple as these to make anyone's day, right?

For being pandai dan memandai-mandai...

At some point in our lives, we are clever and also trying to be clever, and so me thinks.

My comments on Anugerah finalists is the case of me of trying to be clever, since I was the self-declared uninvited unofficial judge. But perhaps I'm already clever enough to be judge, since I was a judge before in Juara, on-air no less, as well as countless number of auditions before the actual Anugerahs.

Back to my real life, 'oleh kerana pandai dan memandai-mandai', I am now feeling swarmed with work.

When I was in broadcasting, the workload is crazy - long hours, extreme fatigue, super busy and I will be too occupied with work to even bother about the world of blogging. Now, I'm in administrative work, so well I have time, lots, that I could well - blog.

But I need to keep my cerebral stretched, and so the 'pandai and memandai-mandai' me actually volunteered for extra work and requested for more work. And now because of that, I have three extra workload at work, and that I have a few others outside of work.

Well, I just wondered what did I get myself into. I should relish and cherish this 'time' I have on my hand. But no, I got myself busy ...

Hope this is all worth it...

Let me be the unofficial judge...

...of the singing contest Anugerah on Suria.

I have not followed it closely so basically my comments will not weigh its weight in gold, but for the sake of viewer power, I shall say my piece.

When I saw the four finalists, I actually wondered, how did they end up being there? Far from being cynical, I am purely basing it from a commercial value viewpoint. And I would dare say three out of four of them have almost to none. The one that strikes me most as having commercial value is definitely Aliff. He has that cute boyish looks that go down very well with screaming, virginal teens as well as over-zealous makciks. From a social, political and economic viewpoint, there are no winning choices except for Aliff. Here's my take on why Aliff had to win. And he did.

It's been a very long time since a big music label like Sony BMG decides to put its dollar on a Malay singing sensation that hails from Singapore. And for this collaboration between Sony BMG and Suria to work in terms of dollars and common sense, plus perhaps putting Singapore Malay music back onto the map, and raising the value (maybe standards) of the Malay music industry, Aliff has to be the winner. You need to make some dough first for music labels to believe that investing in a Singaporean Malay singer will reap benefits. They just perhaps realised this with Taufik Batisah and Hady Mirza, I suppose. This will only mean repeat future investments, instead of dying off like it did. It's also a way of saying to the Malaysians (and Indonesians), "Look here, we do have talent too!" and socially, this will rub off to the other talents in this industry and will make the struggling local singers feel that their recognition and worth are long overdue.

For all its worth, Aliff was not a disappointment. Despite his rather raw and breathless singing, he had good control of his voice. It was not pitchy and did not fall flat as much as the others. On the other hand, he really rocked it with his own rendition of that Indon song with Addy Cradle. He commanded the stage like it was his. He was entertaining, and it looked like he loved to please and entertain. He immersed himself and enjoyed himself and his personality showed through. In comparison to Maiya, whom I would credit as having the most powerful vocals, Aliff still win hands down for being the moderately good singer with excellent stage presence, good boyish looks, charisma and overall commercial package.

Now, the things that are left to be seen is for him to find a niche in his music. And somehow the rock in him fits nicely with his boyishness, and romantic ballads also go well with his breathless whispery voice. That, to me, seem to be his winning formula. It is left to be seen whether he will remain humble and pleasing, as his confidence over Judge Shafinaz's superb comments have raised his head a little higher, based on the body language that he displayed on the show and during his encore singing. So I hope he'll know what to do to remain likeable in this rather volatile industry.

Back to the three other finalists.

Maiya had the best vocals to boot, but she was lost. Lost in the sense like what Judge Gani said, her performance did not match her powerful vocals. I'm sure she can do more. And if she had done a lot more by commanding her moves, her facial expressions, body language and conquering the stage, she has got it all BUT she is still not the winner for me. She is an 'old' singer, 'old' not in the sense of age, but in her overall presence. I mean she aint the young pretty lass that is very necessary for this rather cruel music industry. Of course talent will get you far, but talent and looks plus something else will get you even farther. I would think that Maiya could and should emulate someone like Melly Goeslaw - the Indonesian singer that made her mark most for being a superb composer of other acclaimed singers. Maiya has got what it takes, if she is willing to work hard at learning to play the piano, reading notes, composing and rearranging, to be a great music composer and producer, I believed.

Roslan, he is just like Hyrul or Hazami, don't you think? Minus the vocals for Hazami that is. When Judge Eddie said that he did the Imran Ajmain's song justice, I beg to differ. Perhaps Eddie was just being nice, and far from being disappointed with Roslan's rendition, he was pleased. But, without trying to sound apologetic, I'm sure Imran who was one of the invited guests would be shock to hear that. I did. Roslan was lost too, and since his vocals were not as superb as Maiya, he was doubly lost. He did not grab my attention, and I am not sure whether he was not interested or that it was purely nerves. He is a ballad and soul guy but when he deliver ballads with the 1)first song which is very unfamiliar and alien even to Judge Rahimah Rahim and 2) other songs that sounded very lacklustre and void of feelings and emotions, it just didn't do. His voice is relatively acceptable, but he needed to put more oomphh and panache to make it. Anyway, with the help of Mayuni Omar from Soundlink, I'm sure he will do well with such ballads in the compilation album. I mean, please kick some edge into your singing!

Nurrun, how is it that she looked almost like Maiya with round face and short hair? The difference, her voice is super raspy and she is super short. Cute and small were rather the cute terms to use from Judge Shafinaz. She worked hard and clearly was not going to let her dismal support from viewers demoralised her spirits. She is edgy and that is what I like about her but unless she can be someone like Hi Hi Bye Bye Ezleen, or Rama-Rama Ella, then it will be difficult for her to move in this industry. She needs something else, and that something else, whether it is x-factor or whatever it is, is the missing ingredient. But she's cool.

Now, for something a bit frivolous... what do you notice about Clay Aiken and Elliot Yamin of American Idol?

Well.........................They had a dental makeover.

So to Aliff and Nurrun...when you're singing, the mouth is the part that people will see most, and that's the part that has to be attractive most. I hope you understand what I mean, you just have to try and have it all. It's a frivolous shallow thing but just look at Hady Mirza after winning Singapore Idol, and all other Idol winners and finalists whether from US or Singapore. Hady's bod is more lean, and his face more angled. I don't mean that he went for cosmetic surgery but I'm sure he hit the gym more after winning the title.

Well, who says winning (or being a top notch celebrity) is easy?

The state of being stateless

Just yesterday, I read in the papers about two young sisters, aged 6 and 2.5 years old, who are considered stateless because they do not have birth certificates, meaning their parents have not registered their births. In other words, they are considered illegal or perhaps non-existence in the eyes of the law.
But these girls are very much alive and living an almost normal childhood with their maternal grandmother. Though showered with much love from grandma, these kids however do not get proper immunization and now, cannot go to school because of their lack of documents.

The grassroots leaders who were tracking kids that are supposed to attend preschools but are not, found these kids. And together with their MP were shocked to hear that such cases still exist today in affluent Singapore. Now, they are trying their best to get these kids in school and proper documentation. The problems are, they do not know the identity of the first child’s father. They knew of the second child’s father, however, the jailed mother because of subutex abused is married to a third husband, who is around but does not have biological rights over these kids.

Now I am thinking aloud, not to offend any parties, but just thinking aloud, as loud as Flying Dutchman and Glen Ong always do during their morning express shows.

When these girls went to the polyclinics with their grandma or mother for immunization, and couldn’t produce their birth certificates, why didn’t the staff there suspect something? Even if they feel they couldn’t barge into domestic affairs, but considering that this non-BC issue can lead to serious implications for the future of the children, why didn’t anyone sound the alarm in their earlier years?

Once, I came across a stateless adult. I was told that he was stateless, not that I know he was or wasn’t. His parents that adopted him were both dead, and he was then fending for himself. As he did not have any form of identification, he was not able to get decent work except working at a charitable organization doing some cleaning and housekeeping work, enough to get by for food and rent of a one room flat. He was a young man, he looked decent and of a marriageable age. But I wondered, what happened if he falls really sick, or that he intends to get married? What happens just because he did not have a BC or IC?

It’s so unthinkable to think that despite being real in the flesh, in the eyes of the law, he did not exist. I think what the authorities want is to safeguard against abuses whereby immigrants, illegal or not, can use such an instances to gain residency status in the country.

But then, these young children should not be punished for the crimes of their parents, even if the real father of the first daughter be found not to be Singaporean. I mean what harm does it do to give the child the right of identity?

I wish them well, and wish that they grow up to be good citizens of the world.

Our happening 070707?

070799, that was the date, according to hubby, that we went to ROMM to register for our nikah. I didn’t quite remember the date but I definitely remember all the details of that day, the day that seal our fate together.

Our nikah was slated for 061199 and the sanding 071199. And if 7 is the ‘lucky’ number for us, our engagement so happened was 070299.

What did we do on 070707?

We cleaned and scrubbed the new house that we will be moving into this weekend. Cleaned, scrubbed and sneezed for me.

The week earlier, the hubby and the maid had the kitchen sertu-ed, while I was at work. That day 070707, we thoroughly cleaned the whole house, with floor cleaners, and all sorts of disinfectant plus Walch (had told hubby to buy Dettol but he bought Walch instead) – floors, toilets, windows, doors etc.

Hubby volunteered to pick up son from madrasah and sent him to swimming class. This was usually my routine but he volunteered because he wanted to escape more cleaning work. Yes, escape because he gave me that look, the look that says it all. You know, men and cleaning. So I was with the maid, cleaning whatever corners I can see. There will be a bit more cleaning to do before we move in, the little crevices here and there, and then hopefully the mover will take care of the big items. This is the first time we engaged a mover to move things from the house, because we have troubled our siblings enough with our previous moves. And because, moving is a labourous job that should be the work of our menfolk, but then again these days, it seemed, the menfolk are not ‘labourous’ type. Really. I know hubby will complain of backache, and all sorts of aches after that.

I had prepare mee soto in the morning. So we had lunch of mee soto in the house in between our rest breaks. While waiting for hubby to come back with the boy, I had my shower. It was already late in the afternoon so we went home, had our second round of mee soto for dinner before we hit the sack. Just too exhausted to think. The next day, it was packing and de-cluttering day in the current house. De-clutter, pack and sneeze….

Yes, that’s me because I’m so allergic to dust. I’ve been called Rudolph for my red nose, whenever the sneeze bug hit me. It’s terrible. Only those who suffered the same ailment as me will know.

It’s gets crazy when you have so many things that you haven’t seen in a while because they were either stashed or stacked somewhere in the storeroom. Now you wonder whether you really need them. Because if you do, you need space to keep them as space is a definite constraint in the new smaller apartment, but if you don’t, it’s definitely good-riddance. Getting rid of something is never easy, but I learned from a tv show ‘Clean House’ while in Alabama, that it can be very therapeutic. I am trying to instill a mindset in me of what I haven’t missed, are surely things I have not needed, and don’t need at all. It’s like getting rid of that irritating old boyfriend (or girlfriend) – good riddance to bad garbage!

It’s good therapy to get rid of junk but it’s overwhelming to pack and unpack…and we will probably do this again in a year’s time… oh well…it’s the life of a nomad? Yes? No?

Sabun Sertu

It came on the market at an opportune time – a time that I am shifting house, thereby the need to sertu the new house came into the picture once again. The whole process of sertu requires us to get the tanah liat (red earth/soil), the washing of six parts air mutlak (pure water) and one part air mutlak with the red earth. After consulting with an online ustaz, he feels that it is ok just to wash normally without sertu-ing especially if we have not seen or do not know whether there was ever pig (pork) or dog in the house, but think there might. But being culturally Malay-Muslim, and the fact that sertu is not wrong, and since there is this new product of sabun sertu, Alhamdullillah, perhaps it was Allah’s way of answering my prayers and the many queries in my muddled head.

After reading the newspaper article about the sabun sertu, we headed down to the shop. It was a small shop beside the haig road hawker centre cum market. It was only here that the sabun sertu, coceptualised and created by an ustaz Abdul Rahman, lined the white shelves of that small shop, a size of a store-room. Alhamdullillah, to this ustaz, and may Allah reward him for this. The online ustaz gave him thumbs up for what he called “an ingenious idea that helps us to contemporarise our Islamic practices.”

Someone was buying the stuffs before us – a bottle of sabun sertu for the body, and another bottle of sabun sertu for cutleries and house cleaning. The pakcik at the shop acknowledged our presence and asked whether he could help us.

“Nak tengok tu.” I said, looking at the two bottles being bought by the earlier customer.

“Boleh…tengoklah”. (Of course, go ahead)

I took a bottle from its white shelves. It was orangey-muddy in colour, and the ingredients do not look much, but had some similar scientific names of which you would see behind your shower wash or shampoo. There was also a “how to do it” section but it mentioned only 5 washes after that. That put me in disequilibrium. Why 5 washes?

“Kenapa 5 pakcik?” the confused, naived and ignorant me asked. As far as I have always understood, it’s 6.

“Yang pertama, awak cuci dulu dengan air. Lepas tu, yang kedua awak campur dengan benda ni. Kemudian, lima kali cuci.” (First, you wash with water. Then you add this to your second wash. Then, after that, the rest of the 5 washes.)

Ahhhh… that explains it. So clearly and simply. But I wish that the explanation on the bottle was clearer so that it did not cause such a misconception on the already ignorant me, especially if one was to buy from a grocery store without a knowledgeable salesperson at hand.

“Kena pakai banyak tak?” (Do I need to use a lot?)

“Takde…awak campur sikit dengan air, macam pakai sabun.” (No…just add a little bit to water, like you would normally use soap (liquid))

“Ada buihlah?” (There’s suds?)

“Ah…ada” (Ah…yes)

I opened the bottle to smell it. Not bad, I thought. No funny muddy smell - just like your normal shower wash.

We bought a bottle. And now it’s waiting time to be used.

She is Muslim

This piece is inspired from Dina Zaman’s I am Muslim. I have not read her book, but certainly have discovered the IAM2 blog.


“There’s an American Muslim lady living here.” Said a Malay Singaporean.

“Really…as in…”

“As in white American…and she wears the tudung.”

That’s certainly great news - to be able to meet a Muslim, white American and hejab-ed in a place as remote as Mobile, Alabama. There was a sudden rush of euphoria and delight. Alhamdullillah.

“I would love to get to know her.” I said.

There’s so much to ask, so much to learn from this lady. There’s a certain connection. A sister in Islam.

“She has invited me to her house. You can come.”

I was thrilled.



One afternoon, my Malay neighbour called to tell me that she’d be going over to the American Muslim lady home, and asked if I would come. I was ready to go. We’d bring our kids over, as this lady has a young girl about eight or nine years old, and the kids could play while the mommies chat.

So that fine afternoon, we went over to the American Muslim lady's home. She is pretty, young and tall, and the way she dressed that afternoon, in the comfort of her own home, was almost hippy-like. However, there was a certain chaos in her home, from the living room to the kitchen to the bedrooms. She claimed the torrential rain had seeped into her ground floor house, and soaked her carpet. Clothes were strewn on the floor and on the mattress in her daughter’s bedroom. She apologized for the mess, complaining about her brothers’ kids who had came over the weekend, and created the mess. And almost instinctively, she took out a cigarette and lighted it. She continued complaining about her brothers’ wives and their kids, who were rude as they were not raised as Muslims. They came to her house and hoarded the food that she had bought over the weekend, almost US70 worth of food for the week just gone like that. All the while I was listening to her and watching her puffed her cigarettes away. A Muslim hejab-ed lady.

I guess the whole scenario threw me off a bit. It did not matter to me that my Malay neighbour, the one who introduced me to her, also smoked, loved to wear mini denim skirts and baby tees that occasionally displayed her belly button, but when this hejab-ed white American Muslim lady did that, it sort of turned my perception of her upside down. Then there’s this incomprehensible clutter, not only about her house but the state of her life.

After a while, I did ask her “why she became muslim?” Almost instantly, she said, it was the simplicity of the religion. For many years, she was confused, abused and lost and she was seeking something to turn to. Islam gave her peace, and simplicity in her otherwise befuddled life.

She had a brother and father who were hard core addicts. And both of them committed suicide, according to her. She could have been a hard core addict too, she said, if not for Islam, and had contemplated suicide before. I was not too sure about her mother, as at this point, her story was too compelling for me to comprehend. Cruel scenes of her life flashed by me, too harsh for me to digest.

She loved her teenage son and her young daughter, but both had looked different. It was obvious that her teenage son is white, while her daughter is mix. Her daughter has beautiful tan skin, and lovely brown locks – gorgeous in fact. And it will be awfully rude for me to ask where her gene might have come from. She said that her son is not a Muslim, but he will be, Insya Allah. As for her daughter, whom she described as "beautiful, Masya Allah," it was the result of a rape at a party many years ago. She claimed she was attacked by a man that she did not know, and it made her pregnant. She wanted to abort the pregnancy, but knew that the foetus in her was not to be blamed for the things that had happened. She prayed, she said but I was unsure to whom or to what at that point in time of her life. She kept her pregnancy, and gave birth to her daughter. Then she met an Arab Muslim man, either before or after reverting to Islam, again I was unsure and had married him. But the marriage did not last, for reasons that she did not say. However, the Arab man and she were still friends, and in fact, she was working in his company or something of that nature. She said, InsyaAllah, they may get back together. She said, she disliked Arab women. “They are arrogant and obnoxious. They think they are the chosen race.” Those were almost her exact words. They think they were chosen by Allah through his Prophet Muhammad (SAW) to spread Islam. Perhaps, and I can only infer, the treatment that she must have gotten from the relatives of her Arab ex-husband-soon-to-be-husband-again.

Her story had the ingredients of a drama. The bits and pieces that she recounted were at times harrowing, at times hazy for there were other probable missing parts that are only known to her. I don’t know what I brought back from that encounter. But my euphoria and delight of meeting a sister in Islam, subsided at that time. Perhaps I wanted to learn something from her, especially in my seeking into embracing the hejab, but the state of life of this hejabi woman was chaotic, to me, even at that present moment.

Perhaps I failed to see, at that time, the life that she once had - tumultous, and now, despite the chaos in her home and the baggages from her past life that she had to carry through to move her life forward, there was peace, an inner peace that only she knew. I wish I could have known her better, but perhaps I was judging her when I thought I wasn’t and there were no other opportune times to get to know her for she had left the residence to live elsewhere, before I could even figure out my own confusion.

Well-heeled Malay

My Singaporean Chinese colleague told me, “you are one of my rare well-heeled Malay friend.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, “Am I your rare well-heeled Malay friend or am I your rare Malay friend?”

“Both.” She said.

She doesn’t have that many Malay friends, and after knowing me in this short three months, she said that I am different from many Malays whom she knew. The reasons being, I’ve been halfway across the world, and to so many different countries that only she could imagine. Most of her Malay friends, who are very few and far in between, only mentioned JB and Malaysia as their farthest destinations.

I’m not so sure whether that could be counted as well-heeled, but maybe well-travelled.

You see, I have a problem with this definition. From the Merriam-Webster dictionary, well-heeled means having plenty of money. I thank Allah for all the rezeki that he has given me, but surely I don’t have plenty of money.

For one, this colleague of mine lived in a condo they can call their own somewhere almost central in Singapore, whereby I only rent them, and that’s only because I don’t have my own flat. Me - houseless in that sense, but I am grateful for still having a shelter over my head. I saved and scrimp for our next holiday. And we have our own bills and debts to pay that seem part of what our life is all about – bills, fees, debts, mortgage etc. How I wish I could spend without even looking at the price tag.

The reason why I am well-travelled is because I am lucky to have a dad who works with SATS as one of their pioneers. Therefore, he and his family were given free air tickets to any SIA destination every year. But even then, we did not quite make full use of it. Having free air tickets is one thing, having money to spend on himself, his wife and five other children in some faraway destination is another. The first time he allowed me to travel alone, so that I could make full use of this free air ticket, was when I was 15. He told me he could only get the air tickets but I have to cover the other expenses myself. So I begged him to withdraw some of my hard earned savings since I was young, went to London, and bunked in with my cousin who was studying there. Being the travel bug that I am, I worked during the school holidays, between two weeks to a month just to get enough money to cover basic expenses. At that time, I usually bunked at some relatives or friends’ relatives homes. So under my dad’s privileges, I traveled to Los Angeles, Christchurch, South Korea, Manila and the many air trips to KL with him or the family. On my own, or with a friend with the same privileges, I’ve been London, Christchurch again, Perth and Melbourne.

The last time was after I finished uni, and signed up a package for a 33 day Europe tour. I used my Dad’s free flights but paid for the land package, which set me back for a couple of months after starting work because I had to pay a loan that I took for this holiday. That was really awesome! At least, I have covered some of the most expensive countries to travel if I hadn’t had the free air tickets. But I had loans to pay after that, eventhough it was not huge, it was steep for an entry level earner like myself.

After I started work, I lost all rights to those privileges. No more traveling, since it would definitely be a pinch on my very tiny pocket, but I was lucky enough to travel for work. My first working experience overseas was traveling to Kelantan via the KTM to film a drama. That was really hard work, to work with such skimpy budget, what’s more overseas. So much drama over one drama.

Overseas traveling was rosy when I was producer of a fashion programme. I traveled to Paris, New York, Tokyo and Bali and attended New York fashion week, no less. That, shall I conclude, could best described my jet-setting life then.

Then, there were other less high-flying places like Brunei, Bintan and China.

Then came my stint in KL. I was a producer of a travel programme and traveled to quite a bit of the Malaysian states – Cherating, Chameron Highlands, Port Dickson, Malacca, Sarawak.

When I got married, I traveled on our hard earned money to our first destination together – Mauritius for our honeymoon. After we had Afzal, we headed to Melbourne and Gold Coast, and then once again, Melbourne. Those were hard earned cash too.

And by some Divine intervention, hubby received the offer to be posted to Alabama, USA, for one year, and we grabbed at this opportunity to live in a different country. Dare we say, we’d rather spent to see other states in the USA, then to come home to Singapore and not being able to travel that far again. So while living there, we’ve headed to Florida, Atlanta (Georgia), Mississippi, Louisiana, Los Angeles etc.

I’ve always been a travel bug, and am ever-willing to travel for work. However, when Afzal came to the picture, I’d rather stay put for him, but am willing to travel with him

Thus, being well-heeled, I’m definitely not. And if my memory serves me right, I once heard which is statistically unverified, that there were about 400 well-heeled Malays in Singapore. Well-heeled, in this case, to mean having a household income beyond $10k a month. That’s a paltry number considering the number of Malays or Singaporeans in Singapore, but I’m way way below that income level to be part of that statistic. So I’m not well-heeled.

I don’t mind being labeled a rare breed Malay, but then again, what is a rare breed Malay?

What do you call your dad?

Dads will be called by many of us Malays – ayah, abah, bapak, daddy, papa and wonder what else. But how many called their dads - father. Yes, father. As in “Father, dah makan?” “Besok father kerja?” “Mak dengan Father are going for a holiday.”

I called my bapak just that – father. But mak – mak, not mother.

I don’t know how it came about, but parents are the ones who trained their kids to address them by a certain title or name of affection, and so my ayah decided that he be called father. In my younger days, my friends find it weird. How many people have you heard calling their abah – father, eventhough in writing, you may write just that. “My father sent me to school,” for example.

We’ve asked our papa this question, and he just never really thought much about it when he decided to be called father. Perhaps he finds it cute or charming, but I really don’t know. And since we are trained, we can’t think of anything else to call him except father. And funny thing is, this particular title is so synonymous with my dad, that even some of our relatives affectionately called him father. Yes, father, and not pakcik, uncle, granduncle or tok. Some may addressed him as Busu, while others may refer to him as Tok Mahat if they are talking to their children but, the younger cousins and most of the cousins’ kids called him father. At one time, someone even suggested Tok Father.

It looks like father is the word synonymous with him. But with Afzal, he will always be known as datuk.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

I bought The Kite Runner and The Da Vinci Code on the way back to Singapore from Alabama, knowing that it will be a long flight home, and I need something to keep me occupied in case there are no other forms of entertainment and I couldn’t get any forty winks. As I have not read novels in such a long time, I wondered whether I will be able to finish reading these two acclaimed and one partly, controversial novel. I did, much to my own amazement.

I read DaVinci on the flight, and it kept me awake while hubby and little kiddo were catching up with their much needed sleep. I was intrigued, and can’t help wondering the truths or myths of Dan Brown’s claims. It definitely requires much discourse with someone who has read the book, or someone in the know of things, if there is ever such a person.

What’s more astounding is that, I read The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini in double speed time. Sidney Sheldon used to be one of my favourites when I was younger and I have read many of his novels and simply can’t put them down. With The Kite Runner, I am so immersed and felt transported into its fictional realm, and yet it felt so real. I imagined myself being there, observing the going-ons in the lives of Amir and Hassan.

After I reached Singapore, I introduced both books to my dad. He said, he’ll read it sometime. Unsuspectingly, my youngest brother took The Kite Runner since it was highly recommended by me and he took only two days to read it. Seeing that, my dad read the book, and he too, couldn’t put it down, until he finished it.

With both The Kite Runner and Da Vinci Code, it makes me forget the world that I’m in, neglecting people around me eventhough I could be in the same room as them. I felt like I was somewhere else, and I’m not too sure whether a good book is good for me, since it can make me neglectful of my chores and responsibility.

And to my surprise, it was dad who introduced me to A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini’s second novel. He had bought the book at the airport at a discount since he was a staff there, and is now reading it. He has not finished reading but I have stolen 10 chapters of it in between dad’s read. Again, Khaled has brilliantly transported me back to Herat to share the life of Mariam, as of now, this is the only character I knew that is central to the book at this point in time of the read. And I can’t wait to see what awaits Mariam, or how life is unfolding for her. He is definitely a brilliant storyteller.

“Father, can I read it now, please….?!!!”

I need beautiful thoughts

...and I need to fill my heart with happiness and let this grief go.

For now and until the dark clouds subside, let me buried myself into another world.

Understanding Malay

My British colleague picked up the phone and dialled a number of a Filipino colleague who is at another building to ask about a Filipino applicant's race which stated Malay, instead of asking this Malay colleague who sits 3 seats away. I overheard the short conversation of her surprise discovery that a Filipino is regarded as a Malay. And she asked whether in Singapore, the Filipino should be clustered as a Malay or "Others", the "Others" to mean anyone who is not Chinese, Malay or Indian. I wouldn't know what was explained to her on the other end of the line, but I would have guessed it anyway. The Filipino informant said that they should be clustered as "Others".

Intrigued with this new discovery, my British colleague looked at me, almost beaver-eyed, "how interesting... I mean to think, that Malays in Singapore is 99.9% Muslims but the Malays in Phillippines is 99.9% Roman Catholic." She was trying to swallow this new intriguing nugget of information with much amazement. I guess the "interesting" bit is perhaps, after being here for over five years, she must have thought Malay to be synonymous with being Muslim, only to discover that the Filipinos, who are predominantly Roman Catholics are Malays too. That was an eye-opener for her as well as for a Chinese Chinese colleague who have also heard this for the first time.

I've never really think much of this, as I never had contacts with Filipinos until recently. My husband was the first one to tell me this information as he had contacts with Filipino colleagues, and at that time, I find it interesting too but never bothered to go beyond finding out any information as to what or why they are being called Malay, the same as us. In the first place, is there really an us and them, or are we the same in many ways, except in the religion department?

Currently, I'm working quite closely with four Filipino ladies, all holders of masters degree, and though we are friendly, we have never bonded on a Malay level. Somehow, I've never think of them as Malays, but definitely Filipinos, and I do wonder what they think of me. Perhaps, they have similar view as I do. Maybe one day, we should get together for coffee and discover our Malay-ness or Malay roots, and what does it mean to be Malay. Until then, here's a definition of Malay from this

site

1. member of SE Asian ethnic group: a member of a people who inhabit the Malay Peninsula, Indonesia, and other islands of the Malay Archipelago and the Philippines

2. language of Malaysia: an Austronesian language spoken in Malaysia and in parts of Singapore, Borneo, Sumatra, Java, and surrounding areas. Native speakers: 22 million - 100 million.

Apart from the above definition, besides Malays who have travelled and lived elsewhere, and are not counted as being indigenous, there are indigenous Malays in South Africa, also known as Cape Malay.

So what does being Malay to you means? Especially if you are Filipino, South African, Singaporean, Indonesian, Bruneian or Malaysian...or even immigrant Malays living in other parts of the world.

We will be moving again...

...but still within the confines of Singapore shores.

The property market is the craziest ever this period. While some are getting richer and fatter pocketing money to the tune of millions, there are others, property-less people like me, who just need a nice roof to sleep under, and yet we are strickened by this sudden rise in property prices and the government is not doing anything about it.

Imagine the landlord is asking for a $800 rise in the rental price of the place that we're currently staying. That's really cut throat. Eversince we came back from Singapore, we have not decided to buy a house. Rather than describing our situation as "unsettling", I would prefer to think that we want to be "mobile". Buying a house now would tie us down so we would like to see what our situation will be in say two years time before we decide to buy or not to buy.

Guess we are thinking of going global...hopefully, wherever this bumi Allah will take us. Insya Allah.

Tis the season to be jolly...with lots of damage to the wallet

June school holiday has never been an issue until this year. This year where Afzal is in so-called "dah sekolah betul" (proper school) like as if he was never in proper school before. In other words, no more gallivanting or going on holidays at our whims and fancies or at any time of the year except on official school holidays. But we are kind of a level-headed parent, we never suka-suka do that except when we were in US. The reason is we have to go back to Singapore during our festive occasion or when the occasion was necesary and it does not coincide with the US school's holiday.

Since this is the season to be jolly, we had done many things jolly or otherwise. Afzal did pretty well in the first half of school and since he will be going through or rather went through a "coming of age ceremony", mama gave him a surprise.

Nintendo DS lite with all the works. Yes, the damage was quite huge as mama bought herself a digital camera too.

Circumcision ceremony for Afzal and his two other cousins. Pictures and blog to be posted at multiply soon, real soon when Mama finds the time to upload the pictures in her laptop at home.

A holiday trip to A'Famosa with the hubby's siblings, nieces and nephews. We stayed at a 4 bedroom bungalow with a pool and that was a blast for the kids. More pics and update later, if ever.

Homework to catch up with since Afzal has to write about his holiday, and guess what, something happened to the Nintendo DS Lite barely two weeks of conception and it was all partly due to mama's negligence, yes mama's, not Afzal. Another damage both to the expensive toy and mama's purse again maybe.

Till mama feels sane again...

Is there such a thing as...

...a maid destress therapy? If there is, I need one.

There are many types of maid stories in the news. The ones that were abused by the employers, on one hand, and the others that abused their employers' relations like murdering the mother and mutilated the kids. Then there are the heroic employers and employees, where they each nominate the other for being 'heaven sent'.

The last time I came into close contact with a maid was some seven or eight years ago, when my maternal grandfather was ill. My mother and one of her nephews (grandfather's grandson) decided to take a maid to care for my ailing grandfather.

She is a sure blood-sucker. Tell her not to do something, and she still did it. Everytime she spoke to her husband or cannot get through to him on the phone, she will cry and be moody. She blamed my mom's nephew for not sending her letters to her husband. When she did not like what was being told to her, she showed the 'black face' and often raised the temperatures of my mother and her nephew with her favourite line of "terserah" (as you wish). Initially, we wanted to let her continue working even after my grandfather's demise, but her attitude was intolerable. She was sent back, and that was it.


Now, let me tell you why I need a maid-destress therapy.

My current maid is not like the maid above. She will not show me a black face. If she was being reprimanded by me, she will show me a confused look or a silly smile. Except with two or three occasions, where I was really angry and upset, most of my reprimands were rather mild. So maybe, that's the reason for the silly look on her face that sometimes irks me. But, but, but, she is really good at playing psychology.

This maid likes to tell me of her "dreams", fabricated or otherwise. She would tell me she dreamt that her mother was sick, or her father died. So when this happened before, I told her one day, that if she wishes to call home or goes home, she just needs to tell me, there is no necessity to create some dreams. But no, she would meekly and adamantly say that it happened in her dreams,"Oh iya, saya mimpi, betul." But of course, her parents are fine alright.

Last evening as I was cooking in the kitchen and she was there to help me, there was the usual conversations here and there, and finally the topic of "I had dreams" came up again. OK, there she goes again, I told myself.

This time, she told me she dreamt about 'qiamat' (doomsday). That actually gave me a shudder. The reason being, I dreamt about 'qiamat' some few weeks back too. I only told my husband about it. Sidetrack: When I dreamt about 'qiamat', the visions of which were different from hers, I was really scared. I actually woke up in cold sweat, my heart beating really fast and my lips kept saying Nauzubillah. The time on my handphone showed 4.33 am.

Then she went on. She said she even dreamt about ghosts. And that there is actually one in my house.

That's it! That really irks me. I've lived in this rental house for nearly a year, and I feel really fine and comfortable and this maid had the cheek to play with my mind. She not only want me to believe that she dreamt about ghosts but goes to the extent of claiming that my house is inhabited as well.

You see what I'm saying. She will surely ace in psychology.

Should I send her back? Because I no longer have a good feeling about her.

And so the saga continues...

After asking her about the calls and smses, and I used the word asking, not even confronting, she claimed that her brother knew that handphone number because I ever used that phone to call her kampung so that number was registered in her brother's handphone. Ok whatever...maybe my memory failed me but she remembered? Or that was part of the plan? Hmmm.

Anyway, she said she hasn't call her kampung for a while so I let her used my handphone to call her kampung. She chatted with her brother for a little while and as always, she would have a confused look on her face. Later I asked what her brother wanted, and she told me a story. It could be true, no?

...of how her kampung was inflicted with drought and the crops did not grow well and that basically the crops either died or cannot be sold. So the menfolk have to migrate to the city to find work. Not a bad idea eh, I thought, if the menfolk have to move to the city for a while to find work until a better harvest comes.

And then I asked again, "Did he ask you for money?"

"Yes."

"So?"

"I dont know."

So here goes:-

"Last time when I worked for my previous employer, I borrowed $300 in advance."

I looked at her with a stoned face, I said, "Even if you ask from me, I wouldn't lend you any money."

"How long have you worked here?

"Four months"

"How much do you have?"

"$100"

"Do you want to send that money back?"

"No"

So she doesnt want to send her money back, but hinted that she might want to borrow $300 from me. Was I mean? The reason I was having doubts was because her brother sms said he wanted to get a new handphone, not because of some withered crops.

She meekly asked for advice on what she should do.

So I asked her again, "What's your objective of coming to work here?"

She kept quiet.

"Didn't you intend to build a house?"

"Yes"

"So, if you keep spending money (she used the little money that she earned to splurge on some little stuffs for herself ...like red underwear, baby tees, hand lotion, hair lotion etc) and sending money at every call from the kampung (for unnecessary things like a new handphone) .. . when are you ever going to build a house for yourself?"

She kept quiet, as if listening intently to my advice.

"And by the way, your passport is expiring in August, and you need to renew it for a fee that you have to pay yourself, but if you feel you need the money, you don't need to renew your passport. I can send you back."

Period.

Four months and a week after having her...

I'm having doubts that I can have a chummy relationship with the domestic helper. Not that I was expecting to be a buddy with her, but at least, an understanding employer. She was ok, I thought. And I see a possibility of renewing her contract after two years. But I couldnt help feeling angry with her for not telling me straight that she made a hole in one of my scarves during ironing, and not a cheap one at that. I asked her what she did the whole day, but nothing of burning a hole in my scarf came up until much later in the night, when I realised she hasn't washed a pailful of scarves that was left in the morning in the laundry. We left her alone in the house in the morning and came back very late at night, and what was she doing the whole time? Her excuse was the clothes on the line were still not dried yet so she did not do the washing as there will be no place to hang them. I think this is rubbish, as usually she would hang them on hangers and hang it at the yard if the clothesline were full.

This may be a small tiny matter that does not personally require her to be sent back to the agency, but because of the "forget to pick Afzal up once incident", "a few times waking up later than me with the excuse that the alarm clock never ring", "her handphone issue" yes HER handphone, "another handphone issue", and the "two bright red underwear", I'm very suspicious and cautious of her.

This girl has worked here for four years in some other household before. I believed she loved the colour red, as the first time I picked her up, she was wearing a red scarf but has since not put any scarf on while working with me, though I have never stopped her from wearing them. She claimed her handphone that she bought from her previous work here is red which was kept by the agency and she will only be able to get it back after working for three months provided her work is good. So she's been bugging me to get her handphone back from her agency. But the agency claimed that they have misplaced or lost her handphone blah blah blah.

I actually gave her one handphone for use in case I need to get in touch with her or my son. But I specifically told her it's not for her personal use. If she wishes to call home, she has to inform me first, and she can use my handphone for that. But I checked the handphone that I gave her for our use and there was a call made to her brother on Apr 27, and just today, her brother smsed her twice using that handphone number. I'm beginning to feel that she is not telling the truth or she is doing things behind my back and not informing me.

I used to be nicer to her, but of late especially after she burned my scarf and woke up late again, my conversations with her is just purely instructions to do this and that. I think she realised that as well and have not made much small talk with me too. She is definitely guilty of something...

Hmmmm, so tell me...

When words matter ...

Hubby is a strange person. He is not endowed with the gift of the gab, but that does not mean he is not good with words. He is not the expressive sort, and yet he used to write short stories in Malay, comic strips in Malay and even contribute his own political analysis of situations in Malay to various local and overseas newspapers. But when asked him to talk, he gagged. When asked him to express his love for me in written form especially when it comes to my birthday cards, he will just find a nice card with nice words, and add my name on top and sign off with his name below. That's my hubby for you. Anyway, after nearly seven years with him, I did not request him to write any lovey-dovey stuff anymore but my birthday card this year is really sweet. I'm so touched. It means so much to me. Eventhough the words were not his, he bought it because it expresses his feelings so accurately and so aptly that he even blancoed two words on the card. The reason being it was a phrase from the bible, and another word, he replaced it with Allah.

I'm glad that I'm a blessing to him. And our love is a blessing from HIM.

A pat on the back...

for Malay children who took their O levels in 2005, for having done well in English.

Percentage of GCE O Level Students Who Passed English Language.

Malay - 76.7% (2004), 85.1% (2005)
Chinese - 85.5% (2004), 85.6% (2005)
Indians - 89.9% (2004), 92.2% (2005)
Others - 89.9 (2004), 92.8% (2005)
Nat.Ave - 85.0% (2004), 86.1% (2005)

So, the Malays have done very well in this area, for the first time since the statistic in 1996, the percentage have exceeded 80% and increased by substantial margins. Syabas Melayu...that means our English is powderful too! err powerful I mean.

Hopefully this will inspire us to continue to do even better.

Time to reflect again

on the past year or the past 35 years...what have I achieve? What have I done? Where am I now? Where will I be going next?

The Wage Rage is on...

If the ministers and civl servants deserve a pay raise, I believed there are others in other professions who deserve more than what they are getting now too.

Do take a look at the pay of television producers / directors in our national tv station especially those who are doing the non-English and non-Mandarin programmes. It's really way below market rate, and for some, with the amount of quality work and time that they put in, their pay is lower than that of an equally oustanding primary school teacher's salary, and the teacher had less working years as compared to the producer. It's true. I'm not kidding. Therefore, in this instance, it's not really true that civil servants pay are lower than some individuals in the private or statutory sectors. Well, maybe the other organisations are not paying them accordingly and so many have either left, or continue to suffer in silence.

I think that early childhood teachers pay also deserve to be given a scrutiny especially if the teachers come with bachelor or master degrees and years of experience. Based on some salary of preschool teachers, it really does not help to pay their bills so they may have to take on extra jobs like giving tuition...or if their hubby (if they are married) can afford it.

Passion cannot be the answer to the kind of pay these people are getting all the time. I'm sure our deserving ministers and civil servants are passionate about their jobs too.