Friday, August 29, 2008

Nosy

Me.. yup.. nosy nosy Mahmee. Lemme tell you how nosy I am:

~ I stay back at Little Gym so I can see if he could do the backward somersault.

~ I steal awkward glances at him to spy what he is doing when I read, blog, chat, dig nose or day dream

~ I ask him what his papah talk to him about during those solo 7-eleven trips

~ I interrogate him on his monologues banters with new-found friends

Eh, did you notice that I am referring to Gooly? So don't fret-lah, I am not nosy towards other people. Anyways, it has always been easy to act nosy on him until.. today. It was his first Sunday class at the church, and geee.. hmm.. wow! He went in, said good bye, no fuss, no tears.

Grrreat *sarcastically*! He told him he needed me to sleep just yesterday night and today he went solo, without even giving a glance back at me. How could he.. *thumps chest softly*

Ok.. so Mahmee has separation anxiety more than the kid himself. And Mahmee also tends to exaggerate. :P However, the fact remains that she feels immensely proud of the little boy who, who grew up oh so suddenly.

I watched him crawl, walk, run, talk with words, sentences and then non-stop, ride a tricyle and then a bicycle; every milstone, every success. I was expecting him to cling on to me when the moment comes to force him to understand that we are two separate entities, not one... but he didn't do what other kids generally do. He handled it pretty well, I must say. And which idiot didn't? *points finger at chest* This mahmee la... aiseh.. I suppose I feel that I am missing the link some where.. as though I have missed the transition of a baby to a boy. Sadistic Mahmee wants him to cry his eyes out, eh? *gasps*

But all's well that ends well. He came out of class happy and merry, and I went on my usual modus operandi of interrogation; "What did you do? Did you sing? Did you have fun? bla bla bla.."

He is still willing to impart his experiences for now.. but someday when my questions turn to,"Did you hold her hand? Do you think you love her?" I know, he will say I am nosy and annoying

And I will know then he is no longer a boy, but a man. And I'd lament, "but.. but.. but.. he was just a boy yesterday.. and now he is a full-grown man! How can.. how can.." *chest pounding action again* The history will repeat itself for Nosy Dramatic Mahmee, I tell ya!

How?

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Yada yada yak

You should know by now that Gooly is a chatterbox. I must have mentioned it before; it being a distinguished trait of his.

Sometimes he talks, and I listen. Other times he talks and I pretend to listen. *hangs head in shame*

But the pretending usually lasts only for seconds. 2 minutes max.. 3, on head-splitting days *head still hanging*

You know how it is? It's not like I can control it. First he yaks, and then he yaks some more.. and then his voice starts droning out, and all I can notice is his mouth open and shut like a goldfish. But somehow, (it could be how he stresses his words) I'd often snap out of it, just in time to hear the most significant part of his speech.

Is this what the learned ones call 'selective listening'? I'm sure this skill is part of the Instinctive Survival Guide for Mothers With Kids with Motormouths, yet to be published of course.

When I catch the crux of his speech, I often slap remind myself to LISTEN to him more, lest I miss the sweetest thing a boy can say. Take this soliloquy as an example:

Mahmee, when I grow up

I want to be an astronaut..no.. no.. I want to be an acrobat ..
yada yada yada yada yada

Papah will come see me yada yada yada yada

poot poot pott and ah mah, and gong gong yak yak yak yak.pak pak pak..

THANK YOU FOR BEING MY BEST FRIEND, Mahmee!

See, I didn't miss the crucial part? Yeah! Of course, selfishly speaking. So this post shall serve as a reminder to myself to ..



....teach him be more succinct? Bwahahaha!

Ok ok.. I shall try to be all ears to Gooly. Stop the killer stares now, won't ya?
But that boy sure can talk, huh? C'mon.. 3 minutes of mental/audio shut down every couple of hours ain't that bad, right?

Karmically speaking, my mom has long endured my yakkity yak nature, and now the baton has been passed on, so to say. So endure to the end, I shall.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Dear Principal

A couple of weeks back, a close friend told me that her son was punched at school.Oh yes.. there is a Bruce Lee, Mohamad Ali and perhaps Jackie Chan in places where there are supposed to be pretty fluffy clouds with beautiful rainbows, and little children put their hands on little friends' shoulders, make choo-choo sound and head on to classes. Much to our chagrin, not-so-cute Kungfu Pandas make their unwanted presence in such sanctuaries too.

And so the poor boy bled in his nose. His hankie was bloody, his shirt drenched also. My friend was called to pick him up. Upon seeing him, instead of crying his heart out, he said almost nervously, "It's ok, Mummy.. Nothing lar.. nothing happened lar." And the teacher and principal stood behind him, resting their hands on his shoulder, nodding and breathing slightly heavier.

While we marvel at his bravery, we have a sneaky suspicion that the teachers have cajoled him into thinking, "Do not make a mole hill out of an ant's hill..so what you got a bloody nose? Everybody gets punched in schools. You big boy or not? Ah.. Big boys don't cry." Not exactly those words, but you get the drift.

And the next day, my friend's son was sent to another class, to avoid that bully, whose parents didn't apologize but dare to demand to remain in the same class. The victim was ostracized.

Being 8 kwar righteous, I helped my friend pen the below letter:

Dear Principal,

I am deeply disappointed with the way the school handled my son's unfortunate experience two days ago. While not being able to ensure the safety of the students within the school compound, you have committed a greater mistake by trying to cover up the mishap.

Upon receiving phone calls from the school regarding his nose bleed, I rushed there only to hear a nervous, "It's ok, Mummy .. I'm ok." It broke my heart that my son has resorted to hide his pain, hurt and fear by acting nonchalant about the whole incident. His hanky and shirt were soaked in blood. Hence, please don't mock me by reassuring me that he wasn't feeling hurt, scared or shocked, like any other child would, if not coaxed by the school party to play it cool.

What disappoints me further is the arrangement you deem as the solution for this case, which is by transferring my son to another class. Meanwhile, the boy who punched him walks away WITHOUT an apology, remains in the same class, feeling triumphant that he has gotten rid of the boy, who, dare I say.. complained? FYI, my son dislikes this arrangement and is feeling as though he is punished for 'making a mole hill out of an ant hill'.

Someone once said, "All the things we need to know about life, we learn in the kindergarten." It makes me shudder in fear that my son will grow up learning these from your school:

a. it's ok to lie
b.It's ok not to apologize

c. I must hide my feelings
d. I will be punished if I told the truth
e. it's ok to punch or bully
f. it's ok to be punched or bullied

I'm not insistent on getting an apology from any party as the damage has been done. While this letter may sound harsh, I must stress that my intention is to bring awareness to your school and others as well, on the note that everything you do as an educator or teacher creates an impact in a child's life.

Thank you.

Yes, accidents do happen. Yes, boys get rough. But what we do aftermaths is most important. Saying sorry, being truthful, having the courage to own up - should we not inculcate them, especially if you are an educator/teacher or more obviously, a father or mother?

Boy, am I glad Gooly is still at home, where the bully mom kicks ass makes mistakes and apologizes.

What do you do if your child comes home bloody from school? ( on account that he was not into gansgterism, and that he was clearly bullied?) Eee.. sakit hati.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Flag-limpik

The Olympic torch was extinguished yesterday. Gooly and I watched quite a bit of the games. He wasn't interested at all to see who can swim or run the fastest. His main idea of watching the games was to spy on the flapping flags.

Look look, Jamaica.

There there.. China.

I see Korea, do you?

So

Very

The

Annoying. I tell you....

Anyways, lemme tell you that he could count to 12 at 1.5 years old. Today at 3 yrs 8 mths old, he can count to 13. Big progress eh? Tsk tsk tsk...

It's all about choices, ain't it? C'mon, if he managed to recognise half the world flags, and knowing countries his papah doesn't, why isn't he counting beyond 13? Then again, I think he secretly knows but not telling me. Just like the time he read a bunch of words like penguins, igloo and what nots, only to remain tightlipped the second time I asked him to read again.

Tak apa-lah. Afterall, he hardly has to count more than 13. He has 10 fingers, 10 toes, 2 eyes, 12 cars and 3 fishes. Hahaha.

Here's a video of him pointing out the flags from the miserable Rm2 poster we bought at Jatujak. In comparison, I can count till infinity but not recognise the flags even though I stare at them most mornings. It's all about relevance, eh?

*chup chup.. crazy rant ahead*
But.. but.. but.. why count so much when I don't have a million moolah? I may have millions of hair, including facial and unwanted and curly and ridiculously stubborn armpit hair, but why count them? How is that relevant in learning to count beyond 13? *end of rant*



I can almost hear my mother saying, "What future he has in recognizing flags?" Aiyayayayayar.. Tak pe lah. As long as he is learning, marderrrr.. :P

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Fun, how elementary!



We started sending Gooly to Little Gym a few months back. When friends and relatives saw the above picture, the auto-comment was , "Wah, training to be a gymnast ah?" It's quite common to have a linear thinking, in which people assume we learn something to be something, eh?

I have many friends who took piano lessons and hated them. I never had the opportunity to learn and thus never had the opportunity to hate them. But that also means I didn't understand the phobia they have towards the ebony and ivory keys. So one sik-pau-mo- yeh-choe day I sat down with a friend who played fairly well but has not touched the keys for years, and asked her why?

"Aiyor.. so boring. Playing the same piece again and again. Endless practicing.." was her reply.

And then it was my turn to aiyor.. Music is supposed to be beautiful. Music is supposed to be fun. Music..wait.. what do I know about music? Hehehe.. not that I have any formal qualification to define it. But I do think it's a waste for God to create something so profoundly beautiful but alas, we cannot enjoy it because we spoil it with the dreaded scales and arpeggios ( I know scales and arpeggios because of them, click here), exams, and more exams. C'mon, playing one piece of music shit sheet for the entire year, or two (if you failed) is such a bore, such a dread, such a joy killer. Hey, maybe it's a blessing in disguise that I didn't take any lessons cos I'm still enjoying music! Ah... Moonlight Sonata. I hear it with my ears, I feel it with my heart. I'm such a virgin music lover; boring and uncontaminated, eh?

Seriously, how can one not enjoy music? Everyone has a tune in the head. Lalala lalala Can't get you out of my head. Kylie Minogue's. It's a permanent resident in my cranium. I can't whistle, and I can't sing, and I don't play any musical instrument, so it shall remain there for good. :D What's your tune?

Back to Little Gym. Nah, I don't wish Gooly to be Li Ning. I want him to have confidence. I want him to fall and be able to pick himself up. I want him to somersault and say "tadaa". I want him to think, "If I can do this, I can do that too." And then, I want him to be disciplined, to be able to follow instructions. But most of all, I want him to have fun.

And should there be a day that Gooly announces that he wants to learn music, I will be like Big Bright Head, adamant about zero-exam type of lessons. Actually, Gooly often says, "I'll play the piano, you play the drum, and papah play the guitar." Now wouldn't that be fun?

Thursday, August 21, 2008

9 doesn't answer 8

"When it's your birthday, I'll buy you roses. " Mahmee grins.

"When it's Christmas, I'll take a taxi myself to Lotak and get you a surprise. It's going to be a ball, ok?" Mahmee practices surprised look in front of mirror.

"When I am 4 years old, I'll buy you a car." Mahmee smiles.

"It's pink and yellow. You will like it." Mahmee hides disappointment.

*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*





Nice meh??

"You will have to wear a helmet cos the car can zoom berry fast." Mahmee dreads the day.

"And then you go to space and find my friend, the alien with three hands." Mahmee scratches head.

"You bend down and shake his hand. It's polite to say hello." Mahmee smiles again.

A very subtle love-story.

When I was 10, all my friends were attending piano lessons. They played Twinkle Twinkle Little Stars with both hands, and all fingers.I was impressed as I could only manage a miserable tune using my right index finger. During those days, I roamed around my residential area alone on my Chopper bicycle and one day I went into a music school and inquired about lessons. The lady was very amused at this little girl in shorts and bubblegummer slippers interested in learning the piano but not accompanied by her parents. I asked the necessary question, how much?

I went home and mustered all my courage to ask my ah pa if I could take piano lessons. I explained that I will cycle for classes. He said, "Of course, you may, SorMui (my nick then). Anything you want.." Because he said that, I didn't take the lessons.

My parents work hard all their life. They wake at 3am to leave for the market. We were never poor. We always have good food and in fact we live in a rather big house. But it's a silent consciousness that they have worked very hard and we, as children never take them for granted. I knew the 'rule' as young as 5. I'd never order Milo in a restaurant and insisted on drinking water. My earliest memory of my childhood was in a restaurant when I was about 5, and my ah bu asked if I wanted Milo, and I said aloud, "Oh.. that is too expensive."

My parents were very easy going. They didn't nag us or raise their voices, even. They just let us be. I won't say that they didn't care about our education, but because they themselves didn't attend school, and thus they didn't know what is involved. So instead, we told them how the system works.

After form 5, my friends were all going to colleges and preparing for overseas studies. If I wanted, again I could have gone to US, Australia or Timbuktoo. But with another brother leaving for UK, I knew I had to make the right choice by attending a local university. Some friends asked, "Why so unfair? Boys get to go, and girls stay local?" (All 3 brothers went to Uk, my sister and I attended local Us) Is gender equality even an issue here? I absolutely don't think so.

I don't know what my parents did, but all 5 of us were good children. I grew up thinking, I'd get anything if I asked from my parents. And therefore I shan't. Now as a parent myself, I wonder how to do just that, giving Gooly everything but not spoiling him at the same time. How do I strike the balance?

Currently living the 3rd decade of my life, I am comforted that my parent will still give me anything I want. So occasionally I'd ask for a lift from my ah pa, and some curry chicken I crave from my ah bu. Little little things that make me a child, and them, the loving parents they will always be.

I hope they know that I will give them anything they ask, in fact a thousand times over. But like me, they never ask.

It saddens me that my parents won't be able to read this post as they read and almost speak no English. It's always very 'shy' to show affections in a chinese family. I don't kiss or say mushy stuff to them (sometimes tempted, but didn't lar) But I hope they know, as I do, that love is abundance in our family, albeit we show them subtly.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

No More Ear Pollution

I was watching Oprah just now. Usually I don't watch TV.. sometimes it's weeks in a row that I don't plunk my derriere on the couch. But when I start on my DVD marathon, it's scary how my heavy asset gets Uhu-ed there. But that's another story.

So what's on Oprah? Apparently there is this campaign or call it a challenge, where individuals pledge not to complain about anything for 21 days. You wear a bracelet, and when you find yourself complaining, you will have to remove the bracelet and place it at the other wrist and start counting the days all over. Read details here.

It's not easy lor. It's dumb lor.. See.. not even a minute, and I had complained :P

So why do we need to stop complaining? They say it's some sort of anger-management, and also people complain for the sake of complaining. We complain about things that are beyond our control, i.e weather; too hot, too cold, too stuffy, too rainy. We complain about little things i.e why my Milo is cold when I ordered it hot? And then when things involve a cockroach and coffee, we don't just complain, we threaten to sue..

Are you one of them? Teehee..

What's interesting is an adult takes an average of 5 months to stray away from complaints. And children can easily adapt to the system of no complaints within a month. Hey, I thought kids are champion whiners. *whisper* Is this considered a complaint?

Am I up for the challenge? Nah.. someone once told me, don't sweat the small stuff and I have ever since lived by that rule. I don't mind other people taking up the challenge though. In US alone, about a million have taken the pledge. So less noise pollution there. Woohoo!

You know, if you decided to take the pledge, doesn't that mean that you are complaining about yourself complaining too much? *grin*

Archaeologist wannabes

The thing with being away from home is that we don't get involved in many social obligations; no tete-a-tete sessions with old friends or evening soirees with new ones. Thus we have to pretty much entertain ourselves.

Bored with the shopping bazaars and city malls, we branched out to more eventful venues of late. Yoyoland is one of Gooly's favourite hangout. We discovered this fossil site at the indoor amusement park. How cool, eh? You get to be an archaeologist, digging fossils and bones and eggs. Check out the goggles, Pua Chu Kang boots, gloves and the tools. So darn cute.





Once you dug out the bones, you will have to re-arrange the bones at the designated area. See the stegosaurus?




Imagine the squeals of excitement when the young archaeologists discover these bones.

The best part is when the kids manage to salvage a dino-egg. They get a mini dinosaur as a reward.

Now doesn't that beat spending another hour walking aimlessly at the mall? Do we have anything as edutainment back in KL? You.. ya you.. go build one! :P

Monday, August 18, 2008

Moments I freeze..

Sun or shade? Definitely shade. I am very the Puteri Lilin case. But I love taking pics at the beach. I like converting them into B&W or sephia because they seem to freeze the moment for me. I look at these pics and wonder if Gooly will grow up too soon and stop hanging out with us. Anytime will be too soon, ain't it?

Quiet moments like these speak volume, eh?





My ah pa used to hold my hands. I only dare to hold my ah bu's hand now. When will I get to hold ah pa's hand again? Without feeling embarrassed? When will Gooly stop holding our hands?



How hard is it to make him happy? Not very apparently.


The rainbow eyes..I don't think he sees anything when he smiles or laughs. :D

Father and son frolicking. Mahmee says "Save the whales!" :P

Hmm.. come to think of it, I actually kinda like heading to the beach now cos that's the only place where he can play quietly on his own. In fact, he scoots me away when I am too near his sand kingdom. Half a day of peace and quiet for Mahmee.. *whistles merrily*

Friday, August 15, 2008

It's right under our nose

I have a penchant for trivial matters, and therefore I have a constant quest for answers. I wonder a lot about why certain things exist. The latest trivia encyclopedia quest involves the human anatomy. Gooly asks difficult questions and thus I have to know or find out about the most trivial matter. While other children name major body parts like eyes, ears, nose, head, etc, he wants to know why the heck do we have an indent between our nose and upper lip? Sei for.. tai chai.. tai wok.. Luckily now we have Internet access at home. A quick google tells me that the groove is anatomically known as the philtrum. And the myth surrounding it is quite interesting, actually.

I am not sure of its origin (some say Greek, some say Jews) and there are a few versions. Basically, it is believed that an angel teaches us all the wisdom we need to know about the planet when we are in the womb and right before we are born, he puts his finger on our lips and tap tap tap.. all that was taught will be immediately forgotten. Hence, the groove, which highlights the shape of the lips too.

So why teach us and then make us forget? Think think.. The following is not my interpretation. I am not so philosophical. But I like how everything intertwines and forms a very comforting idea. So read on..

Because God had wanted us to learn things ourselves. The lecture has been delivered. The lessons imparted. But God erased everything so that we learn thru practical training. It should be easier to learn the 2nd time round. We just have to search within our souls for the forgotten lessons. No wonder kids are so darn smart.. because they still remember some of the knowledge given, perhaps?

As we grow older we become more confused. Black OR white becomes grayish. We search for answers, little do we know the answers are like the old saying goes, right under our noses, literally. Hence, our mission now is to search deep within ourselves for the wisdom, the 'light'.

I am comforted that all of us still have the chance to be wise men(women), unlike the Chinese saying which says, "yan choon moe york yee." I am often irked by men and women's foolishness and ignorance (mine included). Now I see the 'light' at the end of the tunnel.. there is hope.

Now can anyone tell me why do males have nipples when you know.. they don't disperse milk? Nah.. I don't really wanna know..

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Saccharine Sweet

After bathing Gooly, I would usually wrap him up and squeeze him dry. Sometimes I drape the towel around his face because he looks more babyish like that. And we look into each other's eyes, me trying to memorise the glint in his eyes, and him.. I don't know what goes thru his mind. But, it's something hilarious, I am almost sure because he falls into fits of laughter, breaking the silent connection our eyes bear.

Then he cups my face and says, "You are sooo preeety, Mahmee.."

Ah.. such saccharine words and action from my boy. I am so high on sugar now. My first love, my first kiss, I have quite forgotten. But "You are sooo preeeety, Mahmee..", I will remember these lies words for life. Only 1000 plus days I have spent with him and I have received more than 1000 greater than great memories. Thank you God, for little him. : )

Q

He says Q is for cucumber.. as in Q-cum-ber..

So qewt, eh?

Monday, August 11, 2008

Living next to 7-11 wannabe and more

A big welcome sign written in Thai stands in front of the guard house before you enter our mooban. Two or three guards are usually on duty to tabik the residents or to administer the strict protocol for non-residents; registering the ID of the drivers and opening the car trunk to check for C4s materials or less offensive things. And when visitors leave, they check the trunk again to make sure there are no loots. These pak guards are pleasant and helpful. They don't give lecherous smiles. They open up the barrier promptly. They.. aiyar. .let's just say, they are the opposite of the pak guards with mega attitude problem you get back home lar.

100 m away from the entrance is a swimming pool, with sandstone elephants squirting water out of their trunks. Ah.. quite nice, eh? How much for a nice, quiet home like this in PJ/KL? Half a mill,at least? Let's see if the area still appeals to you if you read on.

My bungalow is next to a corner house. Early last year, my neighbour set up a canopy and started selling somtum (thai papaya salad.) Tum tum tum, every morning we are awaken by the sound of the mortar pounding. Oh boy.. you can never see this kinda arrangement in a half million housing area in Msia, can you? Your snooty neighbour will summon the DBKL, the MPPJ, the management to demolish the canopy and confiscate your mortar and pestle even before you finished slicing off the papaya skin. Or are you the snooty one? I thought I would be snooty after living my initial 30 years of "WOI HOW CAN LIKE THAT?" kinda lifestyle."Woi, how can you build your fence so high up? Woi, how can you put your rubbish bin at my side? Woi, how can you turn on your TV so loud?" Familiar? Teehee...

But I surprised myself. My neighbour's business has since expanded to selling provision goods. I welcome the expansion as I no longer have to live in constant fear of running out of sanitary pads. I admit I had initially thought it was weird staying next to 7-11 wannabe, but the comfort food and ample supply of women's necessity nullifies the awkwardness.

I was a city chica, but now I am converting to a country pumpkin who wears sarungs shorts and flipflops .

Jokes aside, I like to saunter to the warung (fully clothed, minus hair rollers and Marlboro Light) and have a plate of kickass somtum (only Rm2.50) or a tall glass of orange frappe (only RM1). I especially like the idea that Gooly could amble to the shelf and grab the packet of Oreos on his own, and the auntie will say, "Pay later!" I don't think KL kids have the liberty to do that these days, with regard to the safety and traffic issues.

Last week, another old lady told me in smattering English that she is too starting her own business, cutting hair and painting nails. It was too cute, seeing her old dressing table at her porch marking the start of her new business venture. I went there that evening itself to show my support. I painted my toe- and finger- nails while Gooly cut his hair.

The whole neighbourhood came by to watch (a little exaggeration here :P) the English Rose paint her nails. A lady offered her nail colours. Such a simple kind act to show her support to the old lady. After two hours, my nails were buffed and painted, and Gooly looked remarkably handsome. All for the price of Rm15. Never will I get such warm service in KL.

To hell with metropolitan attitude of no doing business in a housing area, especially in bungalows. Of course, we don't own the property and hence the tolerance? I don't know, I don't care. I love the charm, the culture.. the kampung style of living.

Look at how the kid (and mother) watch Gooly cut his hair. There were more standing at my side. It's such a Reader's Digest moment. :D

Any suggestion of what business I should be venturing? Jump on the bandwagon mar. Nasi lemak? Mee Hoon? Roti Canai? *whisper* I burn toasts and over-cook rice.. how leh? :D

Thursday, August 7, 2008

So wrong.. so wrong..

And so I read that homosexuals are coming out from the closet, younger. As young as 10, 11, 12. Back in my days when I was 10,11,12, I was least interested or aware about human sexuality. My Chopper bicycle with its front basket kept me busy. But now, kids are professing their sexual orientation even before they reach puberty. Loe soon mei sang chai leh..

I read an article sometime back. Dang, wish I had archived it so I could link it here. But gooly's mama didn't. Bah! So the gist of the story line:

An American boy wore 3-inch heels to school, put on makeup like a pro and openly declared that he was gay. He was 10. Some teachers were against his cross-dressing while some thought it was his prerogative. Being his flamboyant self, he taunted other boys, making claims that so and so wanted him sexually, and who and who were closet case. He was hated in school for his antics. But he didn't seem to be bothered, or did he? His means of retaliation were by donning on more elaborated girlie accessories and making bold advances towards other boys in the shower room, touching them and mocking them. And one day, one of the boys drew a gun and shot him to death.

So who is the bully here? Was he even gay, or a child seeking attention?

Of course, everything is just so wrong. The taunting, the self-proclamation of his sexual preference at 10, the licensed gun, the murder.

Things are not as simple as ten or twenty years back, when what we hear about gays are them seeking equality/freedom to be who they are; when gays are genuine gays. With so many celebrities coming out of the closet with all the positiveness about being proud of who you are, what you are, and gay's right and power, we have yet come to another more complicating phenomena. It's human nature to misuse power when opportunity rises. The power to be cool, the power to gain attention, the power to be different. All for the wrong reason.

Complicating, ain't it? How do we reverse this? To put it crudely, back to the 80s when gays are gays, and non-gays are not. No pretense whatsoever..

Aiyar.. things like these can only happen in the States, you say? Think again. We didn't have many gruesome murder cases last time, did we? And anyways, it just takes one such sad life story to make us more conscious about raising our kids right.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

A rebel in the making

And so he was splashing in puddles and I said, "The water may be dirty, you know?"

I don't know.

And the other night, I hollered, "I said it's time to go to sleep.. do you hear me?"

I don't hear you.

Chok fahn ahhh! He is being blatantly rebellious and I am so anticipating an anarchical state in this house of loons. Bah!

Common vs normal

I was telling someone that someone may be a bisexual. Do I care? Nope, I am just bored and nosy.

"Cheh, normal la. Gays and lesbians everywhere," was the respond I got.

I see. A girl tongue-kissing another girl is perceived as normal these days. But I beg to differ. Common is more apt, I think. Neither am I saying that it's abnormal to be a bi or homo. I don't care unless you are a family.

Thus nothing shocks society anymore. Another daylight robbery? Normal la. Another missing child? Normal la.

We are getting tolerant, aren't we? We don't empathize anymore, do we? When do we start getting appalled and disgusted like the way we used to?

I ask because I have a son whose innocence and life is in jeopardy due to all the normalcy the society has accustomed to.

Edited: While lunching, I realised that I sounded irked about one's sexual orientation. Naa.. not that. What is more worrisome is people jumping on the bandwagon of empowering homosexuality because it's cool to have a relationship ala madonna-britney. Read COOL . Not because of genetic makeup. Not because of the complex interactions of biological, pychological and social factors. Because it's COOL. Now that's NOT normal. Not in the eyes of a concerned parent.

Brown eggs and oddly shaped fruits

Hypocritically speaking, I think workbooks are such a bore. But Gooly and I do spend time doing them mainly because we have nothing to do, and they are made available, thanks to his overzealous ahmar and korkor.

But we do SO defy the law of learning. For example, "Colour the picture.", and there is a sample picture for us to follow/copy. Come on..colouring is boring already and they try to restrict us with such banality? And thus, Gooly with his inherited kwailan genes, wanted to colour the egg brown, instead of the conventional yellow/white. Sure, I said, if you have a reason for it.

"It's rotten," he said and added, "It's also a dinosaur egg." Teeheeehee..

I also let him cut up his own fruits, using the Ikea plastic knife. Our apples are not crescent shaped. Dragon fruits are not squarish. They are as irregular as can be. We spend a lot of time deciding what shape they are before popping them into our mouths.

"This is an igloo."

"Look, a telescope."

"This is.. nothing."

Weekday mornings are such. Boring to some, but priceless to us.

Shilings on my legs

Some time back, I was at the park when an auntie pointed at my legs, and made some hand gestures, and launched yet another soliloquy in Thai. Being a champion in Charade, I nodded and agreed with her that, "Yes, I have lots of scars on my legs." "Mosquitoes bites?" Nod nod. "You scratched?" Nod nod. "Sensitive skin?" Another nod.

Yesterday we had the same 'conversation' for the 3rd time. Haiz.. do my scar-ridden legs trouble her? Doesn't my lackadaisical reply the 1st, 2nd and 3rd time indicate that I am not bothered? If she hasn't pointed out the scars, I wouldn't have noticed. I either don't care or I am blind .. take a pick.

I think a couple years back, I had acne problem. Again I didn't know/notice/care then until I was flipping thru the album recently. Wah, so many pimples geh? *chuckle chuckle*

Am I overly confident about my looks? Hoi! I don't think so. I just don't expect myself to be Barbie. So I am short, don't have an ideal BMI , and have hairy scarry legs.. Cest le guerre.

I snore and I snort. Too bad too :P

Monday, August 4, 2008

Francophile

Nah, I am not one. I just like Francoise Hardy. And the 60s and its fashion. And the 70s and Twiggy.80s is a catastrophe. Bushy eyebrows and big shoulder pads.Blek.. Thank goodness I was only 14 at the mark of the 90s. Not much damage done there.

Inspired by La Mer, I churned out another rubbish vid. I made the pics appear older than they are, which seems nostalgic. Me likey :) Very amateur stuff, from the pics snapped by the lauyar camera to the poor editing of an impatient mom. Please bear with me.

video

Sunday, August 3, 2008

In retrospect..

In the ten years we have been together, he
a. bought me flowers on two occasions.. only
b. bought a pair of rings and lost one
c. doesn't remember our anniversary, my birthday and valentine's occasionally
d. still doesn't fancy what I cook
e. stopped buying presents for all the above mentioned occasions since 9 years ago
f. doesn't hold my hand anymore
g. doesn't buy me chocolates, not even once
h. calls me OI
i. says nasty things when provoked
j. looks lovingly at his arowanas, and doesn't realize I have a new haircut
k. wants me to wake at 6 to prepare breakfast cos he knows I hate waking early

Meanwhile, I:
a. am glad I received his bouquets only twice. I think flowers are not flowers without roots
b. don't fret about lost things. We can buy another when we remember
c. forget our anniversary, his birthday and valentine's
d. don't fancy what I cook
e. have his atm card to buy anything, anytime
f. hold his son's hand instead
g. am the only human who thinks chocs are sticky, yucky and gross. Gimme durian anytime, even ersatz types
h. call him EH
i. forget what he says when it's ought to be forgotten
j. is not about to get jealous over some FISHES
k. wake when awoken by Gooly and prepare Gooly's brekkie only, and my coffee, of course

Thus we are an odd couple. There are no diamonds, no flowers, no chocs in our marriage. There are fights which last for 24 hours max. There are things I hate about him. There are things he cannot stand about me. And yet we remain who we are the day we met. Of course, there was fine tuning here and there (nothing major) to welcome the additional member to the family in 2005.

Is there love? Must be.. love and more. There is no need to list the 'more', cos I .. cos I.. heck, I admit, I have no idea. If I knew, wouldn't I have published a book? Maybe that's what works in our marriage. We are two clueless people, and thus there is no expectations of each other. There is just ... the will to make it right, to make everything works. For gooly, for ourselves...

Happy anniversary, Mr. James. Yes, I know, it was last month. Wakakakkakaka!

Edited side note: Do we love more when we remember? Do we love less when we don't? Can love be quantified? Yes for those who knows how to. You probably should know that numbers bore and frighten me. And therefore, love is love is love to me, no more, no less. Let's keep it simple or am I confusing you? ;)

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Squeezy hugs

We are huggers. We are squeezers too. We hug and squeeze simultaneously. Claustrophobics despise us.

I hug and declare, "Squeezing out all your juice."

He hugs and retorts, "Pour it back in."

I make dramatic movements of pouring the juice back into his system, through his nostrils and ear-holes. He gives an appreciative smile. And we hug some more.

Our daily routine..

Can it be any sillier? I can't stand us sometimes. :D

Friday, August 1, 2008

Wuuuam!

I caught him trying to stiffle a yawn.

"Wuaaaaa ..gulp."

Did you swallow your yawn, son?"

*nod nod*

Why?, expecting and dreading a whine reply of, "I dont want to take a nap."

But "I am not sleepy so I cannot yawn." came instead, which boggles the mind; do we yawn because we are sleepy, or are we sleepy and thus we yawn? I yawn because my contacts are dry. Am I making sense or am I not? Of course not. It's still morning..

Cofffffeeeeeeee.... mana lu?

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