Die when I may, I want it said of me by those who knew me best...

Papatua

2012-01-17T10:12:00.004+08:00

Been staring at an empty page now for days... wanted to write a loving tribute to my grandpa who died last Monday, January 9. But my brain just couldn't operate properly in this direction. Kimo has been suffering with ringworm and what looks to be skin infection, in general. That and his incessant biting of fingernails (and toenails!) have been ragging on my nerves, and my mood is far from feeling sensitive to what's happening back home in Sabah. But as my supervisor said to me, you always think that you won't be too affected by someone's death, and end up feeling more than you thought. So, take time to properly grieve, she said. Dear Papatua, in such a humble step, this is my attempt to acknowledge your life's impact upon mine, and my appreciation for all that you've brought.

Where do I begin about my Papatua? Well, my first memory of him as an individual, as a force to be reckoned with, is of him threatening to shoot bad people with his shotgun! In the many and seemingly endless trips to the kampung to visit my paternal grandparents' house in the country during my childhood, the weekend of running around with my bunch of cousins and the milling around of aunts and uncles, and the long and extra-long sessions of card-playing that the adults like to do, the event of Sunday is always fixed. It is an early rise for church in droves, about 10 cars or so would leave the compound for a convoy to St. Michael's church in Penampang. We adjourn back in Babagon, and food is consumed, the adults try to sneak in another round of cards, while the kids loiter about the front of the house, playing stones... shooting the breeze, and wondering when the moms and dads would finally make a move to go back into town, so that all could somehow switch back to thinking about the work week ahead and school. Our youngish single aunts, namely Auntie Rose and Auntie Grace, would expel a sigh at about this time, relieved that they can claim back their rooms upstairs, and check whether we have made off with any of their possessions..

In that period of time on Sunday, Papatua would magically appear. In my mind, he was non-existent until Sunday morning. His coming into the scene of those childhood trips to the kampung is remembering him talking to Mamatua, and how my grandmother was always Ati'. I swore her name was Paula, and Kadazan name Lojibi. I only learned later on that that was affectionate in a way between two familiars, and the full meaning of that was between the two. All that aside, perhaps with all the bustling of the weekend, and finally some thing had to signal a break, a faint mention of some reported hooligan out there, (or was it one of the kids mewling about, restless and wanting to go home?) Papatua would rouse himself out of his 'lazy chair' (in those days, he had a reclining chair made out of iron), and yell on top of his lungs, 'Who's that mucking about? Do you want me to take out my shotgun?" And I swear, on one occasion, he did this, and mock-attempted to shoot some imaginary fellow. My heart about pop out of my mouth. So terrified was I of this angry and strict old man.

Much, much later on in life, I get to know Papatua more, and find out that he had worked as a coolie with Harrisons and Crossfields, a British trading company in town/Jesselton. He would sweep the floors of the godown. The cunning in him said to save the bits of rice that had flung out of the gunny sacks. He said, he was made fun of by the other workers. Poor Tangit, they thought. He must be the lowest of the low; he must be desperate. That he was, for he took all the bits of rice, and over time, he and Mamatua cleaned them off, packed them in small bags and he sold them to people in Brunei. That was also one place he had worked. By the time he was done with Brunei, he came home an at old age at the time of about 28 or so, to marry. He chose my grandmother, a neighbour. My dad says he had a lot of admirers, but he chose someone ten years his junior. The next thing I know of Papatua in regards to work was that he was a leader of sorts, given many titles, Village Head (KK) as well as 'Ketua Anak Negeri', Head to Native leaders. He was literate in English and was part of the Native leader group that helped the British administration navigate roads for Penampang interiors. Sometimes, I heard people think of him as 'OKK', Orang Kaya-Kaya, or 'the rich people'. But this was not impressed on my mind while growing up that he was a rich person, or that we were then rich through that, etc. Yes, his work life can be filled out more for me. Perhaps I can ask my dad to write out what his dad used to do for work, and so on.

Whether he liked it or not, Papatua is also remembered for his personal life, and perhaps very much so, because from him there are now 60+ of us. That's 3 wives, close to 20 children, about 30 grandchildren, and the remaining 10 or so great-grandkids. There are highs and lows with such a concoction of course, and those stories will have to fill another page sometime. Did he love everyone of us? This is probably the only question to have, sometimes when people we love pass on. I think he did, very much. He had many cross words, of course, to so and so in the family. But with all the history among us all, I remember him to always have a moment or two to talk with us, and at times, even longed to be with us, for our company. This he felt more, I think, in the past few years. I will remember his conversation with me about prospecting for land, and thinking that his contemporary Mahathir, famed Malaysian leader, would think highly of him for this. Much to the chagrin of his older kids, my dad and an aunt, he actually attempted to hire a taxi one day to take him some 4 hours away to 'his land'. No matter that this piece or pieces of land were real, but the thought of a 90+ year old man loitering around in a strange place was not a welcome one.

Last but not the least, for this brief narration of Papatua's life, I will always remember his last birthday, he was presented with two cakes and one had Happy 95th, the other Happy 96th. When he was asked, what his real age was, he said, "Well, I think I am 97!" We had a good laugh at that. Well, he was 95 when he passed. Would it have been 97, he would still have been a septuagenarian :) The last of the senior Kinajil men to bid this earth adieu, Papatua joined his two brothers whom died two years previous, one after the other. A whole generation has gone (well, sorry, his sister is still around), we now rewrite history again. But we never forget where we come from, or what we're made of, and of whom supplied that inner strength and will. God bless you, Papatua! May you live an eternal day in the sun...

Good to be back home again

2012-01-01T10:28:00.005+08:00

What a rotten morning this 1st January, I thought. No one could find my house slippers after our big move yesterday. I thought I would never see my red hand-woven leather slippers from Ahmedabad ever again. Not even a reward of big fat juicy kiss could bring slippers to being. Several miserable hours later, after pushing myself to pack away the little household goods we have (don't worry, it always start with one kitchen towel and free white plastic spoons from KFC) and after some kind of hullaballoo with K (ending with tears and the dreaded papasut (a visit to the spank-o-drome), I searched for my keys, grabbed them and went to the car to search for slippers myself. Lo and behold, slippers were right there in the front seat lying still like dead fish. "Wendell! Wendell! I wish I can give myself a big fat kiss", I said. Haha...

My feisty bits are now toning down. I was prepared to get angry the whole day, paying no mind to the adage of starting out on the right footing in the new year... But as it turns out, what is lost is found; what is new bears the same goal as last time... To be more in tune with self, more in love with everybody else; more inspired; more unhurried... Less bothered by things that do bother... more bothered by things that should bother... then to be happy with the littlest of things: my old slippers showing up; Kimo proceeding to finish his food inspired by his warrior ancestor; the firmness of our old futon mattress; this huge free TV showing 'Phantom of the Opera' from which I sit on this comfy free sofa... indeed, to be more thankful with ONLY the things that DO matter in life... Happy New Year all!

Christmas 2011

2011-12-24T11:30:00.002+08:00

Kimo fixing the ornaments on our small Christmas tree. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all!

Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall. ~Larry Wilde, The Merry Book of Christmas

"Just wait 5 minutes..."

2011-12-07T20:15:00.002+08:00

My gosh, but you know you're in Canberra when even in the summer you need to have your heater on! Yes, the cold welcomed us quite immediately. People often think that the south of Australia, such as Tasmania, would bear the frigid temperatures. But those in Canberra know better :) Cos the close-to 20 degrees difference day to night is something to get used to.

Almost a week in since we left Sabah, and Kimo is now feeling his first few pangs of homesickness aka longing for Sabah. We accidentally elicited this from him today. I had played a typical Sabahan tape in the car this aftern,oon as we went to file our application for housing at the realtor's. Suddenly Kimo said, "We must go back to Sabah this July, okay Mama? I miss Dodu (Grandma)".

The cold, housing, Kimo... in the early days still in our adjustment period. Soon, we'll be in our own place instead of this short-term rental. And all too soon, we'll experience once again the hum-drum of our life here. Then, one day, all these will end, just as my studies will... and a new chapter begins once again... beckoning us to pack up once again and set sail for distant shores...

Going home

2011-09-10T08:35:00.004+08:00

People often say of a good thing that they can't believe how short time has been in doing it, whether they fully realized or not that the thing in the first place has been a good thing itself. I guess it is that moment when one suddenly understands that no one has the power to stop time from fulfilling its destiny, and that is to write history upon our selves and hearts, and to continue that process upon every soul on this earth. We are mere witnesses to what is Life, even as our life was used in bits and parts to create that overarching presence. In this grand scheme of things therefore, I must bid adieu to the process that has been this research/fieldwork and life journey rolled into one. Not now! But soon...

As usual, I for one don't want to stare down that tunnel's end just yet... I'm not close to ready to say 'goodbye' to anything, to anyone. But, I guess it's a mild relief to be able to pen my thoughts down for the moment to self-reflect and claim the obvious onset to the finale. Also, per the usual steps to winding down work and start up the relocating end of things, the logistical details of the next stage of our lives is all-consuming, and it's taking responsibility of the immediate nitty-gritty that keeps us forward at the moment. For instance, we still have to sort out where we'll live in Canberra next; Kimo's schooling matters; Wendell's work and workplace. We are pressed with thinking of how much $ we need to have this time round till the entire study journey ends; who's going to take care of Luna and Ozzy when we go; who's going to take/buy our soon-to-be ex-house furniture and stuff? Have I gone through all my junk piles hiding in boxes and underneath beds? And etc.

Wow... all I can say, again, is this journey's coming to an end... the next chapter will be unfolding soon... time has flown... it's been sweet... revealing... tough... challenging... hopeful... it's been everything!

G'day to all!

Simpatico (short story)

2011-08-04T19:19:00.004+08:00

With one hand propped under her left chin, Mariella looked to the casual observer as someone trying hard to steel herself from a wave of boredom. This was about right. As the afternoon lunch stretched into its second hour, Mariella was listening to a rehash of her friend June's latest escapades. In the new Italian gastro-pub in town, both gals had taken time off from their busy schedules: June to lean on her older best-girlfriend; Mariella to give support to her younger best-girlfriend perhaps one too many times.

June went on lamenting about how she's been coerced into distributing 200 coupon booklets by way of Ethel, the other best-friend in the mix. Another round of coffees ordered, June continued by saying, "You know, she dared to slam the phone down on me the other day! She just likes to force these kinds of things on me. Doesn't she get it that people don't like to be forced?" "Huh", Mariella said nonchalantly. June's weakness was not knowing her limits when it comes to friends and family. A natural-born giver, June's penchant for helping is legendary. Why, even Mariella had been on the receiving end. How many times has she sent that secretive late-night SMS to June for a short-term loan? June's position as a well-heeled single lady connected to so-and-sos but without small mouths to feed enabled her to line her purses comfortably, and her well-meaning friends, Mariella included, took advantage of that.

"Mell, you okay? June stopped her Ethelogy after sensing that Mariella had dropped off planet earth. "Hmm?", Mell said, slowly coming back to the now cooling afternoon in that Italian Sabahan outlet. "Nokuo ko tii?", June poked. "What's up with you? You've been kind of... strange... this afternoon? Is it Brian kah?" Apa lagi dia buat?". At this comment, Mell pressed her lips together tightly, this unconscious move unknown to Mell confirmed to June that the former's other half was again up to his usual antics. A long furtive sigh filled the uncomfortable gap between the two ladies. "Dunno lah, June... Bah, mari lah, let's go before the traffic-jam starts all over again". Mariella's eyes had that 'don't ask anymore, please' glare. June knew better than to prod her now, but knew that sometime tonight, she might get a call from Mell asking to meet some place quiet and subdued so that she can unleash all these pent-up emotions from having to put up with the dead-beat husband-father of hers.

The crest (ss)

2011-07-29T10:45:00.005+08:00

The baby was unwell again, and for the second time this week, she was sending a message to her boss's cell telling him that she will be coming in late, again. She also quickly shot off an SMS to her mom. She'll have to get her mother to step in for the day and take care of Joel for her, since daycare would be out of the question. Equally non-existent would be her husband's help. As an operation manager of a tour company, Mark was seldom available to help out with childcare details, let alone take off for the day and babysit a sick baby. With every sweep of the eye-shadow brush, Samantha fought to keep that particular thought out of her head that morning. The past year had been tough going beginning with the pregnancy, her worst ever. At about the same time, Mark got his promotion, while the older two kids, Leontin age 8 and Kierabelle age 5, were going through their own child developmental changes. Sam was truly exceptionally exhausted by the days' end. Mark was well... Mark. More than craving for him to pitch in more at home, she had noticed the slow but steady draining of his attention.

The made-up reflection passed off as a middling 30s as opposed to her early 40s. Sam was secretly pleased that of the one thing that tends to pull at the corners of her mouth early in the day, her slow-fading beauty was not one of them. She would always think that it was always her cheekbones and graceful smile that her charm were located, even after Mark would leave her the very next day for a trip, undiscussed and undisclosed, to return a day later significantly different in all sense of the word.

Last sunset (short story/ss)

2011-07-28T22:14:00.010+08:00

Soft, cool, billowy... the windy beach had been her daily treat for the past two weeks and more. As she watched the pair of surfers attempt their final swim, she cast her eyes again over the horizon now tinged with pale peach, a sure sign that night would come after. Maureen had been sitting on the same rock for over an hour. In a short beach outfit, she had been chilled with goosebumps all over by the evening breeze. It was her last sunset on the island she had called home for the past four years. She was not ready to go, she knew that, because her throat would stuff up every time she tried to go past that sad emotion. But harder still was to stop her tears from spilling. That she couldn't fight, and she had let her heart go all out this last day. For she had been both the happiest and saddest in all her life this past years. Loving Hawaii; meeting Jason; loving Jason; losing Jason; leaving Hawaii...

Maureen came to Hawaii for college from the Malaysian side of Borneo island. She was lucky to get funding for library science studies. A program by her state government sponsored deserving students for overseas study, and she had made an application for it. Even though she was not one of those getting scholarships, she was later offered a study loan, which she took eagerly as it was her childhood dream to go overseas and study in a university there.

Maureen had been a quiet child with a curious mind. While girls her age were actively pursuing friendships in school, Maureen was pondering about things such as, whether the TV was some kind of propaganda, as she couldn't believe it that there were 'white people' living on the other side of the world. In her then line of reasoning, she had probably wondered also whether the earth was really round! Nevertheless, it lodged in her mind that one day she would travel to this part of the world where the 'orang putih' (white people) live, to see for herself what they were all about, if their western culture portrayed on TV was real. Were the orang putih always that affectionate among themselves, she often wondered.

The hugging and kissing among family members, and between couples, were something so strange for Maureen, and she secretly wished she could experienced that kind of closeness with her own family, a loving family albeit very Asian in their values. A grunt coming from her father was equivalent to a symphony of praise. Maureen also secretly relished the idea that perhaps even to be in love with someone from that kind of culture so different from hers would be thrilling, exciting and eye-opening.

Jason didn't enter her life till the second semester that she was there at the university. Naturally, they would meet at the library, her second home by then. To supplement the funds she received monthly, she spent all her free hours working at the university library. She didn't mind this sole attachment to the library. Libraries have always made her feel more at home than the home that she grew up in, which wasn't exactly a bad place. But the feeling of being surrounded by books, detailing all the marvelous places that she'd see one day and of the wonderful things to do, she felt like a different person each time she came to the library, with each read. Jason was the same way. And as he kept coming back to the library to source for his English literature references, he kept running into Maureen, as she carted books back to their shelves; as she checked out his books; as she locked up the library down at night only to find that he was still glued to this book and that.

One day, after ending her shift, Jason came to her at the bike rack as she was unlocking her bike, and said a tentative 'Hi'. This jolted Maureen so much, but in a good way. Her normally head-in-the-clouds self came thundering down to land solidly on that red island soil. Apart from remembering smiling shyly and saying 'Hi' back to Jason, Maureen remembered tracing her eyes over Jason's orang putih face, noticing that his eyes were not just categorically blue, but like a suede blue, and that his hair was a flat blond kind of colour, she couldn't even tell what specifically. With the usual cool-and-collected greetings university students like to pass among themselves, Maureen found herself in the beginnings of a conversation, as she wheeled her bike along Jason's. Down they walked the shady boulevard to the main street. Milling around were other students and teachers, some with heads stuck in the clouds; some seem to walk on clouds. Between the bicycle rack and somewhere before Maureen and Jason's bicycles touched the curbside, they both knew that it would be a short semester for the both of them.

Blurred and out-of-focussed

2011-07-25T10:49:00.011+08:00

Our weekend project was to clear up and out these piles of photographs laying about our house. Thinking that it would be a fun family project to do, Kimo took a total of only 10 minutes to sort out on the living room carpet his 30 odd baby photos from the NICU. Then, it dawned on me that these photos accumulated over the years, as in throughout my lifetime, mostly belonged to me, and that I would need a substantial amount of time (though not an entire lifetime) to weed them out, and retain only the most memorable ones.

But how do you go through a mountain of good old photos? Well, my eyes were sorely treated, literally, to not just graying and yellowing photos, but to a host of out-of-focussed and blurry shots that no matter how careful my eyes adjusted themselves for appreciation's sake, I just couldn't imagine wanting to keep them. So, in they went to the reject pile. Yes, those beautiful memories with family and friends, despite being momentous at the time, no longer held up to this current light of day. More old photos of pets, plants, cars, food, strange signs and strangers - all interesting but all quizzical (just what was that thing??) - went into the rubbish bin.

So, what did I retain? Well, the physical appearance of the photos were not at fault to begin with, that is, if we count how different the technology was then and now. In so saying, the photographer (me, mostly) was supremely at fault for not mastering the tool and for haplessly going about snapping this and that. So, while it was easy to retain the clearest and newest-looking of photos, between two somewhat aged and blurry pics, I chose the one that held the most positive of memories. For among those graduation pictures and old boyfriend ones, it was clear which was the winner :) To everything else, I needed only one good shot of our old kitties, Dulcie and Destiny, to remind me of what joy it was to have them in our lives.

Okay, 10 questions, quick! Settle down, so we can begin. Kimo adjusted himself excitedly under the sheets, but it looked to me like a bundle of bones and skin trying to fluff up and bounce around and giggle at the same time. Into the 10 questions we go, more fluffing up of bed covers, bones, skin, and that giggle fit between each question, Kimo asked, "Where is God?". I replied, "God is in my heart. Here feel my heart, can you hear it pounding? God helps my heart to beat, he did that". Oh-oh-oh, said Kimo excitedly, "Let me get my stethoscope!". He had received one for his Christmas present last year. So, Kimo feels my heart with it. "Can you hear my heartbeat?" I said. "Yes", he said. "Feel yours now", Kimo positions the scope to his heart. "What does your heart sound like?". "It sounds like the ocean", he said. "Sounds like drums beating, too", he said again. "Drums and oceans, huh?", I said sleepily. Following this question was the question, "How much do you think of God?". Woah, I didn't expect that. Like a kid hoping to get an easy question in a maths test only to discover that the teacher included a subjective one, my heart did skip a beat as I tried to answer one of the greatest question of mankind to his Creator.

Junebug

2011-07-16T15:02:00.007+08:00

(continuation of 'short story'):

June was a simple nobody. Well, at least to her. As a secretary-of-sorts to a so-called 'wealthy independent politician', her nosy cousins and several of her rumour-mongering aunts had her up on a pedestal for supposedly having climbed a higher level of social class. Oohh, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous in town now, are we? they would say. And June will just give a half-shrug to blow off their question.

If they only knew, she sighed. That she did the most ridiculous of things at the behest of her boss. For instance, she often had to play interceptor - receive calls on her boss's secret hand-phone to intercepting calls from this one handphone, where she often takes cryptic messages for her boss, *Datuk R. From scheduling his forays with girlfriends to so-called 'business partners', June also finds herself sucked in more and more into Datuk's messy life, especially when his wife calls, a quiet little thing, to ask for Datuk's weekly schedule. This happens when Datuk doesn't pick up his regular official phone, the only number privy to the wife. When this happens, a made-up 'schedule' comes up magically out of nowhere per instructions by Datuk, of course.

Frankly, June was sick and tired of getting involved with her boss's phones and life, even though she doesn't draw a bad salary from being in the middle of all of that. But this time, and on days like these, on bad days, she didn't have the extra energy to remain calm and submissive to her boss's beck and call. To be honest, June actually pities Datuk for his many indiscretions. June shakes her head in recollection - how many times has she caught Datuk's clients and business partners smirking and exchanging sly glances amongst themselves when all three of Datuk's hand-phones will ring.

At 39, June was well aware that while her many female cousins think her as this successful career woman, they also feel sorry for her love-less and childless state. One time, she overheard a cousin whisper about at a family gathering, "How is she (Jane) ever going to feel fulfilled in her life, not having a family of her own? You know, a woman feels complete when she experiences pregnancy and childbirth". That voice so thin and shrilly yet soft had the effect of the scratchy nail scene where teachers would do that to intimidate students.

Needless to say, June although having comfortably lounged around with other cousins and aunts in the living room would suddenly develop a case of stomach cramps. A little while later, June would concoct up needing to leave the party in order to attend to some extra work at the office. She would then make her escape in her tomato red Mini Cooper, a company car that Datuk got just for her, for 'being such a loyal secretary all these years', he said. With Il Divo or some classical music playing loud and strong as she'd drove, June would seek to empty her mind of any negative thing. Then drop by the nearest KFC for a whole bucket of fried chicken and as many cheesy potato wedges she could eat, and proceed to hole herself up at home, eating and watching Astro till late. So late that the feel of the almost get-together with her relatives would become minute, become a non-feeling, a nothing to care about.

*Datuk : honorific title given as a sign of respect for leadership and contribution to society.

I let slip (short story!)

2011-07-16T08:08:00.009+08:00

(Short story - for a lack of something nice/real/good/juicy to share!)

"I mean, it's such a small thing, and anyone can do it. So, don't tell me that you can't or won't..." At that last note, June heard a faint but audible sigh of disgust through the telephone line. The next thing she knew, she had disconnected the phone, ending the conversation abruptly with her good friend of over 15 years. Space and time lapsed for that single moment, and a familiar feeling of constriction creeped up her throat signaling the stress that was invading her being.

June knew that nothing could have stopped her from reacting that way. "Don't fight your own feelings", a friend-turned-counselor said to her just the other day. "Let it warm you... help you feel whatever it is... good or bad...", but these words did nothing to bring down the commotion June felt within, each time her emotions got in the way. Everything was imploding that very minute: the anger she felt for being locked into a position of giving aka 'helping'; her own self-disgust at her inability to say "No" to any project coming her way.

Perhaps what troubled her more than anything was the overwhelming sadness she felt coursing through her senses, as this, this lack from her to thoroughly feel her own feelings, was yet again something that would wedge itself in her attempts at holding down friendships, or any relationship, for that matter. For June was perhaps the most deficient when it comes to number of friends. Yet, she is seemingly happy to go through life connecting briefly, but succinctly with this person or that. Mariella, a patient motherly soul, was the most constant friend she's had throughout the years. Elda, a vibrant goal-getter, was the other, and with that recent fiasco, maybe no longer. Interestingly, June thought, Elda always seem to know how to rub her the wrong way.

Rooted at the spot by the kitchen window, where the mobile connection had been the strongest, June fought the constriction at her throat and chest. She had a thought about the pressure she felt. Someone said somewhere that when people feel stress at a certain part of their body, it comes out as a feeling of illness or a sudden lack. For instance, when one feels 'sick to the stomach', one is most likely nervous or scared about something, and when someone is 'loss for words', then one is literally feeling the heavy band of stress around his/her throat and neck area.

Jeremy, the neigbourhood's quintessential elderly and engaging gentleman and the newsstand operator, asked her the other day to consider whether she felt that Elda (yes, she often finds herself sharing tidbits of information of her small circle of friends to strangers) is a blackmailer of sorts who enjoys getting her involved in something she didn't feel like doing. What me? Being 'blackmailed'? June would say, in a semi-earnest way. Jeremy or Mr. Lai or Uncle J would ask this in the most nonchalant way possible, and yet June would never see the kind sympathetic glow about Jeremy's wise old eyes.

So, daily, to Jeremy's daily greeting of "So, how's the world been treating you lately?", June would mumble about this and that, but eventually speak of going to bed with guilt on her mind. And that was exactly what June felt at the precise moment, guilt with a capital 'G'. Surrounded by last night's dishes, by that kitchen sink she stood and thought that her emotional self was shot, and that once again she felt obliged to Elda's will. June was both sick to her tummy and at loss for words.

Sunday, sunday...

2011-06-05T13:29:00.006+08:00

Well then, I have two blokes down with the flu... and I am left to my own devices for entertainment. What do I have to say? Yes! I am free as a bird, till for when they get up! So, I decide to nurse my puny little blog here to some semblance of what it was, before leaving Kamberra.

You know, I truly love to talk/share about some of these amazing and revealing things that I had gone through in life. But I tend to hold back, and wonder if I am not over much! Then after I've conquered my fear (like now), I don't know where to start! Hmmpff, girls! Really! ;) But, okay, here's about the time I went to visit a certain someone halfway around the world, only to be have my heart broken into a million pieces...

So, sigh, okay, there I was at a conference when I met this guy. Blond hair and blue-eyed, with a rugged jawline, what girl in me, didn't think that he was a fine catch! So, when after the conference, he invited me to sight-see his hometown, I jumped at the chance. He was courteous to me all the time that I was there in his 'kampung'. I met a couple of his friends, and it was nice to meet them. A year later, I found myself visiting him again, joining him and another couple for a cruise! Wow, the crossing of the mighty Atlantic, and the places we went to... magical, wonderful, amazing...

However, at the end of that visit, Mr. Blond and I ended up in a funny sad way. All was not cut out to be, and these are some of the ugly pieces to the picture-perfect story above: 1) when I went to visit his town the first time round, he was not all that accommodating - it was more like he had spoken in haste, when inviting me out there the first time; 2) when I went to visit the second time round, his mom's eyes shot daggers out at me - I was obviously too low for her son; and perhaps the most pathetic is 3) the other 'couple' that joined us for the cruise was actually his ex and a guy friend from work. Needless to say, it was not a piece of cake sharing the same bunk with the ex of a guy that I had the hots for.

What happened next was too common in any love went awry. My sweet professions of love went over his head and down the drain, as he grappled with remnants of his feelings for the ex, and as he debated with his feelings for a future with me. That journey back to where I came from initially was tough, i.e., it must have been tough... but somehow today, I can't remember the minute details of it! Wonder why? Selective memory at its best? :) Anyway, what I do remember was the warmth of the sun as he and I watched people in the park; the cold of the wind up on the deck of that huge liner; the lazy sunny afternoon at his parents... then the downward spiral: the thwarted embrace; the stony silences; the long walks; the loneliness and regret from having become so vulnerable...

So, why does love make people do things that they've never done before, and hence, be seen as having done stupid things? Well, I dunno... but that's why the adage, "Love is blind" and "Only fools rush in" :) Well, I say a big fat 'Whatever! ...but thanks' to all the things of the past in the love department. Point is, one can always learn from the past, whether it was plain to see or not at the time. To strive to do otherwise will make me a complete fool. I think Mr. Blond today must be happy, and if I'm not mistaken, I see that he is when I happened on a recent photo of his with his child. I don't know whether his ex became the present missus though, as we lost touch quickly after the summer romance. As for me, this story has been so long ago that now if I think about it, I often feel that whatever it was, and might have been, we shouldn't wish ill on our past loves, cos everyone deserves to be happy!

p/s Speaking of exes, an ex wrote me recently to ask how life had treated me since, and was pleased that I had gone on a decent path, as did he. He said, "I'm glad to hear that you have gotten married and have a family on your own now, as that is really what life is all about". Indeed :)

Hawaii no ka oi

2011-05-18T20:11:00.003+08:00

Hawaiian music streaming thru Internet waves...
Child playing at the computer...
Man eating rice and eggs...
Cats waiting for scraps...
It's just another day... with Hawaii on my mind...

Some day, one day, we are going back to the little island we called home...
Meanwhile, I go paddle waves in my mind...
Feel the gentle breezes sifting my hair...
Fantasize on the smells of foods... poke, laulau, lomi salmon, malasadas haupia, salmon belly from Ward fish market... Ono!!!

I love you

2011-05-08T10:44:00.003+08:00

Aaand... it's Mother's Day again! How time has flown since last MD's and this one.

So, I asked Kimo a series of questions last night before bed-time on what he has made out his dear old mom to be in all of his soon-to-be 5 years. The responses were nice and friendly, e.g., "What do you like most about your Mama?"... "She cooks for me". And, "How does your Mama look like?"... "She has short black hair, a round face, is tall and big". But the one that I will jot down as memorable for this year's MD must be this one: "Do you love your Mama?"... "Yes"... "How does that make you feel?"... "Happy. Glad. Brave". Ahhh, BRAVE indeed! So, go on, Kimo, be brave indeed to face the world and your future :)

Ok, signing out for now. We've an afternoon lunch at the usual place, and I've made a mild curry beef pie, a tomatoey beef pie and a peach pie for dessert.

Happy Mother's Day, dear mothers! And to all no-child ladies, happy day to you, too! You are our counterparts in this area, but in all others, we remain in cahoots and in solidarity forever :)

"Some people own cats...

2011-04-18T16:41:00.001+08:00

...and go on to lead normal lives." - Unknown

It has all been very bleugh lately. I read about Catherine Zeta-Jones's bipolar disorder, and I think, "Am I bipolar?". All these inactivity is not merging into hyperactivity, though. So, I guess I don't have an excuse now, as to why it is I have been sitting on my behind, waffling, couch-potatoing, doing absolutely nothing about whatever it is I have signed on to do :(

On the bright side, I have attempted to declutter my stuff, and the belongings roundabout me/us, as I tend to do whenever I find myself in a slump or two. It's as if that I realize this sinking feeling is about to turn into a deep dark hole with a tangible presence of a suction below, that I suddenly spring into action, and attempt to claw myself out of that horrible place.

I guess when you're a so-called person 'who can work independently', and when you are trusted to organize self and get the job done in a timely fashion, one is given the benefit of the doubt, and the minute details of your work is not hold up to the light at the end of the day, but at a time when one feels ready to show the world those thoughts, ideas and products done in secret. Until such time, independents have to, and in fact, must, abide by the highest self-discipline ever. No holidays till reports are turned in; put down that second serve of cake till the paragraph has been fully written up; no sleep till this chapter is completed.

These, these work rules, coupled with an easily-sensitive guilt conscience is what can help push independents to complete their contract, where the noblest of noble goals and the most lucrative of worldly incentives fail to push.

Last but not least, the idea that work is simply that, work, is something that needs apply forcefully at the crack of the working day. Work must not outweigh family, nor relaxation, nor love, nor idling by watching children, and cats, grow... for if it does, it will be like getting on a train only to find that the train going the other way was the one that we should have gone on. Life literally passing us by.

Strike a balance, people say. I say, 'Just strike! Something, anything... just strike already"... Amen to that... Happy Easter to all celebrating it. May you have productive weeks ahead!

Selamat kembali!

2011-04-11T10:27:00.002+08:00

Hi! I'm back again to this spot. Somehow, my one week away or so to the other site did nothing much to perk up my desire to play around with layout and colors. So, this tells me that nothing was wrong with my old/blogspot blog in the first place! I guess it's just me in a little lull, needing a little diversion from... :) Anyways, here I am again. We'll have to be stuck with Buddha background for awhile (blogspot still won't let me change the layout here), otherwise, we are good to go, as they say. So, stay with me for awhile, happy reading/ reading on, and aloha :)

Selamat jalan!

2011-04-04T15:38:00.003+08:00

Does anyone know why blogspace is not allowing people to re-design their blogs? For awhile now, their tool for this doesn't seem to work, at least for me. Since I like playing around with designs and colors for that aesthetic feel, I've decided to hop around a bit and "move in" to a new blog space. Under the same title, "Borneo Rain", come visit me at: http://borneorain.wordpress.com/ You know, it's nice to have a change of blog layout once in a while. Kinda like rearranging your furniture. Same old stuff; different angles new perspectives! :)

A keeper

2011-03-24T18:25:00.003+08:00

Been sorting through all my boxes, where I keep all my so-called treasures, only to find that more than half, as in almost all (!), are junk and purely junk at that :( Aduiii (Oh dearie me), how I have dragged around all these stuff from half-way round the world... There are now three large boxes of bits and ends that need trashing. ... ...Wendell has now disposed of them...

Of course, I couldn't get rid of everything! That would be like denying myself the need to have memories. I did confine the mementos to a small card box though. Not surprisingly, photos topped the list, followed by things like tickets, cards, letters, and the like. Gosh, I even keep maps from some 15 years ago. One letter was 28 years old!

My memories are so important to me. Based on those points in life that have borne witness to the strongest (and weakest) parts of myself, I form an understanding of who I was, am, and have become. All these paper-trail are reminders of my life's journey, no matter how insignificant that old torn ticket seems. Or significant... sigh, that never-torn ticket to a university homecoming will forever haunt me... why, oh why, did I not go? Bill Clinton, president at the time, was the speaker! Oh well...

Now, if only I can sort out the mountain of photo albums before me! So many photos to sort out, which to keep, which to pitch??

Für immer

2011-03-14T09:49:00.002+08:00

Ahhh... our lovebirds have finally gotten 'married' the local Sabahan way. Flory and Michael, congratulations again! Now, let's hope they can chillax from here on till they leave to go back home.

Meanwhile, I was pleasantly surprised to bump into someone at F & M's wedding party yesterday. She told me she reads my blog, to which I couldn't help gasping repeatedly, both in mild shock and embarrassment! :) I still don't quite understand why is it that people would want to 'read' me, and that they do, I feel embarrassed that I don't write often enough to be found that interesting! :) So, now, dear E, I will write regularly, again! Thanks for telling me that you can connect to me on so many levels :)

Now, sorry for this short disclaimer, but this will have to be short (I'm only remaining online long enough till Wendell gets to pick his slumbering self off the couch!), cos we're due back in the kampung to help in the party clean-up. Anyway, I must write y'all something, and if anything to try and pick up the threads of discussions here.

You know, I have had sooo many things to tell y'all, to share. But those dang things aka moments appear when I am no where near the computer, and when I do get back home, I'd plum forgotten them :( Such are my thought powers these days, so whimsical and fleeting. Doesn't bode well for my research work, I can tell you that! :) Oh well, so what/ c'est la vie! I'm sure I'll get back on track again. Let me just stretch out for the day, or week, or whatever... and regroup and reprocess some of these runaway thoughts.

In short, I am doing well. Kimo is too. And Wendell has no complains! We are fine because we're contented, it seems :) I realize that for me, I'm not so stressed-up about my work and the gazillion things to do re: work. I just told myself to get it done already, whatever it is that I so fastidiously list out on my to-do lists in my ever many diaries, journals, appointment books, and so on. Personally, I am not looking for things to fill some void in me; in my time; in my space. I mean, I wake up, and I don't have this niggling pain of a worry and for lack of fulfillment, the kind that, from the time you get up, you just can't seem to put them to rest at the day's end. So I must be doing okay! :)

Perhaps the greatest indicator of my okay-ness has come from my on-going battle with the bulge. The other day, in my constant defending (to my self) of my lack of will over maintaining a proper diet and exercise regiment, I saw the light, so to speak. I said to myself, how pitiful this whole idea is and that if I don't get to lose weight, I would yet again have to be same-old-same-old as last year, as the years gone past. So, don't let yourself down, said me, and that struck a nerve. The phrase just reverberated through my soul, me, the whole day long, and the next day, and the next. I found myself, committing to my daily walks, and etc., without going about the usual grind of whiny excuses. So, so far so good, folks! Wish me luck with this 'thing'... and will report again soon, on the whatevers of my life. Meanwhile, take care of yourself... as I care...

Birthdays

2011-01-30T08:19:00.004+08:00

It's nice when two people who know each other, family members, for instance, share the same birth dates. Kinda like when you meet someone who has the same name as yours. There's an instant connection there, and one wonders how the other fares born under the same circumstance: has all your birthdays been as good as mine, or better? How has life treated you going around as "Susie" [or "Kimo"]? Hey, do we have anything else in common?? :)

Yesterday, two special people in my life shared the same birth day. Born 55 years later was my nephew; the senior birthday boy happened to be my father. If I recall, JJ's grand entrance into the world was somewhat calculated, because the doctor attending to him had a holiday coming up, and requested that JJ be born a week or so before his holidays. So, January 29th it was for JJ. My father, Joe's experience, was uneventful, not unless if you count the fact that he was born in the tail-end of WWII, and life for all in Borneo then was still bleak for a lack of everything in general. However, no matter the beginning, the two boys are found today very happy in their own elements... and both love to read! :)

My own birthday, exactly a month ago, yesterday, is still making it's impression on me. I turned 40 last year, and I had found myself quite eagerly waiting to see what magic happens on that day. Of course, nothing terribly magical happened, but turn one year older I did, and so did my mind. Somehow, I began to want to think of myself as 'older than', rather than being one year older. I felt different than the many selves that I was in a particular point in time, in my 10s, 20s and 30s. I am bolder and stronger all because I got older.

Am I wiser? I think so... should hope so! Hmmm, this I know - I now do housework, my archnemesis, with a vengeance :) To all other things left wanting, ah, c'est la vie! :)

I want to learn Dusun

2011-01-01T09:48:00.002+08:00

Kimo had a good look at his birth papers the other day. He said, "Papa, you're 'Dusun' (ethnic group name) and Mama's 'Kadazan' ... How 'bout me? What am I?". 'Papa' says, "You're both: Dusun and Kadazan". Half an hour later at school for enrollment, teachers ask Kimo, "Would you like to learn to speak Mandarin next year?". Kimo says, "I want to learn Dusun"!

To the down-low of the low-down this New Year's, I think, what else could be in store in this New Year: how else can I let go of things not important, not useful, for my well-being, my personal growth?

For one, fretting aka worrying, and negativity, shouldn't be even close to my thought stream. But like many, I suppose I would love a wish and a blessing to set me off straight in this new year. However, when you're this old, people expect you to know your way about things, and stare life squarely in the eye, and say, "Bring it on"!

You know, I really wish no such thing. How can I? Having been at the bottom of life's reassuring list, I don't have (yet) that sort of bravado to rely on... I am more your 'all yours God, to do what you will kind of girl' these days. But interestingly, inexplicably, unavoidably, unexplainable-y, I actually like the idea that the whats and whys that have been outlined for me this year will unfold, no matter how much and long I agonize over something. My fretage will simply not buy me time or anything.

So, it's more like, having come to realize and appreciate that in the big classroom of life, if I pay attention and go with the flow of things, recognizing divine interventions along the way, then, I won't have to spend too much time going over the notes, as in, regretting and agonizing over bad God-ignored decisions. And therefore, it's these simple thoughts I believe that will guide me early in this year. To be straight and simple; good and kind; well-behaved and hospitable; happy and sporting.

Minnie L. Haskins:
...And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown. And he replied: Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.

Luna's scratched-up face

2010-12-11T11:46:00.003+08:00

It has been so long since my last post, well, long enough, that too many things have transpired and not one can be condensed to fit a single blog entry! So, c'est la vie, and let's start anew to talk about this or that.

Well, yes, poor Luna and his face. It has been so scratched up to oblivion that for the first few days that I had noticed his deranged look, I couldn't touch him without his mean growl-less snarl of a look. The culprit is none other than the smallest thing in the house, and the newest member, Master Ozzy-Pozzy, pudding-and-pie, kissed-the-girls-and-made-them-cry... no, no, scratched-the-luna-and-made-him-cry! Ozzy is so energetic (matches the energy levels of you-know-who) that my head hurts watching him and his attack-kitty modes on Luna-Lilo. Oh well! Another c'est la vie comes out from me... Today, I think I have some time on my hands to massage the hurts from Luna's face, neck, legs, and wherever else Ozzy thought to play-bite and play-scratch.

The thing is that Luna knows to let Ozzy have his way about him. Now, why is that? Why is it ever that when the 'other' in our midst is the smaller or weaker one than ourselves, we allow Nature to take its course, and let ourselves care and guard for this other/Other? I don't know... anymore... than you do, as to why, we enable ourselves to become harmed in the face of caring for our loved ones. It's as if, those younger than ourselves need to be buffeted by the harm, and pain, through our mere absorption of that harm coming their way. In other simpler words, we put ourselves in harm's way, so that people we love don't get hurt, even if it means, we allow those same people we love so much to inflict hurt and pain on us, so that they don't get to feel a measure of that pain in full. Betulkah sia cakap ni? (Am I right in saying this? (Sabah Malay language)).

In this home-away-from-home, I've been talking to all kinds of people now, and apart from my research topics, I've also spoken to many old friends now, reminiscing of how we were, what we are now, and what we could have become, and what will become of us, eventually. The thread in those discussions are perennial, and that would be to keep our families intact, well-loved and well-cared for. All of my old friends, women mostly, have gone through the phase of Luna's scratched-up face, and lived to tell their stories, painful, humorous, each resonating with the other's so well. There is no letting up truly, honestly. The hum-drum of life activities go on--the onslaught of every little life challenge continues--and the marcher marches to the beat of the incessant drum... Does it ever come to a complete lull? No more housework? No more kids' problems to deal with? No more errant and selfish husbands? Hey, don't ask me! I know only what you know...

As I watch Luna taking a nap, with scars healing, I think of his accusing eyes on me, each time I scoop up the little furry taupe-colored ball, for a snuggle. His eyes, those deep onyx pools say I betray him with our love, that I have forgotten him, and his place in this house-hold as a once top-cat, the once only furry feline to grace the halls of this apartment... I have, and nowadays, sometimes take Luna by surprise, scoop him up, all 10 over kilos of him, and snuggle him up, and speak cat-babytalk to him, telling him how sad his pitiful self is with all those unwanted scratches. How mean and naughty little Ozzy was for taunting his big old self... when that happens, Luna pretends a mock-push, succeeds, and gets on the floor in a lump. Pushing herself up in a more kingly position, he saunters off to the kitchen for some food. In the crunch-crunch sounds, I imagine him to smirk deep within himself, "Yes! I still got it! I know she loves me more than him!"

As if I need yet another friend...

2010-11-14T18:48:00.005+08:00

And so it was that Ozzy came to stay with us. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him lying on the skimpy edge of the median/divider. Hoping against hope that cars whizzing past him will not decide to go near the edge, Ozzy looked at first like a piece of old shoe or rag. Only when it moved, did I realize that it was it, the smallest kitten I had seen in a long time. I couldn't believe that it was still alive.

My first thought was to save him; my second thought was to let him be, and let nature take its course. Then, I found my brain emptying itself out of any gloomy thought. Next thing I knew, I had parked my car, and was out on the roadside waiting frantically for the traffic to thin out. Crossing quickly, I prayed that I would not see the kitty decide to meet me halfway only to have kitty brain and guts lying all about the highway.

To cut the story short, Ozzy is now our pet. He is extremely affectionate, and lacks any post-traumatic stress. His Siamese colouring upon a tabby-stripe pattern is endearing, and already he has found a place in all our hearts, and in Luna's, I might add. I don't know who's more comical: Luna hissing at Ozzy for coming too near, or Ozzy batting Luna's tail while Luna eats his food, and Luna hissing afterward! :)

As if I needed yet another distraction in the form of Ozzy, I am now into my 5th month of research, and still seeking to find my balance amid work, child, husband, home and myself. It's challenging to say the least to pocket away any time for either one of the above. I've counted up how much time I 'owe' to my research time, and think I pay it back in so-and-so days/hours.

But really, truly, time lost is lost time, and while it's nice to think that I can recover time, and so work on compiling data more, it's also nice to say 'Whatever!' and simply just start afresh tomorrow, and try harder/better. For while you were sleeping, and my brain was not in high gear, I was so dead tired trying to do everything else, and saving a cat, for that matter :)

So, yes, tomorrow is a second chance... to try managing time again... to recommit to the task ahead... to the life we have.

We are observing your planet...

2010-11-03T22:16:00.002+08:00

Two dark shiny orbs stare at me constantly. I feel like I am under surveillance by a house cat. Am I suppose to be on my best behaviour? Is it face-reading me?? I go to the bathroom, and it paws at the door wanting to come in. I let it in, and it sits right in front of me, as I do attend to my you-know-what. Again, those eyes torch into my very soul, and once again, for the very life of me, I don't know what it wants!! Would I, after a year, know what it is that is asked of my very person by an animal, a cat nonetheless? I can only pray that whatever higher state of being; of quality, I am to achieve, that I would have found out before my sojourn is through. Or maybe all what Luna wishes to convey through his inky black eyes is that I pick him up and love him, before he dishes out the meaning of life, or both...

Luna and I; Kimo and I; Wendell and I; myself and me... My life goes round and round the sun, moon, stars... planet Earth has never been more mystifying than trying to juggle everyone's needs, including mine's. One of my really I-would-love-to... type needs is to be able to share some of these happy musings of mine on my research topic: ethnicity and belonging. But alas, under university rules, I am barred from making comments in public about what it is I have come upon, at least not without, prior approval from my supervisor(s). So, in this over-consuming life I seem to have, my other needs must get some fulfillment, or else, I go batty and start snapping at everyone, including Luna, the mystic cat.

But how do I make sure I get what I need? And what is it that I need? Well, all needs can be distilled in to a gigantic need for 'rest and relaxation'. Under this banner, I go and pack me-times consisting of mini trips to the coffee shops for a sit-down all by myself sipping coffee, eating pan mien (Chinese noodles made from scratch); sessions at this spa and that in a purely selfish study of which spa gives the best massage; little paint jobs on my nails and toes; facials; hair salon trips... yes! Where would I be without me and my me-time... it is in this time and space that I get in touch with me again, get to know myself again, give texture to my ghostly self that becomes absorbed into tending to others' day in and out, to listen to myself think, to feel my intentions, to love my own quirkiness...

Truth be told, I'm not good at giving me to me, I'm the sort that tends to feel that I betray others by selfishly holding on to my own time; not volunteering to help out; to be there for someone is like kicking a helpless mewing kitty out on the street, in the rain... oh no, I'm not good at with-holding some time for myself. But I gotta try... in order to be sane, and found intact and wholesome, and nice, at the end of the day... Wish me lots of luck/love, as I attempt to chill out some more! :)

Loneliness and independence

2010-10-20T22:06:00.003+08:00

I think poor Luna is quite lonely, but I really cannot confirm this. Each time, I try to look deep into his eyes, I see this questioning look, "Am I coming or going?"; "Going or coming?". All I know is he needs, constantly, to be near me. When I go to the kitchen, he comes in and eats. When I go out of the kitchen, he stops eating and follows me. I almost step into him, bang the door on him. Luna has a blanket/bed under my table, and he comes and sleep there when I work. Then, when I try and see again whether Luna is engulfed by some kind of loneliness, his eyes are a no-go. Hmmphh!

Now, on the other hand, Kimo's eyes are everything but clueless! His growing defiance to my lead is a force to be reckoned with. Why, last week, just as we were about to reach the foot-bridge to his school, he spies upon the mom-and-boy pair ahead of us, where the mom reaches down gives her boy a pat and hug, and a loud audible "I love you", before the boy walked solo down the bridge to the bunch of teachers waiting on the other side.

At the very sight of that (at this point, we were about 10 feet away from the bridge, walking along the skimpy grassy sides of the busy school street), Kimo announces with all his might that he wants to walk the bridge "by myself". Suddenly, with a hasty "I love you, Mama", Kimo suddenly twists and turns away from me, and within 3 steps to the start of the bridge, I fall over him. His bag and bottle go flying, and the "I love you" mom who was in front of me is suddenly behind me.

Kimo yells in anger at the top of his lungs, angry and humiliated by my insistence on clutching his hand to mine; of not trusting him to walk the last few steps on his own to the bridge, to school. I was instantly pummeled by his clenched fists. With as much control over my franctic self, I soothe him, and we come to an impasse; Kimo calms down, and starts telling me, "Chai-chien (goodbye in Mandarin), Mama". Then, just as suddenly as our embarrassing, not to mention traumatic, fall, I find myself waving goodbye and staring at the back of the unsteady body of a scrawny boy, walking down the bridge all by himself. Phew! What an experience! Oh, the loving mom was instrumental in helping me/us collect our things (bag and bottle), and telling me gently, "It's okay".

So, there you go, Mr. Lonely and Mr. Independent stories wrecking havoc in my life... One so dependent on me to provide all forms of life; the other attempting independence from me in order to experience life in all its fullness.

Superhero, Luna and other unsolved mysteries

2010-10-16T14:07:00.001+08:00

My, but it has been awhile since my last post. It looks like I am slowing down speed in terms of blogging some things of my life. You know, when you have like a thousand things coming furiously down your path, you tend to slow things down a little; less you careened off the cliff completely!

So, it has been slowly and steadily scaling down my so-called busy-ness to the normalcy of domestic life. First and foremost, just like how it started for us in Oz last year, it was to settle Kimo in first into his schooling life (yes, again, we disrupted his schedule, by moving him to a new preschool; a long story, and I hope I get to share this in another post). So, then, there goes my morning routine: it is set by ferrying Kimo to school. Keeping time has never been more on my radar; it's the fear of the dreaded morning school bell, and Kimo's new school has one that effectively signals the kiddies to line up in front of their classrooms and belt out 'Negaraku' and their school song. Talk about precision!

Other than the task of getting Kimo all set for his little school life, I feel like I finally own this space called 'home'. Every nook and cranny has been claimed and cleaned. Enter: Luna... Yes, the cat that seemingly belongs to everybody at one point is now solidly my, our, cat for a good 6 months or so.

Who or what is Luna exactly? Well, he is a boy cat. Quite friendly, except for when the vacuum cleaner comes out, or when Kimo decides to whip him with his feather-catcher toy-thingy. Luna is also the one pair of eyes that will follow me across the room, so that my very existence is being monitored by a feline who reckons that his poker face could exude a million meanings, the first and primary one being, the need for constant food. Luna, is not quite your smoochy cat, and we do so like our smoochy cats; we've had a few, but I have hope that I could get him to melt like butter at a stroke and a pet :) Alas, my lot when it comes to Luna-Lilo, is sorry to say, tending to his business! Cat litter, poo, pee - do not help me think happy smoochy thoughts!

Last but not least, my self-admitted lethargy-procrastination is still veering on the mysterious path of no return! I am doing all I can on the unrelated-to-research level, such as, cleaning up my office, cleaning up the house some more, making long lists (umm, food lists...), and such, to pump myself up to level again. I know, however, that the only way I can get going, again, is to just get out there, and do it! So, I visualize this, and look forward to the day when I suddenly, and happily, realize that I've picked up speed, and that I am in the thick of things once again :)

As far as my partner's concern, well, his, is the best schedule of all: Wendell is as happy as a clam freelancing his two favourite things in the world: his photography and journalism. Happy trails to you, Wendell... and as for those of us who have to work, get your butt out there, and do it already :)

And cat makes four...

2010-10-03T07:01:00.000+08:00

Luna, a family cat technically belonging to my mother-and-sister, whom we are fostering for a couple of months, while my parents' apartment gets built. Still a scaredy-cat in his new surroundings, Luna had a 2-hour spa session yesterday. Professional pet groomers, Paulina and Madmad, made a house-call to clip Luna's nails, trim his unsightly furs, bathe and dry him, and moisturize his fur. Luna was purring like a happy cat; he even lingered around the doorway, intending to go home with them!

Gone fishing!

2010-09-30T09:35:00.001+08:00

A home is not a home...

2010-09-17T22:19:00.003+08:00

My goodness, but we've definitely gone OTT with our home furnishings! It's been almost 3 weeks now since we last moved in to our own place, and as a rental, we've outdone ourselves this time with the turning over of this place into what we call 'home' for the next year or so.

First, there were the usual suspects: beds, sofa, cooking appliances, the TV; then the air-conditioning, cabinetry, tables, more tables, chairs. Next, the mood to the place: the lights, the accents, the divider, the curtains, the rugs, baskets, etc. We truly tell ourselves we're done today, and since, we've about spent our inheritance, so to speak, I guess we're done!

It has been more than exciting and heart-warming to do up this place so that we can feel homey/ more at home, etc. The desire to make where you lay your head comfy and nice, as if it were your own, is a solid commitment to living in the here and now: where in the present, we find ourselves yielding to the creation of structure to rein in our seamless fluidity. It has been liberating to give ourselves license to reinvent our home, and ourselves within that home, so that we can find a measure of peace, each and every time, we turn the key in that lock - the colour scheme of things so passionately debated over reassures you that it does lift your spirit at the very threshold.

Yes, it's good to be back home, again! However are Wendell and I to recreate this ambiance when we go back to Canberra next is another big project to fulfill, and that we are to do this packing up-moving away-setting up home all over again in a year's time is nothing short of taxing and bone-wearying. But the thing that reassures me most is the fact that we have practised 'playing-house' this time round, so that we might be fearless, up in our spirits, and excited to conjure up our own sense of home, all over again.

Last but not least, the very reason we're back (my research) is still in the back-burner. I've poked about it with a long handle spatula, making sure the bottom's not burnt. Very soon, I am to be back in my researcher-mode again, but look, here we are relishing a little reprieve before the onslaught begins! hehehe...

Welcome home: Kimo, Wendell, and Trixie! And soon to come, Mr. Luna - our foster cat, who will stay on for several months before moving to a new apartment-type home of his own...

Daddy's home

2010-08-31T23:28:00.003+08:00

Kimo rolled over the bed this morning, only to find his big old Dad in bed with him. His instant snuggling in to his Dad was nice to see. No, cheery shouting, unchecked bouncing, just a warm hug. After showing him his new clothes and DVDs, I reminded him to use the potty. He turned to go to the door, when he turned back, and gave his Dad another big hug! So nice to see!

After a looong eventful day, we are back home again, after going here and there to secure our new rental, a visit with family, and friends. Kimo starts his day-long regime in school, and we start to hunker down and pad our new abode, and then, hopefully in due time, for me, especially to focus squarely on the reason why we are here in the first place.

Peter Rabbit, glasses and bambangan

2010-08-24T19:26:00.004+08:00

Oh, and so it was the week that was!

With Kimo's first bout of flu past us, we're back to our usual antics - combing the public library for storybooks, jalan-jalan (food-driven-driveabouts), and other benign details. Then, perhaps this is how it is (I sure do hope so) when one begins fieldwork, that one feels (and somewhat savours, with some guilt) the first slump. Call it the 'beginning fieldwork slump'; 'the uninitiated self'; 'sloth-like maneuvers in the dark' (not!)... I just went "ssslump"!

Mustering up all what's left of my uninspiring self, I forced-dragged my feet to go about getting this thing, and that thing, for whatever it is I am suppose to do. Then started the agonizing feeling of clearing my mental space...

Meanwhile, Kimo's reading galore has now expanded to reading Peter Rabbit tales, and I think, he has just finished "Horton Hatches The Egg", and when finished, he said "That was fun"! So, again, I need to draw inspiration from the little master, and the good bits is that for the entire week or so last-this week, he had his glasses on for the most part of the day. And, and, he now tells me names of other kids in school, and I asked the teacher to verify whether so-and-so a person exists, and sure enough... Kimo has friends now! :) Then today, he ate bambangan (wild mango, lightly fermented), and declared that he loved it - and I announced all over the place (to impact on him further) that Kadazan food is good and yummy.

Kimo's been grating on my nerves. He has developed a litany of 'naughty words' to taunt me. And I keep telling him not to repeat them, but he still does it... until I said, "Keep talking like that, and you'll see what happens later". So, he stops, understanding filling his little eyes... my merit-demerit approach apparently working. Then several moments later (hours?), I hear a similar sounding string of words (a rash combo of words of several body parts purposely made semi-unintelligible to fool the mother)... and I lift my eyes to heaven, and pray - God, grant me patience, so that I don't drive myself off the cliff!!

You knew this day would come...

2010-08-11T06:05:00.004+08:00

... she said, without any attempt to smooth over the statement. And I said, yes, I waited for 4 years, and there is no escape this time. Kimo starts glasses-wearing!

So, off we went the other day to the optician to fill out his prescription. Not ever wearing glasses for vision correcting, I had no clue as to what frame, size, weight, even colour to choose. It was simply a "Do you like this, or that?" type of decision-making. Something Wendell would think to boo me at later, I think.

Anyhoo, Kimo sported a fever yesterday, and for the first time, he complained about 'being hot out there' and that 'it's hot in the car'. I like it when he can vocalize these sorts of complaints, just like if he can really talk about being hungry and wanting to eat (and not the converse), I would be happy all day long. He's on the bony!

After a nap and meds to ward off the fever, he seemed more spirited, and off we went to the optician to get his glasses. In the midst of trying his new glasses for size, his nose starts to bleed profusely, and so, we didn't get to the part of adjusting it proper on the nose, etc. My insides start to quiver; he was fidgeting feeling scared. To cut the long story short, we now have to go back to the optician to try and get his glasses to fit better.

As I watched over him last night between meds and monitoring his temp, I got to visiting preemie discussion groups, as I used to when Kimo was younger. Somehow, his new bespectacled status got me to hoping to connect with another mom/parent out there, who shares a similar experience, or perhaps have a great outcome with doctors and surgeries that I could get inspiration from. I was not disappointed, and will basically, continue to look into his eyes and sight getting better as he gets older, and doing all we can, to ensure that he never misses his visits with his ophthalmologist.

With that little touch of emergency at the shop, and with Wendell not beside me, I had a deja vu of sorts - suddenly, it felt like Kimo's early days stage at the hospital/NICU, and so on. All those uncertainty of whether his prematurity will damage his health bad, or not: Will his eyes get better? What is actually wrong with them? Perhaps, that final tweaking by doctors at QEH made the ROP (Retinopathy of Prematurity) worse?? We should have tried our best to learn about Dr. Dayang beforehand, why didn't we? Why didn't we think of getting a 2nd opinion, before proceeding with operations, etc.?

Down the road of regrets, I went, my tummy still queasy from witnessing so much blood from Kimo's nose, I wondered, pointlessly, what might have been. Then, after going through the Internet for more info on Kimo's ROP, I come across, as I did before, all preemie and ex-preemie parents experiences' out there, and as each sharing detailed something far worse, more urgent, more immediate, more damaging than ROP - failing lungs, failing kidneys and bowels, even death - I am reminded again why I haven't been reading all those sites/sharings in a long while. I have graduated from preemie-parent school a while back now, and I simply must practise being expert-like in all areas to do with my ex-prem.

Not only that, but to funnel all my energy to him being him, as any normal kid would. His 'Mama, are you happy?' brings me to a sense of 'normal', as I oft-times respond, 'I would be, especially if you listen to Mom and what she says'. I bring all my energies and parenting skills to the table to attempt raising Kimo as naturally as anyone would an un-preemie child. I know no better, and if I am slightly over-anxious, over-worried, over-tired from having managed and raised Kimo the whole day long, I reckon I have a good excuse from having earned my battlefield scars and victories in those NICU days.

But truth be told, the great equalizer comes from having your ex-prem say the darnedest-most things, cos when he/she does, you just become so diffused with the okayness your ex-preemie mom heart needs (and apparently needs to feel often), that your kid is just any other kid down the block, who cries when hurt, and says things like 'I want 100 loves from you, 100 hugs and 100 kisses'. And the craziest things like, 'It's so cold, even my penis is cold'! And, 'Mom, are you happy in this house?' 'I am happy wherever you are, wherever our family is'...

Back to the daily grind!

2010-08-08T07:50:00.006+08:00

And so it was, the week that was...

Several torrential rain sessions later, coupled with circum-navigating home-school-home and daily errands to the doctors and what-nots, we've finally grasped a kind of basic routine to our week, last week, and hopefully for the remainder of the stay. That said, Kimo's routine is the one of main concern here, while I still have a long ways to go in achieving full-time hours done on my research/work.

Speaking of Kimo and his little life therefore, the week that was, was a good beginning one. As expected, he did not have the drop-off anxiety that plagues some kids. In fact, he often does not care to say goodbye, etc. There are toys and other children at play when we arrive, so the school setting is already on. According to his class teacher, she and her assistant will do a one-on-one when it comes to reading, writing, math, etc. So that I would be assured that academically, the school is doing something. Not that I am complaining, my worry is still on him being kind to others, and etc. At pick-up time, I saw Kimo sitting at the waiting area, not interacting with any kid, but reading the new text-books he received. Once, I saw him talking to himself, quite possibly about whatever it was that he had been reading, etc, earlier.

We've by now firmly put the library in our weekly routine. Although I simply must have longer texts for him; he goes through a book so very fast! We were good to have seen Dr. Dayang ('my ophthalmologist', I made Kimo learn to say this, because he kept calling her 'dentist'!). And yes, as we all knew that the day would come, and it finally did, Kimo is now eligible for glasses-wearing (his left is now at 350!). It took us two sessions to confirm this (and a nice bumping into of my old schoolmate at SMC, who is now the optometrist there). We skedaddled to the optician yesterday, and after several tries at different looks for Kimo, he settled on an ovalish glasses (and the pricier one at that!). So we wait on Tuesday, for this new bespectacled look from Kimo!

How do I actually observe people? I once asked my kind supervisor. Oh, don't worry, it will all come out during meals, and so on. And true enough, if I had not done any fieldwork-ish thing all of last week, I had filled my tummy's very pit with loads of food from meeting up with old friends! They filled me in on what's new, and not, in town/Sabah. There's already so much tidbit of information swimming towards me, and before they swim past me, I had better get my act together, and start writing copious notes.

Sing with me.dot comau.

2010-07-28T08:30:00.001+08:00

Poor Kimo, he still doesn’t realize whether he is in Sabah or back in Oz, or wherever. I suppose, this is how it is when you’re acclimatizing to a new place (or to a once-familiar place, all over again). You go in and out of consciousness of certain things, places, and people. There are moments you are thrilled to bits over being in this new land; other times make you wish you were back ‘home’, wherever that may be. Him, and me included, are no exception to the adjustment phase. We’re hoping with fingers crossed, that school/work will give us a sense of a routine to follow, and provide some form of normalcy to this year-away. Then, when all is done, we all have to once again, adjust to whatever it took us to adjust in the first place in Oz. My goodness, all this adjusting had better be good! If anything, minimize the torture of fitting in… in the name of adventure!

Kimo’s haphazard-self typed this, this morning:

Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz.now I know my abcs next

Time won t you

Sing with me.dot comau.

Home is where Sabah is

2010-07-18T09:18:00.002+08:00

Oh my gosh, but I survived partnerless-traveling with Kimo the other day. Everything could have been a little bit better, if only a murder suspect wasn't trying to flee the country through our flight. Apparently, we, the passengers, were duped by the captain into thinking that there was something wrong with the plane's electrical system (short-circuiting, he said). The real story, according to Wendell the next day, was that a suspected murderer was in traveling 1st class, and only by disembarking all passengers could the authorities apprehend her. I don't think anyone had a clue as to who the lady was. All I knew was that for the long 3-4 hour delay, I had to entertain a very tired and grumpy child, phew!

By 2 am we were tucked under the clean sheets of the Pan Pacific near KLIA, hoping for some kind of quality rest for 4 solid hours before the flight back to KK. All throughout that flight, Kimo kept saying, 'Where is Sabah?' over and over again equivalent to a 'Are we there yet?' kind of mantra. My 'Sabah is in Borneo' and other kinds of geographical-sounding info came up to naught. As the plane touched down, I said to him, 'Look out the window, there's Sabah'. Kimo looks out, seeing the trees and houses and buildings, he asked, 'Which one is Sabah?' !!!

Several grandparents, uncles, aunties and cousins later, he again asked, 'Where is Sabah?'. This must have been in our second day here. I said, 'We are IN Sabah'. Then, 'Kimo, you should be asking instead, 'Where is home?' So, my boy inquired, 'Where is home?' back to me. I responded, 'Home is where the heart is'. Kimo goes, 'No, home is where Sabah is' !!!

Closing in to our 1st week back now, our jet lag is finally behind us (I hope, especially being massaged and 'bakam'-ed to pieces yesterday), and the reality of being away from 'home', separated from Wendell, is finally hitting him, me. All of last night, before bedtime, Kimo kept saying, "I miss Papa", "I want him to be in bed with us", "I want to go back to Australia", and etc. I said, 'Oh, you'll see him soon enough'. Then the whimperings started again this morning, then faded, when Hi-5 came on the TV. Home is where the heart is, indeed!

'No, it's not like that... Home is where family is, whether here in Sabah or Australia... home is wherever your family is - and don't you ever forget that'. Kimo continues to look out at the scenery whizzing past outside the car. Retort-less, for once, I wonder what goes on inside his little big-boy head...

Hey, it's good to be back home again...

2010-07-04T07:03:00.000+08:00

Homeward bound and home again next week! Gosh, how time has flown in between two states of mind :) The past few weeks post-seminar were an exercise in futility for doing anything academically-inclined. There was Kimo's little bash to organise, both at home and school, then the endless moving around of junk and possession. In the name of packing, I tried to sort out the messes my people have made in the past year, and was glad to have the little hands of my little helper. Kimo faithfully threw trash into the bin, stuffed things in suitcases, but more importantly, sort out his own toys, books and clothes. With those squared away, I have left the mountainous pile of papers and paper-related stuff for last.

Every time this happens, this moving out/away/around, it never ceases to amaze me the amount of stuff one can bring home in a short span of time. That is, we really started with nothing, and to think that every piece of insignificant item such as, the odd never-used plastic fork and spoon, was purchased for (via KFC or some institution like that) and incorporated into our belongings for a whole year or so, makes me feel hoardish, to say the least... well, during this period of cleaning and packing up anyway :)

Though it's good to feel good with going back home again, I can never reiterate enough that my home is with Wendell, wherever he is. Now that he is going to be in another landmass altogether for the next couple of months, home just has to be a mentally constructed one - a shared imagination between him and I.

The good news is that our financial situation is no longer our main problem :) And with that out of the picture, being apart, even for just awhile, is a different sort of scenario to deal with: the being apart is somewhat easier to bear with, because you are not forced to be apart due to some unavoidable circumstance. So, to all those who have had to leave home and family due to insurmountable problems (war, death, famine, migration), how much tougher your pain and sacrifice must have been, mine and Wendell's rank so small compared to yours.

So, I take comfort that they are many people who have been in mine and Wendell's situation, and have survived. Now, my next focus is moving this pile of printed stuff out of this house, so that I can finally sit down, uninterrupted I hope, to turn the main reason why I brought this separation bit into our lives in the first place :)

Mama, I want to marry you! Kimo said the other day. You can't marry me, I'm already married to papa. No, I want to marry you, Kimo says again. Of late, with everyone getting married roundabout us, the word has buzzed right into his radar. In fact, Kimo is now picking up lots of words right off our conversations, and I'm thinking, do we have to learn to speak in another language, so that we have some form of privacy, not to mention censorship? I feel like I have stretched my inner self so much this past year, but Kimo has outgrown us all both physically and inwardly. We came into parenting so ill-equipped (we didn't even know how to put a diaper on), and absolutely terrified, and today, we're still so nerve-wracked at times at the smallest happening. Yesterday, I found myself asking Wendell in all earnestness, not if and when Kimo will stop screaming when he gets upset, and 'use his words' instead (talk out his feelings, etc), and not whether we will get used to the tantrums, but if we can change! Boy, do I ever need someone to come grade me and give me a report on how I'm doing as a parent...

Happy trails to you, and gow gee

2010-06-26T08:14:00.007+08:00

Here I am, a mere 2 weeks or so away from the next phase of my life's journey, and it is petrifyingly scary! Not to mention the heartaches and breaks to come, sigh... yes, this is so not cool that work has to break up a family unit's logistics. Whatever the points to consider, the reality still seems to dictate that we attempt a months-long separation at first, and then, see where the road leads from there.

I tell you, this is completely un-me, and yet me-like, and me, nonetheless! Hehe... how do I start to figure... Un-me, because there's something in me that likes to plan strategically to the year, month, hour, and minute; me-like, because there's also something in me that likes to throw caution to the wind and scream 'joie de vivre!'. So, this is me, nonetheless, a little bit of structuring, but I think a lot more letting go of those reins on life... this time around. Wild horses, yet, may take me completely off this gingerly-trusted track of choice... Then, maybe when that happens, you will truly hear me yell joy to the world... but rest assured, half a dozen cusses will follow. Cos man, this thing is scary! Letting your life be and seeing where it goes...

Anyways, the less dramatized version of the above is that I leave in 2 weeks' time or so for 'home', Sabah, for my fieldwork/research. Kimo comes with me; Wendell stays on here to work some, but we do not know yet for how long he stays on. He may decide to come back after a few months or so. Our Sabah stint is approximately for a year or so, till when we come back to Canberra, and finish my residency requirement (18 months), and after that, life's an open open map! Applying for work opportunities anywhere and everywhere (ideally, a skip and a hop to Sabah) follows for me. And for Wendell, a well-deserving break, and on to his turn to indulge in his happy musings and pursuits of creative passions! [I will so sponsor and support you, honey! (Dun u worry)]

I have another dozen or so thoughts to share, I think? But frankly, they are half-mulled over still... share that when they're somewhat ripe? :)

Meantime, aramaiti (cheers in Kadazandusun) to the words of the wise, Stephen King, who said: No, it's not a very good story - its author was too busy listening to other voices to listen as closely as he should have to the one coming from inside. May we always listen to our inner selves, the yearning clingy one that tells you to let go, let cleave, let wild, let loose... may we fling ourselves upon the thing, the one, that we lean in for love... towards love with all the carelessness and longing-ness of 6-week old puppies!

Wendell! Look at this! I can't escape him! Here I am, trying to whip this thing, and he's like totally in my face! Take a photo of him being so underfoot! (Kimo, with his little green chair for added height, constantly wants the front seat in life. Here he is, attempting to get the first-hand experience of whipping cream being whipped. Meanwhile, Kelly, in the background, is happily stuffing her fat gow gees. We celebrated his belated birthday last night. An ecstatic visual of his birthday cake blowing will be up on Facebook, somewhere, shortly).

We all know what it's all about...

2010-06-16T09:50:00.013+08:00

Yesterday was crazy! There I was trying to file my research paperwork, only to find that I left the important papers at home. So, off I went back home to locate my missing file/papers. Throughout the drive, the songs on the radio were some of the weirdest grunge-country music type mish-mash I had ever heard. And although they were painful to hear, it kept me from going all the way with my fretting over my papers, and all else plaguing me during this time.

Sigh, but once again, I have to pick up and go. What seems to be 'hard' is the feeling that things are looking hard. Things are looking hard because one of us has to go, and the other stay, namely, Wendell. It's getting more and more real each day, that this is the sacrifice we have to make at this point in our lives. May we be the better for it! :) And Kimo, too, of course :)

Well, the heartache is /hard-ache/ for sure, and this practical part of starting to tackle down the things-to-d0-before-leaving is 'hard', too. For instance, it's hard to start packing stuff up - what clothes to use when back in Sabah, what toys, books, papers to take, and etc.

The thinking of tying up lose ends etc. is blech, because I just wish I was spirited away to a beautiful island someplace warm right after the seminar the other day, to decompress with a bunch of novels around me, lots of poke (raw fish), and daily visits with the masseuse. All I got to since then was read Stephen King's 'The Shining', and a quick skim through one Jeffrey Deaver book, and one Greg Iles, attempting to 'relax' before attempting to face the to-do around me. Oh, one of these days, me and Wendell will just have to jet off somewhere and do the above! :) Ditch Kimo with a reliable sitter, first, of course :)

But then, and gosh darnit, there's that 'in-between' feeling that is particularly annoying in this phase of moving along... Because the feeling of being neither here nor there is a numbing sort of tension - you just cannot crank out a smile... it's that 'all I do is frown' kind of phenomenon that The Carpenters have neatly stated in their songs. Again, all I want to do is bury myself deep under a mountain of blankets and doze till Spring!

With so many things to do still (and it is also this 'so many' feeling that piles up to the madness above), there is no such permission to hibernate. (For instance, I tried to entice Kimo into taking an afternoon nap just now, but he refused. I ignored him and proceeded to nap myself, but had to suffer half a dozen visits by the former, asking me to wake up and bake him a cake, or to wake up and watch the telly with him... argh!).

So, for now, I post these photos of tucking Kimo in bed, which I was happy to find. As usual, I attempt to put a stop to the uncertainties in my life by reflecting on Kimo's life-affirming self. Despite the over-boisterous nature at times, and the many uneventful moments of not being able to tame my hyperactive kid, Kimo makes me feel, however intangible and incoherent I may become, somehow intact as a singular meaningful piece...

When you can savour belonging to yourself

2010-06-09T13:15:00.007+08:00

Kimo in his usual jumping-up-for-joy antics... at Lake Burley the other day...

There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you.... In spring, summer and fall people sort of have an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when you can savor belonging to yourself. ~Ruth Stout

Lazy winter day today... listening to Barry Manilow (purrfect winter tunes)... Trying to sing along, but Kimo is making me look up pictures of birds on the 'net....

It's so damn cold today, that we had to abandon our walk to the shops. The plan was to hit the sunniest part of the day during midday, and get eggs and some familiar suspects for a banger and mash kind of day, but oh no, the sun did not come out at all....

So, here we are enjoying the sappy tunes accompanying various Aussie bird photos... in the meantime, am still mulling over what my supervisors said to me in conference yesterday... and my gosh, their questions were harder than what I got at the seminar the other day... but then that's when you go, "And that's what you call 'supervisors'! Bless them :)

Many many things to do before leaving for fieldwork. Suddenly, after all the craziness of the writing and presenting, I crumble and dissipate into this puddle of mess. Hoping and wishing that I have 2 solid weeks of nothingness, and being left alone to my reading of suspense and murder novels! :)

But not a chance, mate! I'm hunting down rosellas now, and trying to register some of the other monumental things in my life that have happened, and hoping to savour 'those' moments now that my big-do has come and gone. For instance, Kimo now knows how to wipe his own butt!! Hahaha, says the culprit! :)

So, from 1-10, here are 'The Ten Amazing Things That Kimo Has Learnt in the past year' -

10. To put on his own socks.

9. To eat his food by himself.

8. To type on the computer. [By the way, I am being dictated to by the aforementioned individual].

7. To paint by himself/hisself.

6. To watch DVDs by himself, and listen to CDs.

5. To go to school.

4. To walk and see all the house numbers.

3. To si-sis [pee-pee/ take a little wee].

2. To count his numbers.

1. To poo-poo all by himself!!! Yeah...

And the alleged criminal giggled all the way to jail... hehehe....

Trying to get that feeling again

2010-06-01T05:28:00.002+08:00

The loves of life aka 'my blokes', 'my mob'.

Oh my gosh, but I am so cold, my fingers feel like it had been stuck down for the longest time in an ice bucket. Since it's Harvest Festival in my homeland of Sabah, Malaysian Borneo, a particular ice bucket comes to mind - it's those huge plastic tubs filled with ice and water, and cans of beer and soda, that come to mind. But my, this icy feeling I have is colder than that.

Oh well, here I am at the wee hours of this morning, bend over the 'puter as usual, trying to put the finishing touches on my lengthy seminar paper. My early morning began at 4am. Heard Kimo's chesty cough, and felt bad for turning the radiator heat lower than normal. So, I got up to give him some medicine, only to find myself all awake to do something. Not that I had not been up somewhat in my sleep earlier. All I could think about, and naturally so, is my thing of my paper and presentation this Friday.

Anyway, I can hear my people in the next (heated!) room moving about. It's 7:30am now, and time to put some breakfast on. Can't believe I mulled through the past few hours in the freezing cold! It is minus 1C today, I think.

Breakfast in bed

2010-05-30T09:37:00.003+08:00

Photo memory: Mother's day mums for me.

Last night:
Kimo woke up before our "2nd show" (The Punisher), and so, we started to camp out in the living room - the modular sofa got reassembled, linens and pillows came out. We started to snuggle-down, then someone wanted to go back into the bedroom again. So, off I went with the person who complained.

This morning:
We had 'breakfast in bed' in our modular sofa-bed. Bacon, avocado, smoked salmon, semi-sundried tomatoes and scrambled eggs on toast - heaven!

Plans for today: Jalan2, library, and get incredibly lazy and rested... before the week begins again... I finally get to present my research proposal! And from then on, a more relaxed schedule begins...

The last of my mother, 2

2010-05-26T10:05:00.002+08:00

...cont...

Francesca, again:

Regarding my birth mom, okay, my mother... well, they were so many half-stories being muttered on my birth story, and truthfully, I don't know or remember what these stories mean/are. Trixie, apparently, got first-hand information the other day, so she should continue here...

Trixie:

Well, as usual, I was very very curious as hell as to what all these 'kana piara' (given up for fostering/adoption (similar to 'hanai' (Hawaiian culture)) business going on with my mother. I had asked my 'Mama' - adoptive grandmother - the only maternal grandmother I knew till I was age 9 or 10, the circumstances surrounding my mother's birth. And what my mother said earlier was true, that information came from me.

My 'Popo' ('grandmother' in Chinese) aka 'birth mother of Francesca' confided in me several years ago. I think it was 2 years ago to this day. She had just come out of hospital for an intended surgery on her liver, full of stones it was, according to her. However, she was not qualified for the operation, due to age, she was by then 88 or so? But boy, did Popo look good for her age! Thanks to Clairol, of course :)

Anyway, yes, the story on my mother's early days. So, the anthropologist-wannabe in me at the time asked her to narrate how she met my Chinese grandfather (the elusive yet romantic part of my Chinese heritage that I always yearn to know about). According to Popo, she met my Kung-Kung ('grandfather' in Chinese) by mistake. It was WWII, and a bunch of them from the village had gone down to the paddy-fields, either to look for wild vegetables, or something, but she lagged behind. As the last one, she came upon several Japanese soldiers loitering about the pathway, looking for food, she said. One came upon her with an evil look to his eyes (Popo dramatized this with effect; my, she had gusto, for one just out of surgery), and in her heart, she knew that it was food or hunger for something else.

She ran quickly to one of the Chinese labourer huts built shanty-like beside the village, and threw herself upon my grandfather. I stopped her at this point, and asked, why there were Chinese people in a Kadazan village, and she said, back then, there was no work for anyone, and the Chinese practically loitered around the village, tilling the land where they will for food like the Kadazans. (Years later to the present, I read from Danny Wong's "Historical Sabah" that this was true: the Chinese in Penampang were apparently labeled 'vagrants' and the like, for this 'loitering about'. Now, we know why, it was the WWII and all (Great Depression)).

Back to her story, the Japanese soldier came unto the couple at the hut, and attempted to make demands. My grandfather showed himself the man over the other, and the soldier backed off. However, this incident got my grandmother into a pickle. When she ran home to narrate the happening to her parents, they got offended, and went to my grandfather and demanded that he marry her to make good of her virtue and their reputation in the village. Per the Kadazan culture, this would be about right - 'mokisogit' (demand for an appease to a perceived wrong-doing). According to Popo, her parents blamed her for putting herself in the predicament: lagging behind; being pounced upon; damsel in distress being rescued. And, before she knew it, she was married off to the poor labourer next door.

Enterprising as he was, Kung-Kung went out to do start a coffee-shop. He was Hainanese after all, and this particular Chinese group had a reputation for engaging in coffee-shop businesses. [Hey, maybe this would be my next vocation in life! Umm, after I get myself sorted out over here, grrr...] Popo said, she was told by her parents, that since she had married out of her own kind, she knew better than to ask her parents' involvement in her marriage affairs. We know nothing about how the Chinese people work, they said.

Popo was quite distressed and hurt over this 'lepas tangan' of sorts from her parents. ('Lepas tangan' refers to one taking one's hand off a matter, and not wanting to have to do anything with it anyore). For a long time, she said, after several babies, she could not go back to her parents for anything. I was mad with them, she said. How could they leave me alone to my fate, like this, she said.

Popo mentioned the distress over having to nurse her first-born, of not having enough breast milk, or no milk, or something like that, and that she thought her child would die. And still, no one came from my family to help me out, she said. Amazingly, where she resided with my grandfather was a shop-house in the business area of the enclave. In present day, it's but a stone's throw away from anything. I imagine in those days, it would seem like she had moved to the other side of the planet, for all you know, that's what it seemed like to a lot of people then.

So that... so that, yes, here it is, when my grandfather showed his hand, his traditional Chinese cultural beliefs in having sons to bear him good luck and fortune, my grandmother did not fight him to hold on to my mother. Barely weaned off her breast, my mother at 6 months or so, was wrapped in the finest cloth she owned, with several ela (yards) of kain (cloth) as was the Kadazan custom to make sogit (appease/ fine/ to cool things down), she dropped off her baby to her sister's (or did someone come to pick the baby up?), and came back to resume her life where it was left off.

I was so out of it, she confessed to me. Her first two kids were still very much attached to her, and sickly, I think this was what she said. My mom, my parents, not being there for me at the time, this is my one regret in life, she said towards the end of her story.

But please, she said, be it known that I did not want this to happen. I did not give my baby up voluntarily. I did not abandon her. I did not give her away just like that. I deeply wanted her. But I couldn't. I just couldn't...

Popo, in her glossy black hair, spoke marvelously at the end of her story here. By then, she and I had gone through several servings of my mom's pinasakan (stewed fish in reduced sauce). Where were the rest of the family at this time? My gran-aunt was milling about the house, as was my mom. They left the anthropologist alone to grill the informant, and lucky me, I got to know the truth, or at least, a version of it, from the one person that counted.

Not long after this sharing, my Popo, called for a special meeting with all her kids, including my mother. At that meeting, the usual parting of sentimental gifts and jewelery were made as were the custom of our older folks. Popo also took the opportunity to declare, if anyone was interested and thought her less for not doing it before then, that Francesca was indeed her birth child, and that she regretted the incident of her being given over to someone else to raise. Again, my mother, who did not hesitate to share with me what transpired at this meeting, said, "But I don't feel anything! It doesn't matter to me! I am okay".

-end-

Note: This blog narrative and the one prior to are made in memory of Paula Mojili, she was in her prime 80s when she passed on 24-5-10; RIP, dear Popo, and thanks for the memories.

The last of my mother

2010-05-26T08:47:00.003+08:00

Francesca:

I was born to a woman who then gave me up to be raised by her sister. According to sources, I was given away due to my father not wanting, yet, another female child in the house. I was his third child, and my sisters before me were saved from his resolve.

I don't recall feeling any hurt over this situation of mine, not at this age, anyway. (I'm 61, by the way). After all, I was reacquainted with my father, for the second time, when I was 30 years old. With three kids of my own, I cried buckets then, because everything was so raw still. And I had to break this, "Oh, you have a Chinese grandfather, by the way, that you never knew of, because he had given me away as a baby" news, to my kids, and it was painful that way. To watch their innocence crumble away at the fact that life was not a bed of roses, and that their mother was a thorn to her very father's side.

He didn't pluck me out, and not look me up, you know. He did come for me, when I was about 5 years old, I think. According to my 'mother', my biological mother's sister, my dad came with his 'kungsi' (band of brothers) and demanded come hell or high water, that my mother part with me, and return me to my original position. My mother said, "Okay, then come and ask her to follow you home". I remember crying hard, and being fearful of the stranger who was my dad. Years later, my daughter would tell me that she asked 'Mama' as to that very day when the almost-altercation happened. My dad was apparently so crest-fallen that I had refused to come with him, that he broke down and cried in front of his mates, turned around and went away.

I never did know whether he attempted to come for me again. But as I began to grow up, I would become attracted to two girls in my school, who would come to be during breaks and offer me food and little bits of money, from 'mother', they said. Perhaps they were guilt money from my father, too. Sigh, well... yes, it was hard that time when he was passing on...

Suddenly, he wanted to see me... the guilt, I guess. So yes, to that point now when I had to tell me kids about this Chinese background of theirs. Trixie, the ever inquisitive one, was very empathetic to the whole situation. She was always digging around for more information: am I Chinese, she would say; why do the shopkeepers think I am Chinese, and why do you have a Chinese name on your identity documents, and on and on.

Anyway, if I can skip this part, and let Trixie narrate this one, and fast-forward to the account of what happened to me from my birth mother's point of view.

Well, this was only two or three years ago that again, Trixie, dug out from my birth mother as to the story behind my being given away. Mind you, since I got reacquainted with my dad at the time of his passing, everything has been like as if I was part of the Chin family, and had never left. My sisters and brothers (yes, my dad had two strapping boys given to him by the gods; they were born after me) and I get along fine. My 'mom', too. Well, since my adoptive mother has passed on, I guess she is my only mother left.

But two days ago, she passed on herself, and therefore, that is the last of my mother.

...to be continued...

My murder's day

2010-05-09T09:00:00.009+08:00

Christmas '06 at Tunga, Sabah.
With Wendell's mom, Amy. Kimo at 5.6kg.

It was my dad and his usual dry humour that invented this alternative for 'mother' (murder). True to the Kadazan slang, too, 'murder' sounds like mother; if it is allowed to co-exist in a single sentence, either someone's had post-natal depression for far too long, or it is just one helpless female-with-kids needing a good dose of spirits in order to calm down :)

Anyway, happy murder's indeed, to me. This morning, my good, old jolly husband decided to be jolly by looking up this tune I had going round my head while washing last night's dishes. I swear a song sung by Elton John with lyrics such as "I am a family man, oh yes, I am" exists. He was unable to find such a song (and I didn't mean the Hall and Oates one, cos I know that one, too). So, we ended up listening to Elton John songs, songs from Grease (1), Dirty dancing songs and why was it not surprising that we ended up listening to songs from Hawaii?

Jolly, indeed. Kimo's jolly-ness was sealed this morning when I replicated the curry pie from Dickson Cakes. He ate half of the gigantic thing, I ate one, and Wendell ate Kimo's left-overs and his own. Kimo said, "This is a family pie". Oh yes, Kimo and his 'family' notions these days. The word, 'family' comes out when we are all sitting together on the couch. He stands up, points at his dad and poor old mum, and himself, and says, "A family!". Well, this third of the family wished that at 5:30 or so this a.m. that I didn't get a lump trying to settle close to me; the lump that was a boy that was digging into my body for snuggles, and the constant 'mama, mama' that I heard. Not forgetting the endless notes of 'I don't want it to be night time; I want it to be day time; the moon has come down; the sun has come up'. If anyone wanted the day to start already, it was him.

I am still marooned in the island that is Canberra. My paper-proposal is now growing beyond the stipulated 10K words. According to my dear supervisor, "Why, I expect you to write me much more than that. Why, so and so did 12K, and so and so did 14K". The ideas are all there, and I am blessed with the ability to look under a rock for things, but I am also cursed with the magpie effect of collecting a thousand things to make things look pretty! In other words, I am a sordid mess until I have peace of mind and brevity of wit that suddenly strikes me like lightning, and that mess does go away, or pack away, into neat orderly patterns.

Today though, I'll have me a nice murder's day. The order of the day is beef curry on basmati rice. A simple apple-berry tart with a crumble top with a side of cream. Before that, more washing-up of dishes and kid who needs bath. Thank God for all the messes; Thank God for the sunny warmth of the cool open skies. Thank God that I can do what I do.

Vulnerable

2010-04-25T08:04:00.002+08:00

As a mother, you feel much more vulnerable. And when you're vulnerable, you're a much better actress. (Kate Beckinsale)

Kimo, in his unabashed pose of being himself - silly, energetic, full of life.

Huh, it's been such a crazy time since my last post. I don't see the end of the tunnel yet, but yes, I have signs around me to keep on going and soldiering on, miracles happen when you believe, they say.

But yes, the one thing that could scare a student shitless has happened to me, I got disenrolled by the university and told that my visa will be canceled. Yes, money has been, and still is, our main hurdle since we got here. I've written throughout as we ride the waves of our choppy finances, and can't help feeling that my work is not on a par due to the distraction in settling the former.

So, yes, what a challenge this has been/is to settle the first year of life here. In regards to our hapless situation above, after frantic calling around for monetary help, we have some money coming and an installment plan for the university to resolve this situation, and not resort to doing the inevitable. Needless to say, this has wrecked havoc on my mind and Wendell's. We are not out of it, but our near future plans are sound ones that will help put a rein on our circumstances.

In this time, where my poetic self is nowhere to be found, and my survivalist self has come to fore (looking quite Rambo-like, might I add :)), I think of all the nuggets of wisdom over the years that people have kindly whispered into my ears. Even those frightening ones, those writing-on-the-wall type wisdom that came when you had pushed yourself to the point of breaking, quite often this is due to not being in a place, seriously, where God's grace can cover you.

Almost out of God's sweeping cloud of goodness, I have found myself in places, countries, alone, extremely vulnerable, and penniless, without a hope in sight. This situation must be like one of those painful pitiful moments in the past. In each and every moment, including this one, both family, friends and strangers are at work to bring good your way, and I realize, and if I hadn't before, begin to realize that this is not about me, us here, but about how God uses events and people to demonstrate that his in-charge of the situation, and of us all, in a loving way, of course :)

Still more to come from this vulnerable place in our lives, in my life... right now, I take comfort that in this particular crazy life situation, I completely learn again that divine intervention only occurs when I have nothing else up my sleeves, and that I continue to keep myself open to chances and possibilities, even if this means being vulnerable to hurt and pain.

So says the eternal optimist! :)

Be back in a few, don't go away now :)

Do you love cake or mama?

2010-04-06T11:11:00.006+08:00

Kimo, eating scrambled eggs for breakfast.
"What do you want to eat for breakfast?"
"Scrambled eggs, just scrambled eggs."

Charles Schulz said:

My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right?

Argh, but my mountain of despair is not yet scaled all the way yet. But thank God, already I feel a flicker of light, hope and happiness infiltrating this dark period of writing-nothingness. Oh well, c'est la vie! Que sera sera! Biasalah bah tu! [Oh well, that's alright!]

My son is as usual trapped between the sofa and the TV. Glued to a variety of programs all day long, save for naps, meals, and walks. And when his parents are good, for real "jalan-jalan" (going for joy-rides) outdoors to the park, lake, Woolies, Auntie Kelly's, and a host of other fancy finds that we can muster on brief day/night outings.

Yesterday, my back hurt like shit. To quote a friend, I absolutely "pranged" it, I think, and upon reflection, I realized it hurt due to going back "on the saddle" again. My goodness, to know that my back now hurts because I am back to sitting on a chair for hours on end is crazy. What to do... but to pop a few pills and take a nap. On the few times that I absolutely pranged myself, I had to tell Kimo to just let me be, and that he can do whatever he wants, watch TV till silly, read his books and put himself to sleep would be best, and the latter two things are what he often does.

An hour or so later this time round, I got myself up thinking to maximize the hours that I am left alone to my own devices. I looked at Kimo, and he was all prone on his bed with his blanket neatly pulled up to his chin. Hah! I thought, I could get used to this - maybe I can pretend to have more 'back pain' in the future :)

Today, we made a cake over the stove (something I will have to write about next time). The purpose of the activity was to use up some over-ripe bananas sitting on the kitchen sill, and to include at least something remotely exciting for Kimo's daily life today. We both licked the bowl cleaned when the cake went into the 'oven'. Then waited for it to cook-bake, and had a slice each with our lunch. A perfect start to my now short day. So, I have to hustle it some to finish this section I am working on, and I hope and pray hard that before I sleep tonight that I have done a tidy job of it.

Meanwhile, I have to squeeze in an hour's walk somewhere with Kimo. Hopefully, he wants to stroll it this time, so he can't make me stop every few houses to fawn at house numbers!

Mmmm, that was good, Mama!

So, do you love the cake or mama, who made the cake?

I love the cake.

What?!

(muttering away - I love the cake, I love the cake, I love the cake...)

Do you love the cake or do you love mama?

I love mama.

Awww...

(To everything else, prang it! :) )

How can you stop the sun from shining... how does the world go round?

2010-03-31T07:59:00.003+08:00

“Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.”

Emily Dickinson quotes (American Poet who has been called the New England mystic, 1830-1886)

Me and The Kimster hamming around on photo booth. The never 'mitoon' [me-tawn] (be-still) boy has something stinky in his hair and is trying to avoid the sniffer-mom...

I'll be having a slight, or not so slight, alteration to my thesis topic once again. But oh! How the heart does heave and sigh; hum and haw; sniffle and waffle over all things thesis topic-related. Now, there's a pang in my heart for the obvious reason above; but also for the desire to renew my mental and spiritual energies from somewhere deep in the recesses of my being... before I go crazy and be all cave-like meditative again.

But I have nothing worth commiserating with you all today. That is worth delving-sharing :( Rest assured I will be back to share my latest A-ha moment.

So just today, yes, I'll mentally walk down memory-lane a bit cos it never hurts to do so, especially on a day like this, there's a little nip in the air to remind you that autumn is really on its way, and the familiar rusty-gold leaves on the sidewalks are physical evidence of the season we're already in.

Yes, experiences turned memories do not fail to provide inspiration and a glimmer of hope. To that end, am holding on to my love ones tight, as this tide of futility washes over.

Mom: You know, it's Easter on Friday.
Child: Easter means?
Mom: Easter means when Jesus died and came back to life again.
Child: Jesus means?
Mom: Jesus means God.
Child: God means?
Mom: God means 'The Creator'.
Child: Oooh!

Comfy Bots and other harmless tales

2010-03-24T16:33:00.005+08:00

The twin selves that we possess, and the hapless in-between! (Kimo and mother, undivided)

So, there I was experiencing my first lull after a session of writing like writing up a storm. Trying to watch the next best thing on the telly at 1pm that was Oprah. Kimo was as always seeking undivided attention when nothing is showered on him. I was, I'm afraid, seeking inattention in the latest Coles supermarket catalogue, when I saw their diaper ad. "Hey look, Kimo, this diaper is called "Comfy Bots". "Comfy Bots? Comfy Bots?? Comfy Bots!!" said Kimo, and roared with laughter all over the living room. Taking the catalogue out my hand, he went Comfy Bots again and again, then without warning, he threw himself back onto the floor and landed with a thud. Needless to say, after the crying and fussing, he is back up again, and Comfy Bots will be a source of, hopefully pain-free, entertainment for a long time to come.

My goodness, but this writing process is inching ahead mighty slow. I realized its no point rushing the words along because by nature they need to be, yearn to be, coaxed out gently. Whatever it is, my 2nd draft ought to be better than the first, and on it goes.

How does one be a good writer, I will never know, cos I just aim to please and that's about it. I just want to be able to reach that place/part that my words resonate with you, and beyond that vibration, there's nothing else. Writing is really art like that. You simply can't peel the parts and measure them up. It's the sum of its parts making up more than the whole kind of reasoning.

Writing sure goes into those categories that love is in. That love per se is scientifically alienable is still something all of us grapple with on a daily and timely basis. How do we measure how we love and care for someone more than we have yesterday, more than we can in the future? How do we look at a potential mate-for-life and say, "This is the one" or perhaps, then hear this teeny voice inside going, "You know, you can do better"? How is what we have today not as good as what we'll get tomorrow, if tomorrow we are going to seek for better than what we have today?

And on and on the story goes. I've been talking about such stories with Wendell, because its fun to prick your conscience like this. Hopefully, its due to boredom instead of some internal niggling process (like writing!) that's always carrying an undercurrent of sorts. Well, even if we are just being like an old married couple (guffaw! only 10 years in), I, we like to point to that moment in time when we got caught up in a whirlwind frenzy of love and committed to one another in less time than a baby could be born.

It's the sheer logic that our love moment has defied to this date. Age, status, physicalities and what-have-yous fell off the resonance zone of that moment in time when we connected. That in the space-time collapse, we felt not that we saw or even had a glimpse of what our future would be like together. There was no planning of where to live, how to eat, what car to drive, what savings and retirement plan to have - zilch. Am not saying I was proud there wasn't; just saying that there truly wasn't!

It was just this sheer immense vibration of our two souls connecting and the energy and love of that busted through the tangible elements, to retain that psychic experience. So that, every time that moment in time of which we both would refer to is remembered, it's like we're tingling all over again with that energy. That 'it' gives us the power to become infuse with the same energy and longing is amazing. That 'it' is the source is a hundred-fold amazing in the amazingness of things. Power of love, indeed.

As I am waxing lyrical, my head is hurting! I think my brain-drain has finally caught up with me. But the library wants all their 40 books back soon, so I must go back to that writing cave today, and attempt to meditate these words to feel the funny tickle I am breathing into them. You see, I can't touch them and they know it. I can only blow gentle kisses their way and bring cool breezes in, till they get all happy and perform in the next symphony of which would be thesis writing proposal #3. Truly a million-dollar experience, this study thing may have brought me to another country, but it has surely brought me to several continents in my mind, as I consider what life is, and what we aspire to do in life.

Ecstatic!

2010-03-06T08:11:00.007+08:00

The New Zealand Swamp Hen or Pukeko - we see it all the time at the lakes here... beautiful colours, a true icon of NZ, and my most loved lakeside animal yet...

Looking at the last month of incubation for my study ideas, and I feel ecstatic! Because:

1) At the last meeting with my supervisor, she said that I had grown so much, and that she's so proud of me!

2) That my ideas have finally taken the shape that I had only dared to wish and dream them before they were born

3)That I feel such a sea of calm has washed over me, and effused me with energy and confidence to compile all my proposal versions together

I can only dream some more, and wish to and want to see things happen... What a ride this has been, this pregnancy-phase to a study... conceiving the idea, nurturing it, going through the developmental phases of it, feeling sick and lethargic with it, bewildered, confused, unsure, hopeful, scared, fearless, fearful... and now 'baby' will be born soon - I present my big ideas in the coming month, and then the research can begin after that.

I am screaming out loud on top of this little world of mine!

While the rest of us were sleeping...

2010-03-02T16:12:00.002+08:00

Me and Kimo enjoying a moment... we were probably talking about the strawberry 'or something' as Kimo would say nowadays!

"While the rest of us were sleeping, Cher's been out there for the last four decades living out every single one of our childhood fantasies...Cher embodies an unapologetic freedom and fearlessness that some of us can only aspire to."^[113] Cher has often been imitated by drag queens.^[114] Thomas Rogers of Salon magazine commented that "[d]rag queens imitate women like Judy Garland, Dolly Parton and Cher because they overcame insult and hardship on their path to success, and because their narratives mirror the pain that many gay men suffer on their way out of the closet."^[114] - from Cher's wikipedia blurb

I remember the first time I saw Cher's "If you can turn back time" MTV, my eyes about popped out. There she was in all her butt-naked glory turning back time for all the world to see amid a sea of adoring navy men. And I think that was the time that I fell in love with her, again. I mean, I knew about Cher, and Sonny, and of Sonny and Cher, and thought she strikingly beautiful and that she was a 'gypsy' whatever that meant to me at the time. But I didn't know of Cher in her own element, the Tina Turner side of her. So, yes, I loved that she was ballsy, and that further she had all these incredible clothing to wear that seems to weigh a ton, yet her voice's so crystal clear, so effortless.

And yet, she says this in the wiki blurb somewhere, that actors don't consider her a bona fide one; singers don't consider her a real singer, either. What a shame, a crime! But then, that's the power of Cher as well, to be who she is in her own right and still be exceptionally believable and true. Sigh, Cher, I wanna be like you! :)

Anyhoo, here I am in the meandering forest and rivers still of an Amazonian wilderness of my mind. I struggle only with my topic this time round. And all my grounded-groundless fears. Since my last post, I've had another 'writing retreat' session where I holed-up in the small cavern of a study cum changing room cum dining table we have, and wrote away till at 1 or 2am in the morning, I felt myself drift off into an eerie physical-spiritual phase. My mind sharp and alert; body about dead; I felt that the stirring of the supernatural realm around me, as the humans had release their hold of the physical stuff in their hands all day long.

As I continued to write, or my hand did, my eyes half closed, when suddenly I snapped, and said, this is nuts, maybe I should do this in my sleep! And so I did, and the next day got my paragraph out, and so the story goes...

Now, as I clean-up in the aftermath of my rampaging inside the cavern, I separate the chaff from the wheat; the notes from the good notes. And said to myself: "Here are my fragmented notes; and here are my organized fragmented notes", pointing to my collated ones, and just had to laugh out loud.

Oh well! Just reconnecting here with you, before I head back to the hole-in-the-wall that is... and if my worlds start to warp again, I'll definitely let you in on it!

Kwaking and other stories while on the caffeine trail...

2010-02-19T14:26:00.008+08:00

“I would rather have a good plan today than a perfect plan two weeks from now.”

So said Gen. Patton of the US Calvary. That's what I did, then two weeks later I had a better plan. But oh boy, a trillion brain cells had resorted to suicide, I think. Either from not being able to bear yet another cup of coffee; or from another undiluted madness of my inner dilemma on this idea or that. Rest assured, all my papers have been sent, and now I have a breather before the next onslaught!

In all the craziness, Kimo came to me from watching something from the TV, and said that so-and-so had some food and then he/she was "kwaking" it out. The word sounded so natural, but I knew it was not English. Then it dawned on me that we would get him to spit out his food by saying "kwak". If I recall, this is called onomatopoeia in English, where the sound of something becomes its name.

Poor Kimo, he's really had too much TV for now. And it doesn't help him to reconnect with family members over Skype cos he has no concept of 'here' or 'there', and starts to melt down then. Like just now after skyping with my mom and Tania, he went to the bedroom fretting. I called and called him but he wouldn't answer. Finally, I had to go to him, and said "What's wrong?". "I can't (don't want to) watch Elmo's world (anymore)". "Do you feel sad, Kimo?". Kimo nods ever so slowly. "Say, "I feel sad because I am not in Sabah." Kimo repeats softly. And after several more discussions on the topic (repeating for the hundredth time when our intended departure date would be, and stuff), he was pacified especially with the mentions of melons, peaches, nectarines and yogurt, his favourite foods.

Neither here nor there, life hangs in the balance, sometimes. We want to quit, and we felt that we should have. We want to quit, when we're ahead. We want to quit, because the body's falling apart at the seams. But what really keeps us all going on? Somewhere in the fatigue, in the triumphant feel of apprehension-tinged success and the niggling regrets that bite away our conscience like little tiny mice gnawing away on aged cheese, we persevered because we believed that if we can go that extra mile and get it done and over with, the bad feelings will disappear, as they rightly would. In other words, we do something terrible so that we don't have to feel terrible anymore after doing it!

Happy is the man/woman who can recognize the difference between quitting and persevering, though. Moving on is one of life's greatest achievements, I think, but it is also the most understated strength in us. Because not having persevered and quitting, what else do we have but to show the indefatigable human spirit in us all, that we'll try again tomorrow. So, you set of notes lying about all over the place, I keep holding onto you, but you've not brought me to where I need to be, or perhaps you've done your part... anyways, in you go with the trash... I have more bewildering ideas out there waiting to get their grabby hands on me :)

Boy, n.: a noise with dirt on it. ~Not Your Average Dictionary

2010-02-06T19:50:00.005+08:00

If you see someone everyday for as many hours in a day as you possible can, you never notice the growth of the person. Than someone else sees the same person with great intervals between the first and recent visit, and one often remarks how the other has grown and changed. We say these things to old friends we seldom get to meet; to relatives that we meet at the yearly Christmas party; to enemies and ex-lovers alike. They've grown prettier and older. We've become quieter but bolder. Nothing and no one remains the same, if nothing but physically speaking.

Kimo has been taking advance math this 'semester'. It consists of a practical, whereby he counts even and odd numbered houses alternatively during a 10-15 minute walk about our neighbourhood. As we walk down the street, he chirps-shrieks, "Look Mama, it's House number 22; and what is the next house number? Oh, it's 24!". So far, no one has interrupted his learning session.

Coupled with this, Kimo is also learning the concept of negation in the English language. That there is a significant difference between "I can't" and "I don't want to". The former must be fused with some element of courtesy in Kimo's interpretation because he means the latter but says 'can't'. Then, he totally throws us off by saying "I can't go count house numbers", when he actually wants to go for his house number-counting walks. I believe if I chart his responses properly, I will get to see a pattern yet of his understanding of the concepts of "No" and "Yes". So, please keep an eye on a future post of the results on this one :)

Other than, Math and English, Kimo's ornithology class has yet to fully take off. We have labeled every black looking bird, 'magpie', so far. And because they've that brazen stare and dive-bomb people during Spring, they're mean old birds to me, and Kimo knows my position on that.

Two areas have developed rather nicely, I should say. One has to do with books; the other toilet-bound. On books, Kimo has come out of his 'mumbling-to-self' phase, and is once again reading out loud with gusto, with a little twist. He self-corrects, wait for my prompts and... dramatizes for effect with on-the-spot intonation, too! The bedtime story-teller gets a real entertainment :)

Toileting dramas are now a solid hit-and-miss affair. No more grimacing and nose-pinching stages and gingerly-holds on soiled undies. Personal hygiene is more keen to Kimo nowadays and any feeling other than clean is reported and removed.

Speaking of which, the clothing department is also on a self-help basis. Yes, the t-shirts are on the wrong side and pants are very Urkel, if you know what I mean. But knowing your dimensions are so important - where is top to bottom; side holes to middle; front to back.

The learning list goes on and on... I'm supposed to be stumped by one thing a day that my child does to show me that I do not know it all. So far, I have not been truly stumped yet. Perhaps, I just haven't been listening hard enough! When I do, you'd be the first to know it - that singular comment or question that had my brain freeze on the spot. That had my heart skipped a beat, to the awesome miracle in front of me.

There are no seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child.
There are seven million. ~Walt Streightiff

I really need to poop when...

2010-01-31T19:58:00.009+08:00

Kimo, imitating the black swan doing his leg-up glide across Lake Gininderra.

I realize that I have more time than I thought would be given me to finish this thesis aka dissertation proposal. But if I haven't been waffling away time, then I must have been making waffles in all my spare-time, because my precious days are quickly dissipating once again...

I confess I am such an agonizer! Different from a worry-wart, I don't fear what would or could happen, but I agonize over the details. Whether big or small, they're fantastical details that when in my imagination becomes life-sucking blood-thirsty monsters attempting to devoid the stem-life of my new-born ideas.

After some time, parading in my make-believe world up there, and alone, I start to stick my hand out for help. If someone can pull me out of my doldrums by just saying, "You called?", I'll be fine! That's because I am visible again to myself. Even as the mythical beasts fighting over my theories suddenly become afflicted by a mute-rendering, colour-fading, size-de-enhancing disease.

I am most helped by coffee, and I swear by this. A cup of coffee to face the task; another cup to unwind from it. So, in between cups, I attempt to live properly. Delving in and out of my topic and concepts and arguments, I sort out laundry, dishes, toys, meals, play, child and husband. Then, occasionally, I take a nap and plan for sleep! The former is extreme privilege and a good one measures up as a good afternoon coffee.

Writing is a solo task. Some friends went for a writers' retreat altogether by the beach recently. They swore up and down, but their soft chuckles belied the intensity of their musing together :) I don't know yet how a writing group and circle can help me, since I seem to enjoy this routine of being pulled by Godzilla into a dark and dank cafe, and being saved by illumination and the bell, mostly. But I have to try something once, right? Maybe having a body next to me as I battle wolves attempting to gnaw at my juicy ideas will jolt me to the reality that I cannot entertain this psycho-drama in my head for more than 10 minutes at a time! :)

Oh well, whatever it is, the coffee cannot stop; it must increase over time. Tangible life practices, such as sleep, must come higher up the schedule of priorities, and an investment into one of those sand-clocks would be interesting. Can I slay two-headed dragons under 1 minute? That could be my goal. But as I am on the low-ish end of the learning curve, make that 10 mins still :)

Urban birds of South Australia

2010-01-23T18:55:00.011+08:00

Kimo posing by his bird poster from Uncle Sam. His 'V' is inspired by one of his latest reads, There's a bird on your head! by Mo Willems. Elephant says to Piggie, "There are love birds on my head?", and Piggie does an 'Oh-well' shrug that looks remarkably like what Kimo is doing here.

Boy, but again, what a difference a week makes!

In my last post, there I was regaling in the month-long assignment that we had accomplished. Well, folks, when I wrote that, Wendell and I had been cleaning house the whole doggone-day, and were feeling mighty good about ourselves. But in retrospect, after it's been done, will we ever do this again, you say? Well, Wendell swears that that was our last time, cos house-sitting is as easy as making your own wedding cake for the first time! It's not your cake, it means a whole lot to someone else, and you had better not mess it up!

Suddenly, and it really felt like all of a sudden considering we only got this new place days before we had to move, we are in a new environment trying to breathe easy! It's not the prettiest place, and the scorching heat these past few days have sorely tested my patience. Feeling like we've booked ourselves in a rarely-used mountain cabin, we're still trying to get used to the dinky bathroom of a 1/4 sink, which silently mocks the plush charm of the plum walls in the living room.

We want to be a little homey this time. However, our strange array of plastic spoons betrays our interior decorating potentials, which are minimal to none. But surprise surprise, we're trying! [In my next life, we're going to have Wendell's home-savvy sister do our hovel over!]. First, the unrelenting heat needed to be tamed down, so we got an "Air Cooler" aka Evaporative Air Cooler thing at second-hand and discounted at that. Then, a lovely futon with frame was sourced at a low price, too. Sam's nature posters gift to Kimo went up everywhere next.

That, and being able to finally unpack all throughout this weekend, I was beginning to feel those first few loose moments in this new home, of owning the space around, and of putting my stamp on it.

Last but not least, we went to visit the local shops, and were pleased to know that it was kitty-korner the flat, and that our burb boasted the best bakery in all the burbs. And I swear by their 'Melting Moments', 'Cheese and Bacon pasty' and 'Plain Donut' that they're good. I was also personally very happy now that the fridge had something on every rack, food being my thing. Cos that really spoke for me, that this home finally belonged to us, we are living in it and getting our mark on it good.

Now, back to the grindstone, and to finish my writing, so we can buss on out of here by April!

A chair is still a chair...

2010-01-17T20:46:00.005+08:00

The topic of "Home" is popping-up even more on my radar. Not only are people all a-buzzin' in my birth country of Malaysia over rights to God's name, but in my selfish interest, I am concerned with only one thing for now, that is to put up my very tired feet, have long and slows sips from a bottomless cup of tea... in our lovely little granny flat... tomorrow! (I certainly have linguistic thoughts on the issue in Malaysia but alas, I am too unmotivated to comment, save that I had passed all my nonchalant rantings to Wendell earlier).

But yes, home is ever so debatable and elusive, isn't it? People who don't leave home do not know what they're missing; people who do not live at home miss out a lot. Now, that's the real predicament, we just don't know how the other half truly lives, do we? Until, of course, we have a chance to do just that. Then, some of us with half a chance, pack our bags eagerly and run with it! Still others... talk of it - this migration thing - days on end, half a chance or under your very nose, it seems better to dwell in the lovely untampered thoughts of living in a foreign country... roads paved with silver and gold kind of thing.

Our lovely house-sitting has ended for us. And a month is really very little time, if the house is a wonderful place to be in. My regrets this time around is not having spent enough time with Kimo, due to the endless typing over the computer. Trying to finish my very last few write-ups for school, we were also pounding the pavement looking for our next apartment to rent. We went everywhere - from outer north to inner south, and even thought of living on the border of NSW, since Wendell's workplace borders the former. Then, we actually went to NSW's Queanbeyan to check out a place. The guy attempting to rent the place did not make it clear to me that it was a share, one of Wendell's pet peeves. I was alright, but suddenly, someone replied my ad on one of those Aussie online community bulletins. This is how we are ending-up in a granny flat (an 'extension' to those in Sabah, who knows what this means).

My thoughts in connection to the idea of "home" is in reflecting on our house-sitting op: I remembered the feeling of being affronted by the house in the very first hours, days, week... The smells of someone else's house is like an odorless smoke to my spirit, gassing me out of breath, till slowly my soul can breath, and I feel alright. Then slowly, ever so slowly, I begin to figure things out roundabout the house - where the switches are; how to bang certain cabinet doors to make them close. Then I got so busy and frantic; my ideas were coming to naught; potential landlords do not want a short-term deal. I ruminate up there; I bake-off; I fill the dish-washing machine faithfully every night so that I can take relief from seeing those warm spotless dishes; wishing my brain every night before going to bed was that warm and problem-free...

Next thing we know, we're packing up for our own home...

I'd like to relate this to the idea of moving, and moving away to a new place, a new country, whether to migrate for work and/or live abroad for real.

As mentioned earlier, people who never leave home do not know what being away is like. I've been reading comments in regards to Malaysia at present and the fact that almost a million Malaysians have "migrated". The columnist said it was a "Grass is Greener" syndrome. I thought of myself and my going and coming back over the past 16 years, and the plentiful stories I could share. But seeing that this entry is going past bearable limit, I'll try and wrap up momentarily.

So yes, grass is greener, eh? Well, if I can share one thing and one thing only tonight, is to say that the heart aches the same under the Australian sun for things one cannot have; the head does hurt agonizing over life decisions in the cool winter of the U.S. In other words, shit happens when you're abroad, too. If you can be content with your life at the rate it is going, at the country it is going in, then be exceedingly happy to have had blissful memories of your life to keep you smiling well into your 80s!

Consider this: Life is a sea-change in continuum - I can be born in Malaysia, spend my early days in exotic Sabah, live abroad in foreign locales in my prime... or I can be born in exotic foreign locales, spend my early days here and there, and retire in good old Sabah... either way, I have moved, moved on, migrated! I have also then: lived, learned, appreciated all the opportunities given me and not worry if I feel at home or not... cos after awhile, you get use to it, and in your own skin, you'll be able to breathe easy again...

... when no one's there... but a house is not a home, when you're not there... (Luther Vandross)

They're plums, not peaches!

2010-01-05T12:40:00.004+08:00

“Life is better than death, I believe, if only because it is less boring and because it has fresh peaches in it”
(Thomas Walker)

Kimo found that the garden has plum trees! Off he went, foraging through them, standing on tip-toe on the highest rung off the stairs to the tree-house. Hoping against hope that his stubby fingers would snag yet one of the half-ripe ones.

My constant barking off, "Kada kamaa! Aatu' ko mati!" was heard all throughout the event. Until he relented somewhat, and scampered off to show me his two finds. Oh, the glee on his face! Of being able to access that tree and make off with its fruit(s)! Anyone of us who had a decent enough childhood could appreciate the triumphant moment of picking fruit of a tree. Make that picking of fruit from forbidden trees! Even kids know that a good find is when it is free and seemingly legal to take/keep :)

Oh boy, but we are immersed in the little needs in life. Oh, just you know, things like looking for a place to stay in, paying bills and the like. We vacillate between Wendell staying on for several more months to make some and build-up our sorely depleted resources, and him going off with us in March, back home, so that my fun can begin with the research and all.

In the "yes" to the latter option, we now need accommodation not for 6, let alone 3, but actually anything from 1 - 2 months! This afternoon when Wendell happily went off to work, I don't think he even realized that that was our actual timeline. Wait till he comes home, so I can spring on him the obvious news!

To this end, do cross fingers and toes for us, won't you? Won't hurt to send your positive energy to the universe in thought and in prayer our way :) My feeling though is that we should stay in a positively happy albeit pricey place to mark this 1st tough-as-nuts year in Canberra.

Adios!

In which to see the world

2009-12-31T09:12:00.011+08:00

A whole year has past, and I tried to recall what transpired this day last year, and I just couldn't. My memory loss is astounding! I forget things, but it seems the things that I forget are not as uneventful, as they've been simply absorbed into the texture and fabric of my life that it needs no fancy recollection whatsoever! If this is so, then last year's New Year's eve was simply one that rolled by while I was perhaps literally sleeping.

Oh well! C'est la vie! But yes, I have on occasion slept through a New Year's eve by choice, only once I think, and it was not too bad, considering when one wakes up the following day, one can exclaim as loudly as one can, and as surprised as one feels it, to say "Hello, brand new day... you brand new year you!" :)

I think of the many many things that are Kimo-inspired, and know that what I/we have learnt from him are what will inspire me/us for the next year. Now that I have opened-up myself (only quite recently) to that possibility that life needs a little un-planning, I find myself agreeing to what Anais Nin says of new year resolutions: "I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.".

So, in favor of a simpler take on life, I adhere to the wisdom so potent only a child could exude it without bias.

Life lessons from Kimo:

1. Kimo, you showed us at the time of your birth that you will fight your premature complications. Everyday, we whispered, "Kimo, be strong, you can fight this", and you did. We take from you lesson #1: Fight for your life; never quit.

2. Kimo, in your second year of life, you showed us your incessant will to learn. Getting to know your ABCs and 123s turned on something innate in you that genuinely enjoys and understands the meaning behind all these symbols. We take from you lesson #2: Love what you naturally like; be crazy about it!

3. Kimo, in your third year of life, your boundless energy matches your unstoppable joy. As you got to know the world around you, you placed your passion high-up there with an eye for detail. We take from you lesson #3: Have passion for details; there's reassurance, comfort and pride in structure, just as much as in creativity.

4. Kimo, as you enter your 4th birthday, we can only continue to sit and be amazed by your exploration of the world around you. May you never ever compromise who you are, because to know and love yourself is a gift that keeps on giving back to you. So, we learn along with you, lesson #4: Love yourself unconditionally; you are the best ever you today, and tomorrow is another day to continue experiencing the self-awareness and growth.

A nostalgic Christmas in the rain...

2009-12-25T18:39:00.005+08:00

Photo credit: Karoli on Zoomr

Today is Christmas and it's been raining the whole day. Last night was so hot, Kimo was perspiring in his sleep. I turned on the air-con and slept on the floor in his room, so that I too can benefit from the cooling action it gives. Wendell never bothers with such things; he can sleep at a drop of a hat, whereas I need to be super comfortable before I let sleep take over. But in the middle of the night, I half dreamed it but knew that rain was falling down. Now, I wish it would rain on for the rest of the week! This Aussie heat is still so energy-sapping to me.

Having to declined Christine's invite for Xmas dinner, Kimo and I contented ourselves with homely fun. We made ABC letters with dough tonight and when it got baked, he started to chomp them down. My child is unfortunately or fortunately obsessed with letters and numbers, and he thought in his mind to inhale all the baked goodies. Thank God, we only got to 'I'! Nevertheless, after my firm insistence, and persuading him that letters "A" to "G" will not disappear in the container, and plus that I got pencil and paper out to write a note to his dad to please not eat his ABC bread, Kimo relented from his frantic bread eating. After noting that it should be signed, "Love, Mama and Kimo", he was also quite good in finishing up the chocolate-flavoured milk that he had been avoiding all day. Complaining that it was too cold or too warm, I think it was not sweetened that's kept him from it.

Because of the blissful rain, it got quite cold in the late 10Cs and a little balmy at that. The sounds of rain all around this nice house we're sitting in/ caring for made me think of Babagon days, where I would spend overnight visits to be with my late grandmother. She was going through a rough time, but never ever showed it. Her demeanour helped in that she was the nonplussed sort of the unchatty variety. She kept doing her thing, and was ever so tidy without a hair out of place. Her steadiness in retrospect amazes me still. And I revel in my memories of her today. Happy Christmas, indeed!

Other than loving thoughts of Mamatua, as always when nostalgia hits, I look for a piece of music in my internal recollections and played Barry Manilow songs while the rain continued falling, and continues falling still. Now that Kimo's tucked in bed and all, I have the run of the house again to myself. Wendell's away at work and so my last hours to the Christmas day is left to ruminate in my private thoughts.

Above all, I thank God for the sheer strength He's given to both myself and Wendell this year. Not just for when we arrived Canberra mid this year, but truly from the very crack of this year. Unbelievably, we truly 'made it through the rain' as Manilow says. So much has transpired, work-wise, finance-wise, health-wise, love-wise, friend-wise, study-wise, child-wise, family-wise... I understand, even if just a smidgen, that it takes being together to make things work better. Again, I am not the only one, the lonely one, many that I know who've opened their hearts, have shown me that everything's gonna be alright, eventually, essentially... when we yield to each other, our partners.

I look forward to forging straight ahead with this awesome one beside me. His name is Wendell. I under-appreciate him too many times to count, and I am so under-funded, I have nothing to reiterate my thankfulness for his being with me here in Canberra. That I could be in Alaska or the Antartic that I know he would still be beside me is indisputable. May we continue to make lovely memories together, in surfeit and want... after all, it's the good old memories that count! So, let's make them count!

and now the conversations...

2009-12-21T06:51:00.002+08:00

Wendell sent Sam and Gaby off to the airport this morning.

Without the usual pitter-patter of Kimo's not-so-baby feet, I had to push myself out of the bed to start the day to find that he was still nicely tucked under the sheets. If you recall, this is my favourite time in the day when no one is awake to fill that physical space, my mental space neatly takes over and my analytical self begins to stir.

But what a gamut of emotions I had this morning! Happy for the above two-some that they're going to get their much needed break, but not wanting them to go just yet, then not knowing how to engage them in this brief morning transition. Wendell thinks I am going over much since both will come back and retrieve belongings and car before heading off for Gaby's research site. But still, I was, and still am, wrecked!

I tried to articulate myself to my partner, but failed. And unbelievably, I say 'thank goodness, God, heaps' for this post-modern reflexive tool of a blog, cos that is that extended hard-drive for me to create datum of this experience that is hard to vocalize. So, to all reading this, I appreciate the attention, but do forgive the pathetic edge of the ranting, if you spot one.

In my effort to relieve myself of my pent-up emotions, I am turning to some of my music stash that is absolutely perfect for unlocking moments like this. Now that the words do flow, I have to ask myself as to why I am sadden so.

Well for one, it is a low from a high: Encapsulated in the tangible, we dine and laugh and made time for bonding. I love Sam, Gaby and we've been hanging out before, so it's not to do with a first-time bonding that one gets a rush from, and looking forward to more of the same. But this is definitely a low from a very high...

To try and explain, as a cohort, that is, all the students that came this year have begun this arduous task of organizing and resorting their mental capacities and virtually any capabilities known to man that might serve them in their fieldwork, we were lumped as one in a single place, and told to learn, thrive and prepare. Gaby, as ever so cool is she [which she tells me yesterday that she worries just as much as me!] is the second-last one in this year, and the second-last one to leave, leaving me. I am the last in all sense of the word.

Last to arrive, last to leave, last to figure things out, last to present amateur thoughts to a body of professional ones, last to settle in, last to pack up, the very last of my cohort.

Being last, I saw how everyone worked through the last frenzy of fieldwork preparations and the mountainous paperwork that seem to fly off our tables as soon as we've spelled-check and signed the last page. I saw almost everyone's seminar presentation, heard all the nice and you-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about-do-you comments. I have even been my friends' repository of after-thoughts, nail-biting regrets, research and topic changes... their cathartism, I so absorbed because I know I don't get to see them after their very last mucking-about the grad centre or wherever for a very long time.

Some people believe in holding themselves in, or holding the fort of however, and plough through grad school with a militant vengeance to annihilate all untrustworthy ideas and diversions of any sort. A very very long time ago, I actually felt at home with the zeal of conquering the world, and make like a Greek philosopher, contemplating and writing stuff up that would one day change how people recreate their down-trodden lives. Nowadays, and I think especially after leaving full-time work, everything has encroached (back) into my Life. Nothing is special and unique to be left on its own box; everything must come out and mix and mingle in an open living home plan.

I am not even duly scared of that kind of change, today. That is, that is not what drives my sadness this moment. I think it is that feeling that after saying goodbye to everyone, helping them pack-up and wishing them well, I realize that no one will be saying goodbye to me. I don't have to turn around and wave someone goodbye. How incredibly lonely is that feeling for that one last man standing!

And again, I don't know if I am feeling loneliness or lonesomeness, that I am missing people as much as I feel left behind, and of the latter, I thought at first that was the right term for it. But being 'left behind' entails I had missed out on something that others were privvy too. I did not, have not. How do you explain this sheer feeling, this awesome awareness of being alone in on a sea-cliff of a small island, where everyone has left the island for a 'better' place because they could afford to, because it was their time to move on, but that you know you just can't yet and it's not quite time yet for you? The sage and poet will say "Even this too, shall pass" and "The seagulls are friends just as I am to them", respectively.

I have the whole place, this fictitious PhD island, to myself. I have endless mornings and nights to think through of my first year in this community. I can come and go as I please without paying no mind, to anyone, anything. I can imagine and philosophize minimally and grandiously at will, and imagine my cohort sitting as in a tribal council around me, posting their comment or two, on my research takes.

But rest assured, my ship will come in one day, soon and then, very soon. Maybe it won't be so hard looking back to shore from the schooner. At least the seagulls will be there to hold the fort, ruminate around, act out like a scholarly bunch... at least they will be there to call it home, just as we had, and will have again...

It's just so hard to say goodbye...

Nothing like a barbie on a Sunday afternoon

2009-12-20T21:40:00.002+08:00

We just hosted our first get-together in our 'house' (we're house-sitting for a month), and it was a blast. In attendance were Hatta and Bulan, our new found friends from Kuching, Sarawak. Dr. Hatta's a paleoanthropology doctoral candidate studying primatology (leaf-eating monkey in Sarawak), P. hosei hosei; Bulan's his wife. Dr. Hatta is a vet by training, and works for the state government in Sarawak. Gaby and Sam are from Montreal, Canada. Gaby and I were the last students to arrive this year to the Anthro program. She's studying TCK - Third Culture Kids; Sam is her other half.

Hatta, being Hatta, wanted to taste that flame-broiled meat in his mouth, and went to get charcoal briskets. That's how we got the chicken wings cooked, and they were good! While trying to get things done, I cut some thin wheat wraps/Mountain Bread into squares and painted mustard, some kind of Indian sauce, sprayed them with oil and sprinkled salt then popped them into the oven. They were nice and crunchy in just 2 minutes. Together with Kimo's pretzels, and not forgetting the beer and the gin punch, it made for a good cocktail of sorts.

I didn't have salad on the menu, but was able to barbecue and bake some potatoes, dice fine half an onion, throw in some thawed peas, mix in some mayonnaise, ranch dressing, salt, sugar, and pepper them all. That was the only green thing on our menu.

Then, as I narrated 'finding myself' stories to Bulan, I made an old-fashion type chocolate sponge cake (no leavening) with Kimo pulling up a chair next to me. His "I can't wait" while jumping up and down was very challenging to my sponge making, cos eggs don't like draught or loud banging and bumping type noises. I managed to get through the entire process, sifting flour and cocoa powder, and sticking the pan in the oven, without spilling, or my child careening onto the floor from his endless bouncing on the chair.

I marinated black pitted cherries in some Irish Cream but the juice made the cream curdle. In order to not show the curdling mix, I mashed the cherries real well with some fresh cream that was whipped. When said cake was done, I cut it into layers and place the cherry cream in each later, wrapped the cake in cling wrap and stuck it into the fridge. In one of the stages, I managed to get Kimo to wash, read him a book, and got him to nap.

What am I writing here?? Sounds like a report! :)

Oh well, the short story is - I think the spaghetti bolognese I made is good, the black forrest cake nice, the chicken barbecued and baked lovely, the chardonnay wonderful, the peppermint tea sweet, my kid well-behaved, my husband helpful, my friends great company... my life exactly where I want it to be...

What is the only difference between man and animal?
Man knows how to make fire.

And love will lead you there...

2009-12-11T14:35:00.007+08:00

I'm an odd cat. I read and re-read stuff I wrote, and chuckle to myself because the me I wrote about, or rather, the me that wrote, writes rather optimistically with rosy-glasses intact! Well, you know what they say, behind that smile, the smiler doth feels sad and is carrying a world of hurt. The sad stories that only hearts can heave and sigh away are carefully hidden behind those glossy lips and toothy grin. A Chinese friend said that in her language there is a saying that expresses this charade well, in translation: "In every home, there is a book that has never been read".

That you may find reality in my uncanny existence, I think today, the blog missive will attempt to pull those tortoiseshell glasses off. So, pull up a chair and let me put the kettle on :) Let me tell you some of our downs in Canberra so far...

1. I still seem to be the only person I know among students in the department who is not receiving a stipend at the end of the month, or bi-monthly, from a generous funder.

2. Hence, on Aloha Fridays, when the guys and gals invite for a pint, I craft a sob-story of having to rush to get Kimo out of school and that Wendell's on his shift, and such; I refrain from beer simply because I have no money for flavoured drinks of any sort.

3. When your budget is $20 (or less) a week for food, vegetarianism becomes a close friend and the stretching of food becomes my Arts and Crafts session - how do you rebirth a meal? Of late, a slice of home-made bread dunked into a doctored-up from-the-can satay sauce was surprisingly satisfying. Not so different from eating a RM1.50 roti canai telur (egg paratha) from the local vendors in Sabah :) As for Kimo, he eats his usual balanced diet, but now, jello is a daily addition because a pack of jello makes a good 4 servings, enough to last him the week (on alternate days). Sad? But true...

4. Finding Xmas wrapping paper a little pricey at AUD$3-4, I proceeded to recycle the papers in my office. Stark white, I got a friend to sketch Chrimassy-looking cartoons on it, which I proceeded to colour in. Said friend's hubby got so sad at my measly colour pencils (2 shades of silver and 2 shades of purple), he went to get "magic colour" (inked color pens) at the campus newsagent. I'd say, that was the best looking wrapping paper I had ever seen! Personalized, too. Touched, grateful and humbled? True!

5. And...

... what am I thinking?

I am just not cut out to moan! Maybe when I show off to my sister next time, that I had made it through sheer grit! [Anything to get Tania's goat!! :)]

BUT... seriously, the following are what counters all the sad stuff combined:

6. That I cannot complain that we have been blessed today: We have a house-sitting stint coming up, where we get to save some money! True! And about time...

7. Kimo has successfully been weaned off his diapers! He now can pee and poo on his own, albeit, with a minor mishap or two. Still! And about time...

8. Wendell has a job that pays, not as much as he would like, but it pays!! Good! And just in time...

9. I have written over 30,000 words since I arrived for thematic papers that may or may not feature in my dissertation/thesis. This is equivalent in length to an Honors thesis. Really? Yup, took a lot of time...

10. My revised thesis topic is the most daring, most beyond-my-imagination, most new, most scary, most different, most exciting to anything, any academic thing I have done in my life. Truer than true! The time has come...

Happy weekend, all!

"What doesn't kill you can only make you stronger"

p/s Not forgetting neighbours and friends who give away toys and food that cheer us to no end: Satay sauce among many things spiced-up our meagre diet; Second-hand toys galore for Kimo to supplement his cars and blocks. The kindly neighbour giving his kids toys away due to their leaving for their home country this week, said that it was our "right" to receive as neighbours! How cool is that? A merry Christmas for Kimo indeed!

Hope springs... eternal

2009-12-06T07:01:00.003+08:00

I love, absolutely love, cats. The first cat, Wendell and I had adopted, came from the dumpster in our first rental. At the eve of our wedding, we were concerned about hauling our stuff and of all things, spray-painting my so-called wedding shoes silver. When suddenly, at the parking lot, we heard the driest-ever kitty mewling coming from the scraggliest-ever kitty in all Sabah. After properly bringing him, Tiger, into our home, he became bigger, stronger and worm-free. Tiger also learned to potty where humans do, rode with us in our weekly trips back to Tamparuli and was the most affable cat around.

One morning, it didn't come home. Worried that it had gotten into some kind of territorial fright, I went out searching for it. The children in the next apartment had been friendly with Tiger, and this particular morning, one of them was up and engaged me in a conversation at the corridor. From across the air-well partitioning each apartment, I asked if the child had seen Tiger. The child said, "I have a kitty, too" and promptly pulled up Tiger from under his armpits to show me. Tiger had apparently spent the night at another family's house. I didn't admonish the child but went back into our unit, woke Wendell up and told him about Tiger's turning-away of affection for us. Tiger was indeed an incredibly good children's cat.

We had two other tortoise-shell tabbies after Tiger. Both with unique characters; lives and ends. They say that pets are therapeutic and provide unconditional love. I once felt so stressed, I grabbed Dulcie and began stroking her fur rhythmically for half an hour, my stress melted away, I felt dozey and actually fell asleep. When I woke up, cat was sleeping beside me and I felt a 100 times better.

There are no kitties to be had, today. The timing is simply not right, among other considerations. We were back-up pet-sitters the other day. Somebody at the university posted an email in the mass emailing list I was on, asking for a house and pet-sitter. I responded to the pet-sitting opportunity, and soon, we were introduced to Sexton, a massive 15 kg orange tabby! It took to us, and Kimo was giddy with excitement by the novelty of having an animal around. We didn't have to assume any pet-duty 'cos I suppose the original house-sitter got everything covered. But till today, Kimo remembers the house number of said kitty.

The feeling that you don't fit in because you're different - your hair, weight, hobbies, talking style - renders eventually that feeling that you don't belong in a particular group, or with a set of people, or even family. I am a rather snory person: I snore when I've had a tiring day; I snore because my sinus is dry and constricted. I've even caught myself snoring. Wendell got irrirated with me for snoring through the night and causing him sleep deprivation. But it was when he insisted that I could have had controlled my snoring the night before that something in me snap: I felt stigmatized and thought at once that this is probably how people feel when prejudiced for the colour of their skin. The feeling was that intense that it scared me, that I could feel so out-of-place; so rejected.

And the training begins...

2009-12-01T13:47:00.008+08:00

Boy, but a few workshops and seminars on research integrity and ethics sure do bring your head around to a humble start - to reflect on what it is exactly I want to study, and the concrete and pragmatic ways it should come about.

That, and half a dozen unrelated topics floated in my mind, but it seems the bulk of my Tuesday afternoon was trying to corral Kimo to the bedroom for his routine afternoon nap. He protested so much and gave in to a crying fit. Insisting that he maintains his activity (block-building), although it was pretty much the same creativity since the morning.

The bottom-line was I wanted the change to take place (nap) and he didn't (want to nap). So, after so much negative energy thrown about, I gave up and started dinner preparations. But while chopping potatoes and browning chicken, I started a monologue intended for his young ears, about how much I wanted to tell him the story of the six little butterflies, and how I too, wanted a nap.

At every interval, petulant whimpers that sounded very much like "no" could be heard. By then, Wendell had said his goodbyes for his work-shift. So, as I went to the bedroom (having turned off the stew anticipating that I will yet get him to nap this afternoon), I continued by voiced longings of a lie-in and crushed hopes of an entertaining story of butterflies playing in the garden.

A while later, the marketed-to entered and closed the bedroom door behind him as I feigned surprise over his desire to listen to my rantings. Saving the butterfly story for last, we went through Miss Tippy-Toppy and Thomas the Train's first attempt at carrying passengers. Yawning through the butterfly story (for effect), my voice fell into a hush towards the end of the story where the butterflies somehow after having their lunch, post-garden play, felt mighty sleepy.

I pretended to sleep, and Kimo simply turned his back, tuned me out and went to la-la land. How easy was that, I thought. So much bother for nothing, really. Now, if only I can get this knotted stress out and to stop constricting my throat s0! If not the research writing, it's the deadlines looming from this department and that - all prodding you to toe the line and maintain discipline. Like Kimo, I know when to comply simply because it's for my own good. If only I can take it easy and have fun while doing it...

"Oh yeah, you'll need to fill out the FULL application for your research".
"You mean, there's one that is less FULL?"
"Well... the standard one is expedited. But yours needs to be sat for and discussed thoroughly".
My mind went, "Oo-kay, I have roughly a month to work on this application". Freaked out, correction - freaking out about the gazillion censuring questions in the application, I do know, as I have experienced lately, that there's always so much to be done but in the process, I never ceased to be amazed with the things that I learn, I can learn. I anticipate, fret, learn, grow...

Pancake breakfasts are the best!

2009-11-28T05:58:00.013+08:00

Photo tribute: 2 Cats Cafe in Bar Harbor Maine (Sue/Matt Williams, proprietors)

The one thing I love about Saturday mornings, here, there or back home, is that from the moment your eyelids roll up and the cogs in your brain start rotating to the speed of day, the feeling is one of 'Rest and be merry'!

Sometime ago, a family I lived with was in the habit of having pancake-breakfasts on the weekend. The kids, being kids, gobbled them up before proceeding to their toys and friends' invites for play. Nothing stayed with me in particular, that is, the pancakes were regular American-style fluffy ones and had applesauce in them. But the memory of everyone in the family sitting down for a meal and that closeness one gets is what goes into my pancake-making tradition now.

Yes, I love pancakes on Saturdays! And I like them the fluffy way. Except a friend had us over for a pancake breakfast a few Saturdays ago and now we're turned onto crepes, as well. That, I'd need more time to understand and perfect, cos the ones I did the other day did not have a crisp finish, and I hate it when I try a recipe and fail. Not that I don't finally get it after I keep trying for a thousandth time. But I'm just a regular food snob that can't hack it that the ingredients don't yield to my demands :)

Not a moment too soon, Kimo comes barreling out the bedroom and rushes to me for a cuddle. Those cuddly-me morning moments are now becoming irregular; standard operating behaviours these days demand that Kimo attend to his collection of toys or the assembly of blocks that escaped the pack-away-toys-before-bed rule. But now that he's absorbed the comfort from my shoulders, Kimo was quick to push himself down and off of me to check out his 'Majura school' creation. My pancake batter was all ready even as Kimo had woken up, so pancakes on, it's officially the weekend!

Moments later, mom and son tucked into their scrambled eggs and pancakes, complete with margarine and rhubarb compote. Cutting the pancake into squares and dotting it or making smileys with rhubarb makes Kimo interact with food, and my hopes is that he will be enticed to eat everything up. A little finicky at eating, being the easily-distracted sort and that he is often only truly starving just before the meals are done; I have to stave off his hunger with snacks. The trade-off results in never finishing a full meal at the dinner table.

On Hawaii in this dry Oz heat

2009-11-20T16:47:00.002+08:00

Sometimes I can't believe how Hawaii has coated the insides of our (mine and Wendell's) minds and hearts so. So that, a song, like "Honolulu City Lights", can just turn me inside out: its lyrics haunting and brings the wishful in me for the sheer beauty of the place and that I may once again make beautiful island memories there.

The photo tribute above shows St. Louis Heights in the middle, one of the many hillside communities in the greater Honolulu area. We were lucky to get a house-sitting stint there in the summer of '03, where we were rent-free for awhile and were able to reign in our runaway finances.

Needless to say, the view was so breathtaking, it hurt to leave it to go to bed. From high-up, Friday nights at 7:00pm or so, one also gets the weekly treat of fireworks from the Hilton. In the daytime, the outline of Diamond Head makes the connection to the volcanic lore tangible, although this one is defunct and all. Wendell has been good to have climbed it, while I've scaled it a thousand times in my mind :)

Hawaiian weather is also a treat anywhere you stand on the islands. Never too humid, certainly never dry or unbearably hot, the breeze whips your hair parting a gentle touch of sun upon your skin. Because I never regularly devoted time for sun-tanning, I never acquired the gorgeous bronzey-looks of the island girls. And my last minute attempts towards the end of our stay there, copious hours per day did not even give me a tan line to be proud of.

The island look lends itself to one's general outlook on life. "Hang loose" is not just for show: It is an instinctive outer response to the happy and centered inner person. Bus drivers do it as do mayors and the Governor. Come to think of it, the shaka really does connect one aloha to another :)

These Hawaiian island music, sounds, sights, smells and all never do leave! I for one am glad for its intractability. Need them to combat this dry Oz heat; the wilderness of the mind; the lonely pangs of my heart...

Of flight and fancy

2009-11-15T12:44:00.003+08:00

This dry hot weather is a killer! To stop feeling like we're staring down a hair-dryer all the time, I've now taken to spraying myself and Kimo with water whenever I feel like we're becoming dessicated. Speaking of which, this is perfect heat to cure salted fish and sun-dried tomatoes, and yes, sun-tea would be a good outcome to have, if topped with ice. Wendell raves about the 1/2-hour drying sessions for the laundry. But since I have no fish to salt, no tomatoes to dry and no giant bottle to brew my made-by-the-sun tea, I have no kind things to say of this Australian sun (oh, and I don't do laundry).

Sun or none, we all could take a nap on a lazy Sunday afternoon. But I hate it when I do allow myself that luxury, that I can do no more than a good hour nap till my eyelids flutter up again. My blokes can sleep on and on. I started reading "The Seventh Sacrament" (David Hewson), the third whodunnit in my stash from Dickson library. Turning the pages ever so quietly, I lolled around between my two semi-comatose family members. After 10 pages, I ear-marked the last page read, confident now that I do indeed like the story unfolding, for the kitchen.

The one good thing about waking up before everyone else, in the mornings or during afternoon siestas, is that I have the run of the place to myself and that kind of solitude comforts me greatly. It is one of the reasons why I commit to Sunday mass, I guess. Save for it being that moment of prayer, I am also locked out of my responsibilities momentarily, so that I can just ruminate even further in my thought world.

This afternoon space calls for the dough I had left out on the counter before the nap to turn into nibbly bread. It was yesterday's cheese-onion dough batch that didn't quite make it for supper, cos Kimo and I had arrived back too late to find that the yeast had expired on us. Dough like that becomes good breadsticks type dough and even as a thin crust for pizza. Nothing goes to waste in this house, that's for sure.

Kimo has come out of his nap and is now sucking on his 5th ice-cube. The bread nibbles are being offered but its solid nutrients cannot compete with the soothing feel of the cold empty-calories of water. Its 4:30pm now and the heat is finally letting up, I hope against hope! Though I long for cool weather, I only half-wish for it to be winter. So, I've also finally packed-up our winter clothes, where Kimo has out-growned so many in a flash.

Oh, oh, the ice-crunching boy is advancing with wet cold palms unto the computer! My cue to say goodbye for now...

The slang of Oz

2009-11-09T18:26:00.004+08:00

I just finished reading "Walking Shadows (Donald James) and "The Fields of Grief" (Giles Blunt). That was my weekend 'holiday'reads. Good sea-change but a wee bit heavy on the character background for the former (incest and all, ughs).

But anyways, haven't read for awhile but I naturally love whodunnits. Must be the insatiable need to figure things out and to ask "Why, why, why" :) The harder to reckon from the beginning just who the bad guy is the more I get the story. And the nicer the bad guy was in the beginning the more I get the bad guy.

Speaking of bad guys, I just realized that I'd dropped my 'bad guy' routine with Kimo of late. And yes, he's been pushing my buttons of late. My array of nonchalant stance and won't-stand-that attitudes comprise for instance, eye-rolling when Kimo tries to ham it up for the 10th time (often when he's buying for time from: washing up and packing away his toys). But of late, I've been negotiating and not desensitizing myself to his No-isms.

The thing is once he knows that I can renege on something, he locks in on that the next time and puts it to me with a vengeance. Kids; how consistency must be as cornstarchy and gluey as possible in order for rules to stick hard till they're 50 years or so! :)

Anyways!

Here are bits and pieces of Australian slang that has come our way. I'm sure we've not heard it all yet but it's nice to learn localese; helps give texture to the present life and to our host country :)

1. Brekky - short for 'breakfast'

2. Maccas - 'McDonalds'

3. 'pack away' - 'put something back where it was initially' or throw something out/in the bin [kind of the same slang of 'pitch' in the States]

4. 'muck around' - 'mess around', use positively to explain that you still want to 'play around' with your paper or ideas, etc.

5. 'you're alright' - you say this when a stranger says, "excuse me" and wants to gain access by you or something at the mall, or something like that... it's meant to okay the person's request.

6. 'no worries' - can be said in place for when someone say 'thanks'... in that case, you can say this quite often throughout the day.

7. 'good on you' - 'good for you'

8. 'tradesmen' - 'tradies' (workers in manual labour)

9. 'dig out' - 'leave' (a meeting)

TGIF and dino

2009-11-06T16:20:00.012+08:00

Oh my gosh, but I am sooo pooped! It's been a non-stop writing process since 2 weeks ago? And it's not quite over yet, but I have finally climbed that steep hill and reached a nice plateau. The view is excruciatingly beautiful and I guess worth every step. Now, I shall take the whole weekend off cos my brain does hurt. But come next week, I believe I would have worked out a plan to meander down from my resting place and reach a clearing again.

Meantime, in my sleep-deprived days sometime in the past weeks, I had grabbed a handful of spinach from the fridge intending to chop it fine for Kimo's lunch. He still prefers cukes than leafy things in salads but love steamed broccoli and the mushy insides of tomatoes.

As I proceeded, I got a mini shock from seeing the mini dino on the chopping board. For a while I thought a real animal had come and died in our house (but in retrospect, I can't imagine what animal my mind thought of at the time - a rat?). Hence, the photo tribute above. I guess Kimo must have left it there in one of his observe-the-chef activities. Yes, he is into this togetherness in the kitchen, which is a little unnerving as that's being underfoot to the hilt. He is also insatiable in his curiousity. So, oh well, what can you do if you have a budding scientist at home? :)

Life was routinely of the mundane when I was in my down-time. It was also a matter of going by Wendell's shifts/schedule. When you're a couple doing this thing solo, I mean relocating to a new place with child-care needs, we needed to tag quite a bit to make our overall schedule worked. It's the most highlight-able item in the non-highlights of our lives.

So, scheduling was important yet adjustable. I also found myself mixing business and pleasure since school started, and man, but it is harder for me to do that sort of thing. As a game I think, it's the encroaching pangs of guilt that I had in 'taking out' my friend-turned-foe. So, practically, I had to ignore Kimo's "Mama sit down with me" to entertain the semi-white screen of the computer. Furiously punching away at the keys, I coaxed out my not-yet-matured ideas to fruition; hoping that the current version is the best-yet thoughts on the piece but knowing full well that the best is yet to come.

The days without center care for Kimo was once designated pure clean-up days and waffling away on Facebook, or on napping with Kimo, or on baking cookies and bread, or on reading a whodunnit, or on other things that do not deserve mention. With this inter-weaving of themes, child and study, in one single space, the temper does combust; the child does whine more; the house does fester in its grime. Basically, dino meets spinach at lunch time! :)

My one salvo (among many such help) has been godsend friends coming by to my office asking after me. Never failing to open up and to point out the haplessness that I am facing, these new schoolmates of mine have paid me no mind and have showered me with genuine care and concern. I just hope that I don't be a sink-hole to them, more than necessary! I'm certain of one thing at least in this plateauing down-slide: I know I have it in me to return the favours to my friends - will be there for them when they need me most; will listen to their problems and soothe away their fears by truly hearing what they have to say.

As for my family, yes, I am always 101% needed. I'm not always mentally there though, as in the case above. It's a struggle to keep plotting and plodding on, mixing and matching schedules to free up spaces where they can be freed; to look for time that is not 'on the clock', so to speak. I can't tell how many baths it has been that I am not engaging myself into. How can you possibly not want to relax in the nice warm suds of your bath? My mind is reaching new heights but oft-times, my spirit is down in the dumps because I am just so damn tired.

Yet, I am not the only guru of 'rescheduling' out there. I have before me, the women in my family who've done more juggling of home and work lives, and perfected their score. So, for that I am truly grateful and even as life is ebbing away, I am at my most resilient I think. At the end of the day, I count my blessings again and especially look hard at the ones that truly matter - my family and my friends.

Kimo's lack of quality-time with me has manifested in a lack of interest in the thought of going to school, and a regressed behaviour at waking up where he instantly wants to cry when I leave the room. This can't go on, obviously. But thank God I have the training, this is all telling of my lack of play with him since I've brought my writing home.

I look forward to this weekend cos I always make pancakes on the weekends. I got a smoochy kiss from Wendell last time. Apparently, after IHOP, I am the world's best pancake maker. Most definitely, the bringing Kimo down to an even keel will start with lots more cuddly love this weekend, not forgetting the pancakes and yes, the rhubarb I stewed into a sauce last weekend will be a kicker for them!

Chocolate Chip cookies never hurt anyone

2009-10-27T14:24:00.005+08:00

I can't believe that Kimo's into "Deal or No Deal". I think its the numbers that makes him riveted to this TV programme. Somehow our evening schedule has found us squarely at home by 5:30 pm; I cook while Kimo watches. If Wendell's around at that time-frame, he might have been intrigued by it himself but perhaps, not as yet 'cos I don't remember him going 'Yeah!' or rather, 'Boo-yeah!' when case #26 opens.

Since our apartment plan is an open one (and because it is a teeny-tiny flat), my eyes and ears are tuning in to the telly while my hands get busy. So, yes, I "Boo-yeah!" when it is time to do so. Aaand, I am so in front of the TV at the final deal-breaking moments. Will it be $500 against the $75,000? Or should the contestant just take the banker's offer of $5K or so?? Breath abated, I scream, clap or crumple over the sofa when the final case is opened. Kimo is doubly amused to see his normally stern mum in that manner and will cheer me on to let loose!

I guess it never ceases to amaze me that risk-taking is a very bold, exciting and dangerous element in one's personality. It freaks those who live life by the book; the fence-sitters feel sick with envy but choose to cut their losses before the night is through. Those who know no better live, risk, lose, learn then unwittingly set themselves up for the next cycle of nail-biting drama. If on the downside, risk-takers only know to say things like, "When will this end?" and "I can feel a change just round the corner" and "I'm gonna out with a bang!"

As if I need to hear this to self-affirm; yes, but of course, it's risky business for me all the way :) Now, even risk-takers have a learning curve. So, I've learnt to compromise and accept less than what I want; than I've ever wanted. But it is rather painful when you know deep down that you've settled, not something less than perfect but for mediocre. It hurts because it hurts to not trust your instincts so; to curb the powerhouse of a spirit in you.

At the end of the day, we all say "Deal" to the best offer in front of us. I am still learning to say when. Kimo, I bet, is learning this, too. My prayer is that he never shortchanges his own potential in what he feels he can do, have and create. To support that, we'll have to make sure that he learns from the very best :)

"Deal or No Deal", indeed!

"You know, I don't know why it is but Kimo doesn't seem to listen to instruction. He also doesn't pay attention during group time. So, we cannot move him up yet to the preschool room." In my mind, Kimo was probably bored with the toddler-range activities put on him. Teacher continued, "But he is very good with reading. And he has really improved with potty-training." On one hand, I thought, oh well, just let Kimo go through a few months hanging out with the smaller kids. After all, next year, he'll be going back with me to Sabah for my fieldwork, and he'll graduate to do other new challenging things there. But on the other, why should Kimo be stopped from going forward? I'll definitely need to speak to the school manager to negotiate having Kimo 'visit' the preschool room once in a while, and eventually to move there permanently. "No Deal"!

Found in Malaysia, too

2009-10-19T12:45:00.004+08:00

I really like this column "Found in Malaysia" (FIM) in The Nutgraph Malaysia. I guess I am a sucker for human stories that talk about triumph over all odds. FIM celebrates the finding of multi-ethnic individuals with distinctive experiences with the national identity. There is perhaps only one question of the five or six asked of FIM interviewees that may not fit me to a tee, and that is "We are all pendatangs. Where do you come from?" [pendatang=immigrants]. Being that I have Kadazan ancestry, I qualify being a non-pendatang. But being that my maternal grandfather was a Hainanese direct from Hainan island, I am a non bona fide indigenous Kadazan and part-pendatang.

I came to this realization while walking home from school. In a class earlier that day some years ago, the topic centred on ethnicity and indigenous identity and I had railed against the misconceptions people had against 'natives'. After awhile, someone asked me if I was a pure indigenous Kadazan, and I responded that I was not citing my Chinese heritage above. Not affecting me at the time, a little while later under the shady boulevard I would stop to consider the full import of that query on my right to Kadazan blood.

In a way, I was a little saddened that technically I didn't possess that full-blooded tie to Kadazan. It was that puzzle of: if all but non-Kadazans can leave the sinking Titanic, would I disavow my Chinese side to save my life? But to compensate, I dwelt on the fact that I had instead felt more 'indigenous' all 30-some years of my life than anything else. And that blood quantum or not, I had a Chinese grandfather whom at age 14 braved the seas and migrated by boat to the Malay Archipelago. That he took his 11-year old brother with him makes him all the more heroic in my mind, especially with the current news of asylum-seekers immobilized on sea enroute to Australia.

My maternal grandfather came, laboured, married a Kadazan girl, had seven children, opened a coffee-shop, contracted tuberculosis and died, never having gone back to his old homeland of Hainan. While my Kadazan forebears being "found only" in Sabah have given me a tie to this land I call 'home', I myself, am a "pendatang" here in Australia and in past travels. The desire to set forth and conquer uncharted territory is strong still in my veins. I can think of 'spirit' as coming from my indigenous Sabahan side but 'adventurer' must be coming from Hainan, still. Hence, I find myself in Malaysia as a 'Kadazan', a 'Kadazan with Chinese blood' (hence explaining the Oriental looks), a multi-ethnic Malaysian and above all, (I hope) a faithful Sabahan.

I continue to find myself in Australia...

Wafts of vegetable curry filling up our noses...

2009-10-15T11:03:00.004+08:00

As I sit here in my privileged office, I glance around to see how my fellow-writers aka PhD students are faring. The first thing I note is the quiet and unperturbed atmosphere of the hallowed 'Grad Centre', home to 20-and-more doctoral students engrossed in their respective areas of studies.

Since arriving here about 3 months ago, I have been quickly introduced to the world of graduate study. Doing explanatory papers for my supervisor on themes like Kadazan and Dusun culture and the origins of labels occupied me, so that I had no chance to really engage in the other-worldly reality of university life.

Then, like a trickle of water filling up a balloon, of the tied to the outdoor tap variety, my completely filled and stretched balloon of surreality burst into space, drenching my senses in these feelings of hilarity and bored seriousness I have been trying to avoid since my day began. I take a look again and think how unbelievably 'select' this PhD life must seem to some people.

It must seem like a privilege life to have - these endless days of sitting around reading, talking, writing and thinking of just one of two topics (one's programme/discipline and one's chosen research topic). But that's just on the outside, for inside the walls of the grad centre and my department, I am feeling, today in particular, like I had come squarely to the start of an incline to my studies - to the very foot of this steep mountainous journey that would last several years.

Like a calling to enter monk-hood, the niggling instinct that one has to do something akin to meditating in a vast and lonely cave to reach illumination had preceded the entry to a PhD program. From there, shaving off of hair and shedding off of worldly clothes is mirrored by the unpackaging of ideas and the starvation of those that are deemed unworthy for breeding, let alone nurturing, in the place where you 'prostate to a higher mind'.

Yes, unpacking my research proposal and ideas on my intended research on identity in Sabah has been my singular effort since the start.

Drawing this parallel as of right now is somewhat blissful to the picture of an academic-in-training who is forever dishing out new theories (and parroting older ones because his/her fave guru said so) but lie alone at bed thinking if s/he had done enough. I, for one, do not know which I categorically fall. The oh-just-whelm-me student with the ridge-forming books all over the place or the former. Right now, I somehow do everything that I categorically do (organize my books, sharpen my pencils kind of thing) and don't (write important notes on envelopes and scraps of papers, and hiding them (?)).

I have also found myself sitting in agonizing tension at the theories being thrown about in classes and in seminars. I look at others and see that they're 'at home' talking about this fantastic theory and that. Then I look still at others and find that, in some ways, like me, they're still processing the meaning and content of the theory in question. And it is this most heightened state of suspending one's disbelief that gives me a raw headache to the last the entire duration/day.

Yet...

If anything, there is a 'high-school' feel to this juvenile academico stage I seem to be at/in. I divulge in tiny little gossips with other friends who enjoy watching our 'bosses' in motion, if only for the pure fact that the generational gap does close a little when they're trying to up-one over the colleagues that they're trying very hard to impress. When in that element, they age two decades younger and we see ourselves in them - hoping to convince by speaking as one who is already.

Yes, there are ways to alleviate the 'suffering' of graduate training. And mouthing away incessantly at any aggravating thing to a trusted few is carefully measured but much appreciated for the instant relief one gets. The thought that a real splice of life can be had from heart-to-heart banter and hence numb this sense of being immobilized in one place is not long-lasting. As I feel that something new in mind in how I see my studies and the study of people in general, I also feel drawn to everything else outside it. I flit about my ideas so...

Then, I float through the space here finding myself navigate through the hallways and cubby-holes, when from on high, I see students, quite politically trying to ascertain the strengths (or weaknesses) of one student, then the other. Then down again, I go to just cathartic expressions of life over the cooler.

As a slice of life, this one is not much different than other pieces of reality out there, in your homes and in your offices. Rather than a bit more lofty (only money can buy that one), mine just seems to be a bit more lonesome and a lot more self-possessed, but as risky as any life venture (getting married/divorced) and a heck less certain (I do not know yet whether I live or die until my supervisor tells me so!).

But it's not that bad and not all bad, all the time...

My soliloquy as usual comforts me! As do the smells of peoples' cuisines permeating my tired brain. I cannot imagine your comfort, or discomfort, at my usual ramblings. It may well help us all if we understand the stark loneliness and boredom countering the excessive bright sparks up there, if we had one day as a novitiate! Preferably in the most remote and sterile place.

It's cold, brr, I wish I had fur!

2009-10-03T13:30:00.010+08:00

We are getting this cold front here in Canberra after a foretaste of Springy-Summery weather (from mid 20Cs to 12C). Our winter-wear made a re-appearance again but I insist on wearing my slippers/sandals every opportunity I can. Wendell's not as brave; buying a woolen vest yesterday. To camouflage my white student uniform look, he said. But I think he's c-c-cold, that's why ;)

Ah well, back to gloomy weather for a bit. Rest assured Spring is here with the tulips all up at the Floriade, an annual flower festival here in the Oz capital. We have yet to go see but I was told by my good friend, Mike, that it's a pilgrimage for him and his partner, to pay homage to what seems to be the star attraction of the city.

Meantime, we can say that we have acclimatized. I remember Michigan winter days, so long and dreary. When Michiganders say, "In like a lion; out like a lamb"; they really owned that saying. For on the dot, snow started falling Oct 31st and went away, many times, only in April or May.

I remember Oct 31st precisely because while waiting for my bus on that day many years ago, I saw my first Halloween-er. A man dressed as Dracula, or something like that. Being my first Halloween, I couldn't get over the fact that ordinary working adults were indulging in this mostly-for kids tradition by costuming-up.

Several months later, on Valentine's, I would note the same love for non-religious holidays; our Sparty had lavishedly sprayed pink hearts all over the snow mounds in front of the university president's house where I worked as an assistant house-keeper. "Sparty", thought to be into-his-5th-year undergrad, is a normal male human being who has embodied the spirit of Spartan, the university's mascot. Spraying himself in school colors, green and white, he is at every football match cheering the school on. I have a photo of him somewhere, posing with me at my graduation :)

So, yes, Canberra's mild winter is no biggie compared to the snow and ice of the American Midwest. Indeed, I think I have acclimatized.

And to pooh-pooh the idea that you have to bundle-up from head to toe, I've realized that you only need to wrap and cover certain body parts to reach maximum effect. So, forget about tights under jeans, thick boots over thick socks, wool sweater layering tight stretchy long-sleeved tanks with thick knee-length jacket made from the thickest ever wool to match. Forget also the thick thick scarf doubled-up before knotting at neck, the black leather gloves, the flannel-lined woolen hat/beanie with ear flaps!

I swear I have felt so wonderfully warm and toasty with a medium-thick scarf round my neck, hands in a parka vest over stretchy long-sleeved tank and tights (higher knit level) under a denim skirt. Shoes? I survived this winter in the most school marm-ish of shoes. Kimo survived in his bought-from-Giant 'Garfield' shoes, and Wendell survives all the time 'cos his shoes still out-number mine since we got married :)

One concession only: When sleeping at night, each of us snuggle into our own blanket of choice. Waking up feeling disoriented in a super-warm room in our first week or so, we have completely turned down the heat nowadays, and have only one radiator dial on lowest. We also found that we no longer need to max out on the heating vents, as you can reach for that warm flannel jacket to wear in the house in the early mornings and late in the evenings.

Now, if we can have a fireplace and snow in Christmas that would be postcard perfect!

LOST

2009-09-30T10:47:00.013+08:00

After an early turn-in last night (adults: 10:30; child: 8:00), we all woke up chirpy and fresh, including Wendell who starts his 1st day of work today. And so, I found myself on campus by 8:15am and felt a sense of 'early-bird-catches-the-worm'. This smily guy, a fellow student whom I cross in the hallways at least twice a week, was by the usual entrance to my dept. building apparently scratching at the brick exterior. Pleasantries exchanged, I asked, "What are you doing??". "Oh, I'm just 'cutting' my nails", he said, adding, "I don't have a nail file on me and I got used to this out in the bush". Some more commentary from me came out with a note that if I had a river stone on me, I'd pass him one as it works just as good, if not better than the calcified brick he was working on.

So, at 8-ish, I was printing the draft of my latest write-up when Wendell gives me a buzz. "Hey, you need to go to the school and pick Kimo up 'cos they say he caught conjunctivitis". Oh, how that glorious, beautiful, big and red balloon of a solid research day on campus went pop in my mind.

Off I went to the usual bus-station and as I waited for good old bus #2, a tourist coach came round with the sign "LOST" on its destination tag. As it passed slowly by, I noted that it carried seniors. A man waiting on the bench with me said, "Did you see that?". "Yeah", I said. "And they were a bunch of seniors too". Any old morning and I would have indulged in witty remarks like, "I guess they're done with their lifetime of 'wandering'" or "What a statement on life! If you can't be 'found', heck, you might as well stay 'lost'!". Or something like that... but oh no, I was still mourning my deflated balloon - a whale of a time I would have had, eh?

But hey, these things happen, right? And for a reason...

Anyway, my haggling with the new manager at the childcare centre went to naught. She was erring on precaution and thought it good for Kimo to visit the doctor, since there was a conjunctivitis outbreak going on in the school. My attempts to corral in Kimo's teachers (the one who reported signs of red weepy eyes on Kimo was not his room teacher) and lend support did not make a huge impact. My rendition of Kimo's severely preemie days leading to his 'lazy-eye' condition (and hence the constant rubbing of his eye where skin is chafing so) did not even earn a dent.

At the doctor's, I was told not to constantly put moisturizer around the dry skin of Kimo's eye. To let go my Asian mentality, said the good doctor from Kazakhstan.

Kimo and I then sauntered off to the chemist and bided out wait-time by snacking on a spinach and feta scone. It was so good! Even the magpies stole a crumb or two. Moments later, we were on bus #2 for home. Kimo actually cried his despair over having to get off! Telling him that the bus driver has to go and send everyone home too, he reduced the tear-flow. But still... what a crime, huh? To pull your child out of a terrific bus-ride experience :)

Kimo is now taking his afternoon nap, and I am wondering whether I still have it in me to redeem the remaining hours of my day...

You know what? They say there is no rest for the weary. I think after a good good mug of coffee, I can sputter-on to the finish line... of say, 11:00pm tonight. Hey, unlike some people, I've still got a mile or two to go before I call it quits! ... and go wandering off on a bus called LOST :)

All's good...

2009-09-26T06:15:00.005+08:00

Finally, Wendell lands himself a job! Our financial woes are put at rest. Thank God for family these past few months; we couldn't have made it without a little extra from them :)

We went out for a celebration dinner last night but it was kinda interrupted by Kimo's little 'accident'. Not Kimo's fault at all, since he's still under (potty) training! But with the excitement in the air, his 'supervisors' definitely forgot to get him to use the bathroom before leaving for the restaurant. So, cold-bottomed Kimo whimpered in discomfort while Wendell rushed to get a change of clothes from the car. By the time the fiasco was over our noodles were definitely cold, and in our vernacular, "nakakambang"! ('it had become expanded so (that noodle was not firm-tasting)').

Since we'll be out shopping for Wendell's work clothes and making a library-run later, I'll definitely suggest a meal-time somewhere nice. And yes, Kimo will use the potty before, during and after!!

Happy weekend to all!

Dear God,
Is it possible to learn from adversity without enrolling in the course?
Amen
(Source: www.prayertoons.com)

'... he made me a Vegemite sandwich"

2009-09-13T06:42:00.004+08:00

The other day, I re-discovered Vegemite. To those who vaguely remember this food item, it is a black sticky spread made of yeast extract. Touted to be the good Vitamin B source, the concentrated taste of malt is something to be acquired. This is why perhaps, beef extract, Bovril, ranks higher in terms of palatable-ility, at least in my mind :)

After picking through Kimo's hospital food the other day, I finally made a trip to the kitchen reserved for parents/visitors. Nurses had mentioned that we could make some toast and coffee (instant) and tea supplies were provided.

So, I dragged my sleep-deprived body to the kitchen and made some coffee and toast. Opening the fridge, I found some milk and saw tons of small one-serving packets of jam, butter, honey and Vegemite. Being a savoury-rolls breakfast person, I went for the butter and Vegemite. The buttery taste diffused the bitter malt of the Vegemite and I went for seconds, and thirds :) Another mum taking a break along with me happened to prefer the same taste, and I thought, hmmm, this Vegemite-on-toast thing could be a very Australian thing-to-do since they invented this salty-bitter spread. (I'll need a local to confirm this but otherwise, it is in the famous "Down Under" song (by Oz's own Men of Work)!)

Since then, I've made it part of my weekly menu; my quick picker-upper. But trust my body to relate that to a distinct experience of when I had it last/most, i.e., the hospital where Kimo went to recover from pneumonia. As Kimo turned out alright, the Vegemite association is quite welcomed...

Now, if only I can pass down the positive experience to Kimo! He can take a bite of lemon wedge with gusto but not take the teeniest bite of my delicious Vegemite-butter toast, without flinching!

Back to 6 months in a leaky boat!

2009-09-07T17:39:00.002+08:00

Oh my, but I thought I had found a slice of peace when suddenly, Kimo started shivering uncontrollably and his temperature shot through the roof. An hour later at the Emergency, we found out that Kimo had pneumonia! We were as panicky as trapped rabbits and for the first time in my life, I felt the sensations of puking out of sheer fear.

Nevertheless, all is well now. One look at Kimo and you could not tell that he was all that sick - moaning and flushed with fever - a fortnight ago. In fact, there are several 'funny' and 'not-so-funny' moments at the hospital to share...

(1) When we got transferred from Calvary to Canberra Hospital, Kimo was much better, the intravenous jab of antibiotic had begun working with a vengeance - we went into the ambulance and then I heard Kimo say, "I like"! Trust him to find adventure in peril...

(2) Not-so-funny moment: Parent in the next bed poked his head through the curtain divider and in a condescending tone asked Kimo for a "big, big favour" to please be a little quiet as his baby needed to sleep. I was quite mad and told Kimo in Kadazan, "Nah, ihia uncle, ala'at mati ho... poimizo kaa dau...". Kimo and I tried to be quiet by leaving our bed and making our rounds, with IV stand wheeling along.

(3) Nice-funny-scary moment: Kimo finds the playroom - With IV stand wheeling closely by, Kimo explores the playroom and gets to play with toys, read books and catch 'The Wiggles - The Movie'. But everytime he gets excited, he jets off only to find himself tugged-back by his IV drip and stand! My "Kada' kamaa! This thing will rip off and blood will come out!" did not work for the 1000th time. Thank God, the dear nurses had taped and mesh-bandaged the IV line on his arm semi-permanently.

(4) Another funny moment: Kimo finally had his IV line taken out. As we went round his bed to go off to the playroom (again), he stops in his tracks, looks at me, and points at his stationery IV stand. I think he said, "Huh?" and what meant something like, "Aren't we taking this thing, too?". I said, "Oh no, we don't need that anymore, see, your big band-aid is gone". Kimo did a nonchalant OK-shrug stance, and off we went to the playroom. So funny!

(5) Last but not least, better-than-yours papa next door got a taste of his own medicine. The very night that Kimo was 'warned', two sickly toddlers came to the room. The younger tot yelled and cried the entire night! I thought to myself, "Hmmm, I bet this guy is thinking that Kimo was not as bad as he had made him"! And yes, I also thought, "Serves you right!" [Koto!]

Anyways... we are all home, in one piece. We've taken it easy all last week. But this week, we all have to restart our regular schedules... The week that was showed me interesting things - one can never protect their child enough from bad germs to bad people!

Have a good week ahead y'all!

T.E.A.M.

2009-08-30T07:43:00.004+08:00

Parents with little kids can attest to that 24-7 feel when these small ones get sick, congested and cranky. Kimo was sick again with the flu, and for the first time we saw him get fever chills. Two thick woolly covers later, it stopped. The raging fever, we hope, was on the way down its roller-coaster last night. This morning, we woke up to a "normal" temperature of about 36-37C for Kimo.

It always comes to me, this sort of reflection, that when something happens that has a shelf-life of its own, time makes a grand halt rendering us helpless beings at the mercy of nature taking its toll. Without a clue as to when we get back on track again, anything goes in the interim. We can continue to fret and whine, as to why such and such a thing is happening and why such and such a thing won't come into submission and stop, or start. On a big scale, it's the 'whys' to our still-adjusting phase - why is it so slow, for prospective employers to call, why is it so hard, to get my thoughts out on paper. And then, you get a curve-ball, your child gets sick, and those insurmountable whys are like day-old crumbs hiding under your dining table, insignificant even to the age-old dust bunnies hiding in their nests.

Yes, everything comes into perspective when your life, your love, gets ill and needs you the most. And now, off I go for a little respite at a place called 'Holy Rosary'. Its nice to know that you still have it in you, to totally surrender to the Big Guy Upstairs who knows it all too well, sniffles, heartaches, and all.

"We're the T.E.A.M. from Planet Earth"... "We're the green team..." ... "Cos this is our world, this is our world..." - Kimo's Hi-5 karaoke fills the house to no end!

Six months in a leaky boat...

2009-08-15T07:23:00.002+08:00

Aloha, again, as our missive continues to y'all...

Finally, the dreaded first flu for this family has hit us. It began with Kimo's sniffle-streaked face one afternoon. I thought that green boogie equals antibiotics. But boy, was I wrong. Apparently, doctors here are wont to prescribe antibiotics and the like, preferring that the body attempts to build-up immunity naturally. Thankfully, a little bird told me that next time, I should go to someone else who would be more accommodating :) Yes!

The past week or so has seen a lull-like phase to our lives. I suspect this plateau means we'll either hit an incline soon, to which we'll have to mega-pedal our way up. Or face rapids and that would mean downward curves and bends, where danger-adventure elements abound. Either way, I will attempt by best "C'est la vie!" to it. For how do you tell the rain not to fall, the cat not to sleep so, and the tiny person under your care not to roll on you as you were a pillow of insignificant value?

In all poety, let the rain be demanding and cold - I have learnt to keep an extra umbrella in my bag; let the kitty sleep - when else will you get a reprieve from the constant mewing; let the hurly-burly feel of your child's body pummel you to a stop - how else will I know that the linguistically-challenged tot is trying to say, "I love you, and you and I belong together". As Kimo would say, "Mama bear aaand Baby bear, yeahhh!"

"C'est la vie" - Such is life... and if everything else fails, "Cari makan, bah!" [Hey, I do what I got to do cos I need to eat]

Gungahlin /gung-ga-lin/

2009-08-02T07:28:00.003+08:00

What a week this was - a good week, that is :)

Kimo started his full-time care, I started my first class, and Wendell got a car. Everyone enjoyed their lot this week but then, of course, that meant signing-up into a system with an established learning curve. For Kimo, his first week's report saw "sand-throwing" at the sand-pit, a big No-No for teacher. Aside from that, Kimo's lunch items were revised daily. Apparently, he finished his lunch much faster than the other kids, so he needs to be given more food? And he didn't like his vegemite nor the cheese-ham sandwich, but he liked the ones with jam and honey, and oh yes, he liked his crackers, so give him more crackers? By Friday, Kimo's lunch box consisted of avocado-honey sandwich, pot of strawberry yogurt, seaweed crackers, cheese cubes, sausage slices and a pear and a banana for snack. Far healthier than my diet!

I went to a post-grad class so ill prepared that I wished I could just blend into the walls. But that did not happen and so, I made copious notes of readings that I did not read, promising the lecturer I'll do better next time. Thank goodness, I am only auditing this course, which means I escape having to do all the assignments. But I doubt anyone is envious of me anyway, as I've lots to do otherwise, putting together notes for discussion with my supervisor, budgets, reports, plans, and tons of books to read that I was suppose to have read last week. It's been non-stop from the word, "Go!", and since there are no mandatory classes to go to, it's been a matter of steeling one's inner self for the inevitable fieldwork just round the corner. In fact, I was also told, hey, you could do this PhD in 2.5 years, you know. To which, my heart began beating fast, I did Nemo-like gasping for breath, rushing to the bathroom after that discussion, I checked that my face was flushed, and so whatever went through my mind corresponded with what my body felt. That, that idea sounds impossible! A sausage sizzle and "Aloha Friday" drinks with new friends at the department helped put normal back into the equation.

Anyways, when Wendell got his/our '93 Toyota Camry, the walls started to truly ease up on us. We finally had access to greater mobility. I did not take the bus at all this week. Kinda sad, as that was my only excuse for exercise :) We went to the library and to Gungahlin after our lunch with Auntie Vivienne and her friend, Connie. And thought, oh, we could so live in Gungahlin, which is the distance from Kota Kinabalu city to the Penampang suburb, where rent could be cheaper with what we are paying for a week seeing to an additional 1 room. Kimo's approval of the Gungahlin KFC, also factored in :)

And so, the week that was, ended with a high note on family and friends... as always.

Starting all over again

2009-07-26T05:57:00.002+08:00

G'day folks!

Yes, am now communicating from Canberra, Australia. It's our 3rd week into our stay here, and according to the university, I have a-1000 odd days more to go before I complete my studies.

It's winter time in the southern hemisphere. Though it has been awhile since my last winter experience, it came back to me as to how to efficiently bundle up in the cold. My son, Kimo, however, protested against the wearing of hat and mittens. I can imagine a first-timer feeling oppressed by the donning of clothing everywhere, and someone from the tropics at that! Thankfully, Kimo finally accepted his lot and claimed ownership of the woolly hat I frantically produced the third day we got here.

We're slowly getting into some semblance of "normal" life. Kimo starts child-care next week on, I have registered for my program and have met my supervisor and so on. Wendell begins job-hunting, soon.

The mundane bits and pieces of everyday life, however, is the real welcome "glue" to keeping us together as settle in. We got a TV last Sunday and it was a welcome addition all this week. Local news and programming, even the ads, gave us a stronger sense of where we are. Taking the bus has also induced that wherewithal and interestingly, it involves first getting lost! Knowing where to start and stop has never been so crucial when you're not behind the wheel. And all this walking! These flabby legs of mine are getting a work-out, despite my feet aching all over.

Yes, we're still adjusting into our life here. The person who has progressed most is still, Kimo, who has put on some weight (he is a full 15 kgs to his pre-arrival weight of 14+kg), learnt to spell "Australia", says, "Number 2? Where is it?" (as in Bus #2) and "toastie bread" on a daily basis, among other childhood achievements.

Press 'Enter-Enterrr'!

2009-06-28T06:51:00.010+08:00

Good morning, world :)

God bless this Sunday morning, and all my mornings afterwards... We are down to our final week prior to departure to Ozland.

As I type this, just-turned-three Kimo is applying the lessons from his Dad last night, i.e.:
(1) Typing mono and bi-syllable words on a MS Word doc,
(2) Pressing "Enter" to start words on a new line so they don't agglutinate so,
(3) Pressing the "Delete" aka "Disappear" button.

Kimo's instant feedback, of joyous chirpy delight, got Wendell excited; and so the lesson went on for awhile last night. I note that every self-instruction to "Press 'Enter-Enterrr' is followed by self-praise - "Wow, very good boy"! Haha, so cute!

Oh, the quirky fun of seeing a little person grow...

I was being asked by my sister, as to why Kimo (or rather, we) seem to be really into numbers and alphabets - as opposed to play with toy cars. Well, you know, it's a hardwiring kind of thing - his brain just seems to get so intrigued over wrapping itself around the conceptual stuff... I should think in days to come that he would also be interested in figuring out why the world goes round, why the dog has fur, all the whys, whys, whys! Then again, he may just look for paints and colours and just feel, letting his right brain have a go. Whatever it is, it looks like our M.O. of exposing him to all kinds of learning/fun can still apply. You can be sure, that Kimos of the world out there will continue to entertain their unassuming parents... their parents, in turn, the glad reciepients of pure liquid joy!

"Come on, Kimo, 'makan' (eat)". My usual litany of force fills the talk-space in the kitchen. Things fall off the table: empty muffin cases that were used to play-count; colour pencils; the two blanched beans that have been used as spelling instruments. I am sweating like a pig in a holding pen, even when the back door is open supposedly letting cool air into the house, and I am not thinking anything at all, except balancing the full spoon of food before my eyes and Kimo's mouth, whether opening, or not. What? What's that, Kimo? "Oh-God"?? "Oh-joy"?! Goodness, it's "O-dhoi"! Nice :) My child has absorbed a Kadazan euphemism... the messy trail of food underneath table becomes immaterial.

Keeping in touch...

2009-06-16T17:16:00.004+08:00

Hi folks...

I'm sorry I was out-of touch for awhile - I missed the writing, too :) Yes, we're in the very last legs of our transition - just waiting for funding, purchasing of airline tickets and we are out of here!

In the meantime, I got Tania, my accommodating and versatile sister, to spruce up my blog look a bit. She came up with this rainy jungle look - hope you all like it :)

Speaking of keeping in touch, I have been catching up quite a bit over Facebook with old friends from working days and schooling days. A schoolmate, who is now in the U.S.A., has been in touch and we've not connected with each other for a good 25 years! Another schoolmate; about 12 years. A supervisor; about 5 years or so. A college-mate; about 5 years.

Then, I got in touch with Catherine, a college-mate turn work-mate from over 10 years ago. Or rather she Fb-ed me and added me. She was new on Fb and pretty soon, we got into our little cohort and began reminiscing about the good old days. Before we could plan a little get-together, Catherine passed on. What a shock :( We were speechless with a load of sorrow. How I wish I could have seen her for the final time... but the moments that we did spare for each other were beautiful ones... and for that I find comfort.

Again, I am reminded, even as I go about my life's journey, in every sense, that life is not all that long-drawn. Our plans however grand or insignificant, make up the facets of our life, and as we approach each step or stage in life, it is all too soon over and becomes immortalize in our memory recesses... In other words, life has an expiry date on it - may the good moments sustain us before we go to seed!

*In memory of loving friend Catherine Yong...

Up to my eyeballs...

2009-04-27T00:18:00.004+08:00

How time flies!

We've been working and working... trying to tie all loose ends before our time in Oz-land. There is still no sign of relief!

However, I've been suggested to, and I accepted, the idea of an island holiday fairly soon. That is no small inspiration, to continue accomplishing whatever it is I am suppose to :)

That means however, that my ink-pot is still on the meager... hold your horses, I soon shall be back with a well-spring of fresh ideas and food for thought :)

Meanwhile, sound bytes from Kimo (again!):

1) "Next one" (after writing down a number/alphabet for him)
2) "Where buu?" "Where is it?" (use of pronoun :))
3) "Chip" (french fry)
4) "A-wise" (for Edelweiss)

Kimo's latest antics:

4) Dipping fry into ketchup, but sucking ketchup off fry and not eating fry per se
5) Collecting his "babies" (cuddly toys a.k.a. "sucky-toys") in a pile next to his pillow
6) Showing off to waitresses at local restaurant his penchant for saying his numbers 1-10 in Malay, English, Kadazan and Mandarin - but getting it all mixed up after the 5th recitation!

Oh yes! Plus, he wouldn't stop - although I stink-eyed him (gave a mock stare-glare) and told him to stop "showing-off" :) Nevertheless, his father was thrilled to bits... we have it on handphone-video... Wendell says he will post the evidence soon :)

"I really miss Kimo", he said. I replied, "God was kind and understanding when he made Kimo. He has an effervescent quality about him - his joy is infectious. The world needs souls like Kimo's to be a happier world.".

A very good place to start

2009-04-15T23:36:00.002+08:00

New words from the Kimster...

1) Simba, Lion King (Nanakin), Pumbaa, Timon, Zazu (as in 'watch Zazu!' and 'watch Nanakin')

2) Drive (he went to driver's seat and said "drive, drive, drive")

3) "And then?" or "Again?" (after you say "The end" to a story)

4) "Ok, let's go" or "Alright, let's go" (when in the car going back from somewhere)

5) "Where are you, Luna?" or "Where are you, Papa?" or whomever (looking for Luna/Papa)

6) "So many" (when waking up one morning and seeing all his sucky-toys (soft toys turned pacifier toys) around him in bed)

7) "Eee-uw" or "Poo-pee" (when seeing #2)

8) "Kiss" (as in "Kaeees", when giving people "big hugs" and "kisses")

9) ABCs... (sings with gusto but loops the song at the end back to ABC...)

10) 1, 2, 3... (in English, Malay, Kadazan and Mandarin) :)

Kimo is responsive to:

1) Throw this in the trash

2) Put your clothes in the basket

3) Keep your toys

4) Makan (Eat)

5) Minum (Drink)

6) Sleep or Huvi! (Lie down!) - He also says, "I'm sleepy, I'm sleepy, I'm sleepy" in a sing-song

7) Put on your shoes

8) Mimpodu (Bathe) or 'Pong-pong'

Kimo is sometimes oblivious to:

1) Don't pull Luna's tail!

and

2) Nos. 1 - 8 above!

No worries for the rest of your days...

2009-03-20T16:50:00.004+08:00

Hi dear readers,

Sorry for the absence; hoped your heart grew fonder in the interim :)

I've been wanting to click the heels of my ruby shoes for so long now; but I am still not "back home to Kansas". I'm afraid the tornado that brought our house (apartment) literally flying away is still active. We're still apartment cleaning, believe it or not :( Truly, hopefully, most assuredly, the endless intermittent-like cleaning can stop by this weekend and a nice renter can come and view our place.

Speaking of "home", I was just thinking to myself (oh you know, one of those late night thoughts just before dozing off to la-la-land) that the three of us are kind of displaced at the moment. Stateless, are we. Fresh out of home-citizenship! :) As soon as I thought this; my mind began to wander off to peruse the fate of so-called illegal immigrants in our land and other lands that I know of. I thought of the hardship of eking out one's daily existence; bumping around from place to place. Now, are these folks "homeless" or "stateless", though? Or is a form of stateless-ness being homeless??

However it is, we will soon be out of the other -ness as well :) ...

Ah, the perils of being found intact at the end of the day...

Kimo, is once again, our salvo for any kind of hurt or worry (until, perhaps, he becomes the worry!) His constant up-beat personality and adaptability in taking to new places is uncanny. Mastering stair-climbing, befriending Luna the cat and Milo the dog without fear, falling on rain puddles-crying-and-falling-some-more... and then saying, "Chicken-wice" and "baby chair" in one spiel, makes us feel a sense of normalcy that is all-too-associated with homey and home-bound feel-good feelings. Again, I am reminded that home is wherever I say it would be and whatever I make of it. Whether I am house-sitting or sleeping on a borrowed bed; I am at home if my people are around me.

I guess this is how countless millions are choosing to make good of their undetermined time of living far away from "home", or the home that they used to know. It's appreciating the moment when you feel at home with the people around you and the zooming in to this sheer happiness of belonging to and with friends and family, and friends-turned-family. For in that moment in time, the thoughts and hopes that "all is well" transpires and if only one person understands and cares for you in that moment - you have indeed, come home.

May all of you enjoy the happiness home and family bring... As Pumbaa and Timon say, "Hakuna matata"!

Does anybody really know what time it is?

2009-02-16T21:21:00.002+08:00

Phew! What a few weeks it has been... We are finally pushing metal on the pedal, so to speak, and making our way to our next port of call. I've been accepted for studies in Australia and in order to get our plan rolling, the first duty was to pack-up and go to our transit station (my parents' home). So the past few weeks have been a blitz of activities in house-moving surrounded by the usual things to do - sending and picking Kimo up from school, my running here and there for my classes, and Wendell's own sprint from wedding to wedding. Oh, but of course, squeeze in cake-making, too :) We're partially successful in the house-moving plan. But realized just recently that it is getting harder to negotiate our way about the apartment with Kimo being extremely underfoot, especially since our junk is all over the place! So, off we are to my parents' tomorrow; to park our bodies there first and then slowly, cart our possessions over.

Despite the mad schedule above, I had time to sit with Haz last week for a cup of coffee. As always, we reminisce about our student days in Labuan. The things that we did back then and the things we do nowadays. We also began to share the kinds of strategies that fell on us in our attempts to do something, i.e., school, motherhood, and the like. While our lives turned out differently, we were never too far from being what we feel as "just normal human beings aspiring to do good" :)

One thing that I got to sharing was how my grandfather had told me of his budding business acumen during the war. Strongly motivated by the need to feed his family, he had offered to sweep the floors of the rice-barns of the Japanese army on a regular basis; upon which he would scoop up the dirt in order to sieve out any rice that had accidentally been spilled on the barn floors. These, he said, were pooled and cleaned before being packaged for his sales-trips in Brunei. With the money he got through this endeavor, he was able to get his family through the ordeal of war.

After sharing with Haz on this story and on my own determination to put myself through school/university, Haz commented that I was the chip of the old block :) Like grandfather, like grandaughter :) I agreed wholeheartedly! The tenacity at which I pursue things often times propel me forward. So glued am I to the goal of the mission that I zone in on that and keep forging ahead. Many times, I find myself in deep waters and knowing that I am not that good of a 'swimmer', I have to pull-up this courage from goodness knows where. Nevertheless, even as this very tough thing of mustering-up bravado saps my energy; I am energized to no end. It is as if the hands of fate and nature are combining theirs and mine in pushing and pulling myself through and out of any hole I find myself into.

How amazing life is! Especially when we surrendered to that dynamics of just who and what you are to the life that is most natural and befitting of you. Albeit, before you feel that I boast to no end, I have fallen into holes many times, some so deep, my cry for help was so teeny that it took a while before anyone found me. And yet, the magic and beauty of a good experience can overturn many shabby experiences.

To this, I raise my phantom glass of wine, and say "Adieu" to the old and "Aloha" to the new :) Yes, my year has too many re-starts and do-overs to count. As long as my loved ones are near me and with me on this next leg, I think I will be just fine :)

Age of no-good reason

2009-02-05T00:04:00.003+08:00

If the walls could talk in our house, they wouldn't know where to begin! The part where we inadvertently taught Kimo to say "butt"??

Yes, it's my fault. In my lack of fortitude one morning-afternoon, I said to the other adult in the house, "Can you please get your butt over here and help me steer Kimo away from my cake!??". The adult (having a hard time peeling eyes off the TV) said rather non-enthusiastically, "Kiiimo... Come hereee!". To my horror, Kimo started giggling hard while saying "butt" - over and over again... And before you all pin me to a cross, yes, I have repented from my use of questionable words...

... I think??!

But, no, time is not forgiving and the 'butt' word has been repeated by the toddler several more times. Was it this morning, at breakfast time, that I said, "Kimo, you are not done yet... sit on your butt... er, bottom". Instantly, Kimo started saying "butt" again in his all-knowing giggle of a cheeky laugh... However am I going to escape this one?

Kids and their rate of absorption. It's sheer magic at how quick they are learning and the savvy in the way they are piecing bits and pieces of information together. Wendell says that he cannot wait for Kimo to be able to talk back to him in perfect coordinated strings of words; I keep trying to remember how he was like last year. How tall was he? How many words or things did he seem to know? I keep asking...

Just as fast as Kimo is growing and growing-up, my, our life too is whirling about us. And in this whirlwind of sorts, I am not entirely sitting down in comfy spectator-ship watching/observing Kimo's antics. I wish I was though :( Someone told me that it would do me good to video-tape Kimo in all stages of his young early years, as frequently as possible in copious amounts. But we've not done a lot of that. I need to document Kimo, as he is today, somehow. I'll keep trying to put effort in this direction... argh, send me positive energy, won't you?

"Ok, let's get this booger out your nose", I said. The incriminating giggle erupts from the boogered-up boy. Kimo shouts, "Boogie! Boogie!", as I try to remove said boogie off. What word will he reconstruct next?

Try and try again?

2009-02-02T22:34:00.005+08:00

I met my first batch of university students tonight. A remedial class, many had been cut to the quick in their attempts to pass a national English proficiency test. But, they tell me just now, that this time they simply must succeed; must make the grade no matter what. The interesting thing I learned, however, is that almost all students want to re-take this national test for the 2nd time but just as many either have not thought about re-taking the test, or have taken it more than 3 times (making their upcoming endeavor a 4th try!).

This "try-and-try-again" approach is at first, commendable, but as I took in what my students shared with me, I realized that they are actually subscribing to a "pok silap" attitude! A "pok silap" expression could only have originated from somewhere deep in the colloquial well-spring of Sabahan mix lingo: to "pok" (Chinese for "aim") + "silap" (Malay for "by mistake") means, in no better words, to attempt to get or win something by sheer luck. Hence, if one tries repeatedly (apparently with good intentions as in my students' case), chances are one try will get you something; somewhere; anywhere!

Unfortunately, for some of my students, loss of money and time tells them nothing of their lack of true preparation: That they could have done better IF they had instead substituted their "pok silap" approach with a tough "no-pain-no-gain" one. So that, rigorous study with firm guidance of teachers would have had you ace that test. Oh well! Now that I have come into their radar, I guess I will be their nagging voice of reason then :)

On the other hand, pok-silapness is all around me, and my students' are a mere reflection of people attitudes - myself included :( I remember how absolutely pok-silapish I was about my American driving test many years ago. Albeit I was categorically 'young and uninspired', or what-have-you, but still, whenever I think of how I did not bother to study that little booklet of to-dos in left-hand driving but exhausted the 3-times-only rule to the test... I cringe inwardly with embarrassment :) Okay, so a little embarrassment then... but still quite embarrassing :)

What possessed me to have that lackadaisical attitude, you say? Well, if I remember correctly, I had these kind of thoughts - "How hard could it really get?"; "If I do it often enough, I think I can just about pass it"; "Oh, I know I'll pass the test... eventually!".

Sigh... well... I did pass the test and yes, money was lost and time too... But having gone through more of such life experiences and getting increasingly horrified that luck was not always on my side, I think I have wizened up quite a bit. Nowadays, I marry luck with preparation, and lots of it! :)

Perhaps, this is why, nowadays, I am less forgiving with my students. Whatever it is, it will be good for them to start embracing the notion that the fruit of one's labor is so, so sweet... and that nothing can take that feeling of having triumphed against the odds, and against one's own debilitating "I can't-won't-isms" at that.

First day of school! First day of school!

2009-01-27T15:12:00.006+08:00

Constant Change

2009-01-24T08:40:00.004+08:00

Found this song...whose lyrics float into my head this morning, enjoy! :)

And one for the eyes... Kimo in his hidey-hole (where he keeps his book and toy stash! no wonder things keep disappearing)

And another one for "evidence" :) [I make a minor *er* appearance, ignore that part!]

Ah, the joys of not knowing!

2009-01-18T10:17:00.004+08:00

Hello, dear readers!

Another week has gone by since my last post. How has the Kimster been doing, you say? Well... Kimo has been a very good boy, indeed. :)

He has fully acclimatized to his school routine, i.e., he wakes up and he knows that it's all chop-chop from then on - eat some breakfast, change into school clothes, then off to school. He's also comprehending the idea of "having friends"; we go down the list of his classmates each night before bed and he is able to say their names after me. And the goodness of his new love for school is rubbing on us, parents, too. Among other things, I simply have a little more time now to myself :)

However, while Kimo's playschool life has dominated my life this week, some of life's larger questions that I posted last year are coming up again...and I hope with them, definitive answers :) Whatever they may be in due time, it would involve a job or a move. Yes, I am either going back to full-time work, or full-time study - again!

Gulp!

On full-time work, well... I suppose my "living la vida loca" hiatus of sorts will come to an end. It has been extremely revealing to have taken one's self off the job market and "make it happen" away from the fast-moving cash flow. Like everyone with "in-between jobs right now" experiences, I have bills that do not get paid on time. And many a food was rebirth with a new name, in order to feed anew. Still, those with full-time jobs and being at the daily grind for umpteen years may pine and salivate over the lives of the relaxed and frugal. But truth be told, it is, or was, not all day-long watching of Oprah and HBO (or E! and Discovery)... but a lot of hive getting some work done among getting some living done over getting over some living. (I hope I make sense here!)

But! Yes, I enjoyed my "sabbatical" year - tremendously. As I said, it was extremely revealing and to top it off, a year of extreme being in states of happiness and awareness of all things around you.

On full-time student-ness, oh well! I'm getting good at that too ;) Yes, must continue to blaze that trail of "original idea" in my mind. Have those academically-inclined thoughts be reined in and organized. I think the theme for me in this area has always been trying to write something that others can understand. The dreamer-writer in me is almost always superfluous and wordy. So, that's my challenge this time around.

But yes, I am 38 now, with one young child. And yes, I have been told my well-meaning friends and family to "settle down" and get that stable job and income. Some have gone as far as telling me that my child will be ruined for life (including my husband) with my desire for study.

You know what, somehow the more I get told this, the more a clearer picture of myself comes into my mind. And I know, irrefutably, deep down in my bones, who I am - that I am not like these folks, and never will be. I was fashioned this way, so that I could live my life the way I see would best work for me.

I once asked Wendell, "So, what do you think Kimo will be like in the future?" This was after talking to him about how our winged feet are itching again for travel. "He will be like us... He will learn to like adventure", answered Wendell, whose name aptly means "the wanderer". My breath came out sounding relieved. It's this Zen-like question-and-answer moment that I like most in my life, as this kind of thing always gets me stumped. The girl with the mouth wanted a chance to go over the topic like a starving dog over a big meaty bone... but could not help but gape in awe at the truth of the moment... Kimo will probably like food, and or cooking, as I do... he will find something positive from travel... as we do...

'C' is for cookie and that's good enough for me...

2009-01-11T07:58:00.007+08:00

Phew! I survived my first official week of "soccer-mom"-ish life, i.e., the ferrying of child to school and his activities; adding role of chauffeur to my existing host of managerial roles as mom and director of OOM [One's Own Home].

What has life been like under this scope, you say? Well... I was enlightened to several things, primarily Kimo's so-called development... and of course, as always, the minutest details of his life impact mine; so that, I, too, have been enlightened as to my own self-development.

Kimo received a daily progress report, at my request. But to re-cap: Yes, he is very, I mean VERY, excited to go to school each and every day. And no, he did not cry on his first day of school. In fact, we've been on the opposite receiving end: we seem to totally fade out of his mind each time we arrive at his school. The invisible giant springs under the soles of his shoes make him literally bound up to the school gate; gurgling babbles of delight audible as he scans to see toys, friends, and teachers. But before some of you envy me to no end; due to a still-low language production, those sounds of joy quickly escalate to shrieks, and piercing shrieks at that!!

And so, I have been told that Kimo still has "a long way to go". Will all that shrieking ever transform into articulate words that all can understand?

This week I realized that parents are at the mercy of their children's teachers. For the very moment that we committed to that thought of sending our kids to school; we've crossed that line of no-return where we hand-over some of the responsibility of training our children to behave better and essentially, do better in all that they do. So, any remark, stinging or not, are taken in by parents and these do dwell in one's thoughts; internally prodding one's conscience to that loaded question of "Have I done and am I doing enough for my child?"

Unfortunately, the more ignorant we are, as parents, on these matters of schooling and our children, the more we yield to whatever the authorities have to say about our children. Hence, we accept the labels they dish out, the on-the-spot evaluation teachers like to give, and other forms of sometimes criteria-less kid judging of our kid. The brunt of that kind of interaction between parent and school oft times translate into needling heartache and stress. Again, one wonders, whether what he/she did, or was remiss to do, as a parent prior to their child's schooling days resulted in this child being found "not polite", "rough", "too active", "dumb", "cannot focus", "worse than this other child", "naughty", among others. Back home, the poor child gets the once-over and for parents with a giant hole in their self-esteem, they will take it out on their kid and berate him or her for "shaming mummy or daddy" ['bikin malu'].

On the other hand, as a teacher myself, I have been on the other side of the buffet line having dished out lukewarm dishes of assessment now and again; I can empathize with both teacher and parent. However, as a parent now, the major difference I find when I am in my teacher role is that I aim to offer positive responses to demands for on-the-spot evaluations; whether from parents or my superior. If there is anything to say about the child that requires parents to take a seat; by all means, do so. Otherwise, interactions ought to be positive notes - Even as each child is different; each situation should also be deemed "unique" to the individual and be given adequate attention.

Back to my role as a mother, I am truly pleased to see that a child's developmental milestones are scattered with non-scheduled "resting spots". These spots represent pockets of time that intersperse throughout one's learning period to allow the child [and I suppose, the parent] to allow shifts in learning, and so enable the child to go into the next gear. In other words - at his pace, at his time; with your guidance and patience :)

You know, they say, your child's your best teacher? Well, I am studying hard! So, while others' grading of my child continues; the Kimo-and-mom team continues... where my desire is for Kimo to evaluate me and grade my parenting with an "A+" :)

As the waitress came back with a spoon, I said "Thank you" in the usual absent-mindedly way. She began to retreat when I realized that I was also missing a fork at my table. "Kasi garpu juga, ah? [Please give me a fork also, ok?], I said, in a polite tone. When said waitress came back, I took the fork. Waitress took leave and then we heard Kimo say, "Thank you"! Each and every day, when Kimo picks up a new positive word, we are rendered speechless... in awe and amazement at the little cogs turning in his mind. Okay, next - how do you teach the word "Sorry"? You know, even adults have the hardest time using this word...

Oprah 'fesses up & Kimo goes to school

2009-01-05T21:14:00.003+08:00

Happy New Year to all of you, dear readers!

Oprah has started her "Bestlife" program and I was pleasantly surprised that we, in Malaysia, are not receiving a delayed telecast of this programming. I don't quite know if I caught it "live" tonight but we are definitely listening to Oprah as of 5-January-'09.

Yes, finally, her new program is centering on her life; her weight issues. Candid to a fault, Oprah turns the camera towards her and talks about her unraveling-ness - burnout at work; her thyroid. She was extremely frank and it was refreshing to have her allow viewers a solemn peek into her ups-and-downs; human frailty and all. Hey, Oprah! We're right behind ya ;)

Today, Kimo went to school for the first time! :)

We mentioned 'going to school' to him yesterday, several times. But, since the language skills haven't really kicked in yet, we did not get a register of understanding from him.

But this morning! Well... As soon as our car rolled up the school's driveway, his eyes started shining bright. I got out and helped him out of his seat. But I really didn't need to; he was very agile and it was like a spring developed in his shoe. He got out of the car in two giant steps; placed his hand in mine for a nano-second; all the while, looking eagerly at his new school and teachers. Boy, Kimo was super excited to begin his 1st day of school.

Having registered, we lingered around for a bit to assess what kind of student Kimo was like. He went this-a-way and that-a-way, looking for free blocks to play with; while the other kids began to protect their block supply. There were shrieks and squeals from Kimo; as he took bits of blocks to his end of the block/play table. From the window [yes, Wendell and I were interloping through the slats of the windows], I could see three green and yellow 'Z' like blocks. Kimo went "Z-Z-Z!" [zee-zee-zee!] and one can tell he was in a world of his own.

Exactly 2 1/2 hours later, I came back to pick him up. [Wendell was flat on his back attempting to fight his flu]. He gave his friends and teacher big hugs and kisses [I don't know if other parents like this body contact business]. Then I was given the low-down from the principal and teachers: "Kimo is - very active, likes to shriek and squeal, can sit down for group activity, loves to sing, but is clearly still operating in a world of his own. He needs to learn to socialize with others." Having noted this late last year, I agreed wholeheartedly. Well! I can only look forward to Kimo's progress as he learns to "play well with others" :)

Back at home, Kimo had a short nap and all too soon, we hear joyful shrieking again. He is so pumped-up! There was non-stop playing from him. And... his appetite doubled! There was non-stop eating from him too. And oh yes, a lot of chuckling going on tonight. I remarked to Wendell that it is as if he became truly alive for the first time today! I mean that, it was as if all of his 2.5 something years prepped him up to live fully today. He is so happy, zany, funny, robust - today. One can only wonder what dreams will flit about his consciousness tonight :)

Again, for me, Kimo's joy is infectious. His my little 'Oprah', on demand :) I feel that I am a better person when I am with him. For that, I am truly grateful to begin my year '09 with this zesty approach to life.

Yes, we still do not have all the answers yet to all our questions (and it is amazing that in a span of 5 days, one can accumulate a bag load of questions already). But, we only have to let Kimo's smile melt into ours... to feel that we are getting closer to what we need to know... and that makes me feel alright :)

Toasting to one's non-idiocy of elephantine proportions

2008-12-29T23:36:00.003+08:00

Lessons learned from being a year older-a year wiser :)

1) Structure is not everything; but it can mean everything! [In that respect, substance and creativity is still very important]

2) It pays to be humble! [and kind...]

3) "...for always there will be people higher and lower than yourself...for that reason, be humble..." [source: Desiderata]

4) Be grateful for all things...

5) "I have a dream; a song to sing...if you see a wonder...you can change the future...even if you fail(ed)..." [continue to be better than your last try]

6) Forgive yourself... you are no less important than the universe or the trees or the stars... (source: Desiderata)

7) In a year, on your birthday, you have every right to pamper yourself silly :)

8) Be open to something new coming your way; you never know where that fork in the road will lead you.

9) Sometimes, when things go horribly wrong; some people may say, "Serves you right! You were too proud and that's why something bad happened to you" [i.e., you were over-confident]. But you know what, sometimes, you were just stupid...and that's why you made that bad judgment call :(

10) If # (9) applies to you right now, do #(6) and realize that every now and again, you need to "...toast to your non-idiocy"! (source: Chef Skinner, Ratatouille).

Christmas greetings!

2008-12-25T01:12:00.002+08:00

Merry Christmas Everybody!

Little nuggets of wisdom from a 2.5 year old:

(1) It's great to wake up in the morning and find that things are just where you left them... [Find comfort in the routine]

(2) Even if you repeat yourself; at least, you know what you mean and that you mean no harm... [Truly listen to inane conversation to pocket that glimmer of inspiration]

(3) When you see or hear something funny, let it rip! Belly-laugh yourself silly! [Take refuge in the safe embrace of a pure joy, and pass on the good feelings]

(4) If people get on your case, be afraid if only for that moment; have a good cry; then take a nap 'cos when you wake up, you'll feel much better and there's always hugs and kisses from those that truly love you... [Distinguish, quickly, mean-spirited folks from the good ones; avoid the former with a vengeance - there can be no good from crossing their paths]

(5) If all else fails, your teddy-bear is always there for you to chew on, suck on, hug, kick, bite, cuddle, talk to... [Be your own best-friend sometimes; there's real pleasure and healing in solace]

I think we can make it...

2008-12-18T23:54:00.002+08:00

Goodness, but it's been awhile since I last wrote! Blame it on the holidays :) Yes, been busy with the year-end tying-up loose ends kind of activity, i.e., major house-cleaning [done in energy spurts only!] and yes! lots of baking... :)

To tie in to my last few posts on books and rewards, yes, I did go to the library to loan out some more books - thriller/suspense/horror types. I read them in two-three days, and am hungry for more :( BUT! And a big 'but' at that, I really have to hunker down and focus within... must do house-cleaning; must finish baking all these Christmas cakes and goodies; must continue to stoke the embers of my on-going projects... before I can go and get my next installment of holiday reading. Can't wait!

Meanwhile, I feel good... Am in a good place despite not having enough answers to aaall my questions :) I guess this year's ending is like any other - reflection's a must; slowing and tapering down of things a plus. And in the seemingly chaotic blending of activities around me, I like to think that I am in the mid of it doing a 'one-hand-in-pocket-and-the-other-one's-making-a-peace-sign" :) At least, I sure feel like this nonchalant me is me, right now. 'Cos truly, whatever's gonna happen is gonna happen :)

To that, I sign off with a song down nostalgia lane from Melissa Manchester...

Midnight Blue
Whatever it is, it'll keep till morning
Haven't we both got better things to do, midnight blue
Even though simple things become rough
Haven't we had enough
And I think we can make it
One more time, if we try
One more time for all the old times
For all the times you told me you need me
Needing me now is something I could use, midnight blue
Wouldn't you give your hand to a friend
Maybe it's not the end
And I think we can make it
One more time, if we try
One more time for all the old times, midnight blue

I think we can make it
I think we can make it
Wouldn't you give your hand to a friend
Think of me as your friend
And I think we can make it
One more time, if we try
One more time for all of the old old old times

'Cos you deserve it...

2008-12-12T23:20:00.012+08:00

Being that it is commonplace to be a card-carrying member of a reward program nowadays; I am but an anomaly in the mix. To my best of knowledge, myself, and Wendell, have never 'earned' a reward, whether in the form of cash or goods, based on a card-reward program. Such programs calculate how many points one gets from things like gas purchases. Of course, it doesn't help if you are not a member of such programs to begin with! :) Anyway... I guess we will never know what it means to have 'won' or 'earned' that gorgeous tea-set or VCD player from amassing hundreds of points from the local gas station and departmental store.

We all know that rewards are typically made based on merit. The key word seems to be whether one deserves to get the reward, or not. Hence, when one gets rewarded; one gets the feeling of having 'earned' or 'won' something as mentioned above.

But, unlike the inclusiveness of card-based reward programs stated above; rewards in certain arenas, such as the workplace and school, are limited and given only to the deserving few. In this regard, rewards are never attainable for some; as the select few get their rewards by passing an incredulously high standard.

Further, unlike the tea-set and VCD player, many rewards given to meritorious workers or students are seldom those that people can drink from or play with. Such rewards often come as commemorative plaques noting said achievement, or that gold watch 'gift' one is rewarded with for having clocked in 40 years of work at the same place. These momento-type reward seek to make a lasting mark, preferably in view for all to see. However, I wonder whether these 'rewards' feel rewarding for the recipients? :)

Yes, when one becomes 'Best Student' or 'Employee of the Year' - does that plaque emblazoned with your name in gold make you feel ten feet tall? Make you feel good about yourself? Absolutely! But so do the cheering and admiration from your peers; matching intently the pride welling-up inside of you. And that... that is what the reward distills into... your moment in time - where all of your efforts are recognized and the best of you is being celebrated :)

So, whether 'rewards' in and by themselves are rewarding? Almost always, you be the judge of that.

Are those knock-off English teacups making you happy? The local-made VCD player capable in playing your "Mama Mia" movie without skipping a scene? Are you giddy from looking at your plaque so shiny and bright, stating your #1 or #2 position out of the hundreds - although they've misspelled your name? :) If yes is your answer to any of the above, then you may certainly be reaping your rewards time and time again.

But... should one get a hollow feeling instead... then one can only wonder if this lack of enthusiasm is due to your finding the reward... ummm... being less than expected? Not-so flashy? Too conspicuous? Not as rewarding? I suppose that in this case, the argument is in the worth of the reward itself and whether it commensurates with the effort.

On that last note however, I am no expert. Since it is seldom that I receive rewards (sorry, I don't have nice teacups in my house!), personally, I think I feel genuinely pleased and ecstatic at being even considered for a reward!

However, my husband doesn't think so :P According to him, it seems that in my delight, I also experience the complex of whether I deserve the reward or not! According to Wendell, I go "Oh no, no, no! Not me..." in my teeniest voice :P But I think I know why I react so... it always comes to me that someone is surely more deserving of the reward, the gift, the award, the scholarship, or whatever... more than I.

Will I dare quell the need to compare the next time someone calls my name to "Come on down!"? :) Well... this I can promise... for now... that the next time I get a reward, I am going to say a very big "Thank You"! and celebrate my deserving-it-ness! :)

Rewarding

2008-12-12T08:49:00.005+08:00

My, but this has been one of those weeks! One of those "in-between projects" week; time is essentially yours to bend at will :)

But yes, I did do 'some' housework; not the high-quality kind but it is good enough for me. And yes, some baking - but of course :) And I think, I've created another variety of pound cake, with 'special' ingredient thrown in :) Aaand...yes, read several abridged version type books: Blood Memory (Greg Iles), Mosaic (Soheir Khashoggi), Hornet Flight (Ken Follett), Night to Lisbon (Emily Grayson), and Brandenburg (Henry Porter). These are the so-called "Select Editions' of Readers Digest.

The 1st book deals with repressed memories and all that; Mosaic was about a father 'kidnapping' his own children back to his homeland of Jordan; the 3rd one is on the Danish revolution against Nazi; Night to Lisbon is a love story circa WWII; Brandenburg is a tale of espionage gone wrong. There is another compendium somewhere... and I stopped reading one of the stories in it because it talked about children fending off Nazi soldiers from returning to their Italian town. My insides were churning about so... I didn't want to have to read how any of the children would die in the end.

All these reading quickie-type books have definitely whet my appetite for more. I keep promising myself that when I am done with this and that chore that I will reward myself with a trip to the local library and haul some 20 novels home :) I cannot wait! And now, I think, I shouldn't! My housework is never going to get completely done; I have fulfilled all my work for the year, 'cept for 1 or 2 on-going projects; my cakes are doing me proud - so what am I waiting for, you say? Indeed, it is time for rewards :)

Speaking of rewards, and I won't get into it right now [you do want me to have enough time to browse about the library, don't you? ;)], we should talk about that topic tonight when I post a longer one. Getting a reward...Giving a reward... Being rewarded... Turning down a reward? Tangible rewards... non-tangible ones... Rewarded in public... Rewards behind closed doors... Rewards from the Almighty... Rewards from the King... whether rewards are truly rewarding, or not...

Pushing the pedal to the metal...

2008-12-08T08:52:00.003+08:00

The days are getting shorter... with a plethora of many many things "To do". And you know, the way to get housework done is to get it done quick! That is, no procrastinating on the matter and no indulging in storybooks, cake-baking, and lounging around. Plus, you get thrown in a tizz when relatives are finally confirming their whereabouts and intentions to come visit. Aaand, your professional work-life has not yet come to a grinding halt this Christmas season. It doesn't help when you are an "independent" a.k.a. "freelancer"; work-days and holidays tend to get meshed-up together.

Whatever and however! The theme of this month is indeed, "Celebration!"; I must rest-up my feet and make a good batch of coffee to go with that 'perfect' pound cake (still a fiction of my imagination). But not before, I do a mad cleaning spree, with Kimo in tow and Wendell, not too far away. All the fastidiousness will all be worth it, I know. Besides, the mood-enhancing Christmas tree is up! And with Amy Grant singing 'Tennessee Christmas' in the background, it is not easy to be debilitated so by the crushing weight of the 'still-not-yet-done' stuff in life.

Meantime, we have several more days still before Christmas and the year ends, so although I am getting weepy already; I will save the resolution notes for later.

Now...getting back to work! Have a good week ahead!

Take a deep breath...

2008-12-05T19:59:00.006+08:00

Someone made me really mad the other day, I mean, spitting mad! I went into vitriolic overload... and regretted later. No, what mean things I had to say about the person [maybe true; maybe not] was not said to this person's face. I was just mouthing away, and my hearer, was possibly affected. As they say in the Malay language, don't be a "batu api" [lit. fire-stone]. That is, do not douse gasoline on flames. Don't add fuel to fire. Don't fan another's anger to rage.

Sigh, I don't know what got into me... and wouldn't I just love to blame it on PMS, or something like that. But truth be told, it is hard to curb one's tongue and be as Mother Theresa. I remember reading somewhere that, "If you don't have anything nice to say to the person, don't say anything at all" and "Even if the person is not nice, say something kind". I don't know how the two ought to work hand-in-hand but if taken together, one should be kind to a person who is not nice without saying something bad about him/her? Yes, I need to meditate more and more and collect some Zen-like quality :)

Speaking of the unfettered calm of one's soul, I once had a friend who did exceptionally well in crisis situations. He was in training to be a psychiatrist, so I guess it goes with the territory. But really, he was the one who would volunteer for the suicide hotlines, and the like. And he said, that the more crazed the person was about his/her intent to kill him/herself, the more calm he would get; inevitably being able to coax the suicidal folk out of his/her death wish. He must have been telling the truth, as no one had died on his watch. As for me, I had gone for the introductory training session for the manning of such hotlines but found the high-drama too much for me. What should one say when someone has a gun to his/her head; a razor-blade to his/her wrist??

My life being far from the intensity of a crisis center; I am never too far from crossing the line from peace to anger. It starts with feeling a little irritation. The plate that I neglected to collect from the dining table; Kimo's soiled diaper forgotten under a pile of growing laundry! A fridge overflowing with leftovers; misplaced bills sandwiched in between junk mail... and the list goes on. Then this potential stress evolve as stressors, and the next thing I know, I am quite irritated to find yet another used cup lurking in the study-room. And I begin to feel stress monkeys jumping on my back and head, and then oohhh! ... phew.... I begin to take deep breaths... Now, most of the time, almost all of the time, I am mad with none other than myself... if only I didn't get lazy on housework; I wouldn't accumulate stress and help them graduate to become stressors galore.

So, I become industrious again and start to clean my house till my cat can skate on the floor :) ... And if my house starts a revolt all over again and I cannot find the missing half of a sock pair [did the other one get washed, or not?], I am learning to be kinder to myself and say, "You know what? It's okay!". Otherwise, I have learned to be smarter and do what works for me, and only me, such as, absolutely no leftovers. They drive me crazy, as no one really wants to have the same thing tomorrow, and no one volunteers to eat leftovers unless they have to...

As for laundry? The only way to get laundry done is to get it done quick! :)

Die when I may, I want it said of me by those who knew me best...

Papatua

Good to be back home again

Christmas 2011

"Just wait 5 minutes..."

Going home

Simpatico (short story)

The crest (ss)

Last sunset (short story/ss)

Blurred and out-of-focussed

Junebug

I let slip (short story!)

Sunday, sunday...

Hawaii no ka oi

I love you

"Some people own cats...

Selamat kembali!

Selamat jalan!

A keeper

Für immer

Birthdays

I want to learn Dusun

Minnie L. Haskins:...And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown. And he replied: Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.

Luna's scratched-up face

As if I need yet another friend...

We are observing your planet...

Loneliness and independence

Superhero, Luna and other unsolved mysteries

And cat makes four...

Gone fishing!

A home is not a home...

Daddy's home

Peter Rabbit, glasses and bambangan

You knew this day would come...

Back to the daily grind!

Sing with me.dot comau.

Home is where Sabah is

Hey, it's good to be back home again...

Happy trails to you, and gow gee

We all know what it's all about...

When you can savour belonging to yourself

Trying to get that feeling again

Breakfast in bed

The last of my mother, 2

The last of my mother

My murder's day

Vulnerable

Do you love cake or mama?

How can you stop the sun from shining... how does the world go round?

Comfy Bots and other harmless tales

Ecstatic!

While the rest of us were sleeping...

Kwaking and other stories while on the caffeine trail...

Boy, n.: a noise with dirt on it. ~Not Your Average Dictionary

I really need to poop when...

Urban birds of South Australia

A chair is still a chair...

They're plums, not peaches!

In which to see the world

A nostalgic Christmas in the rain...

and now the conversations...

Nothing like a barbie on a Sunday afternoon

And love will lead you there...

Hope springs... eternal

And the training begins...

Pancake breakfasts are the best!

On Hawaii in this dry Oz heat

Of flight and fancy

The slang of Oz

TGIF and dino

Chocolate Chip cookies never hurt anyone

Found in Malaysia, too

Wafts of vegetable curry filling up our noses...

It's cold, brr, I wish I had fur!

LOST

All's good...

'... he made me a Vegemite sandwich"

Back to 6 months in a leaky boat!

T.E.A.M.

Six months in a leaky boat...

Minnie L. Haskins:
...And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown. And he replied: Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light, and safer than a known way.