Maid of honour

Every once a while, there will be a post on maids. Or you will here juicy gossips during your evening soirees about how impertinent they are.. how gormless they are.. how ‘hiao’ they are.. And I wonder, why bother to have them? Of course, I am at liberty to say that because I am a housewife. So, it really isn’t my utmost priority to consider what other options there are.

I am a bit like Hermione who advocates rights for house-elves. In our world, they are more commonly known as ‘maids’, of course. Not that I don’t shiver in fear or shake my head in disgust when I hear stories about them abusing children, or them seducing, charming husbands. I am appalled and therefore I will not consider them my solution to my household problems, should there be any.

We used to have a distant aunt who stayed with us when I was younger. She cooked and cleaned the house. But I had my equal share of house chores, like mopping the floor. When she left, we had Indonesian maids, some live-in, others part-time. So, yes, we had always had the privilege to have helpers around the house.

One ran away with a laborer, which is common. But we didn’t label the next as a prospect adulterer. Another stole money, and yet again, we didn’t conclude that all maids are born thieves. We treated each and every one of them as individuals. If it’s not too much, we treat them with respect.

“Kak, nanti tolong cucikan baju ni, ye?” Requests as such always end with a humble ‘terima kasih.’

Ellen used to work for a very close friend’s family. Everytime I was there for a ‘wallop’ of food, she was invited to join us at the table.

“Ellen, come eat,” my friend’s father would say. For the longest time, I thought Ellen was a professional nurse, hired to take care of the ailing grandmother. Thus, the equal ‘right’ to sit at the same dining table (Our maids used to makan with us, too, but it is a very uncommon practice.) Only after Ellen had left after many many years that I realized that she was a maid. Or some would say, ‘just’ a maid.

At the other spectrum, I have heard, of an individual who suffers from paralysis once a maid is available.

A simple task of rinsing a cup has become the maid’s ‘duty’.

At the threshold of her apartment, the maid fetches her shoes and parks them in front of her soles before leaving. I am surprised ‘Cinderella’ doesn’t ask the glass slippers to be slipped on.

Watching the maid stoop lower makes me uncomfortable. She is afterall, human too, right? Why is she being treated like a sub-species of the human race? I think some people mistaken the identity of maids with slaves?

These are the people who are not even of royal descendants. They merely receive bigger paychecks which entitled them to hired helps. They are millions of them. I mean I can understand if the Presidents, CEOs and whatnots have no time to arrange their underwears, and even so, it doesn't mean they can be a pompous ass with arrogance and pride the size of the African map.

From the way these people exhibit superiority, I wonder if the next generation will think they are kings and queens, princes and princesses? I wonder by then, if robots would be available, because isn’t it too assuming that maids from the poorer countries will be as affordable in future?

Come on, when the kids grow up, they will be like the millions others, waking up to go to work, earn sufficiently for a house and car and meals? Who will wash their underwears then?

Sure, the parents would still have money to send to them so that they can have slaves, I mean, maids of their own. But that is.. so lack of character. What is the point of existence when you cannot function on your own?

My unorthodox thinking is ominous. I have been warned, threat them nice, and they feed you with urine. And yet, I refuse to give a universal conviction to all of them. I know it’s my weakness and therefore, the only maid you will see in my house will be me.

With a feather duster and French maid uniform. Ohh la la~

Frust-pleased?

...There once was a dragon who roamed the earth, hunting and savoring innocent, succulent humans in watery caves. One day, it caught me, a wise wizard.

"Please give me my freedom, and I will give you a magic carpet," I negotiated.

The dragon thought for a while and retorted, "Dragons don't need magic carpets. We have wings to fly."

Unabashed, I tried again. "How about a magic wand?"

The dragon was tempted to receive the wand, but he found a loop hole.

"Dragons have no hands to carry wands!" he spat.

***

That was what happened at the swimming pool yesterday. Gooly doesn't just splish and splash. He needs reasons to swim, let it be rescuing animals from catastrophic situations, or capturing pretty damsels such as myself *chuckles*. It's all play pretend, of course.

It is at times like this that I marvel at his albeit simple, but nonetheless brilliant logical mind. However, should you dare to challenge his vivid imaginations (i.e dinosaurs don't breathe fire), he would readily retort, "IT"S JUST PRETEND!"

So we gotta play by his rule. He decides when facts are essential and when they are boring.

It is no wonder that this is the same boy who hates writing his ABCs and 123s. They bore him so. Sure, dinosaurs are far more interesting than the alphabet. Much to his chagrin, Mahmee says, "It's essential.' Very often, he is sighted with a 'futiaotiao' look, practising his intelligible ABCs, and mirror-imaged (terbalik) 3.

It frustrates me that this is the same boy who can explain about water molecules but forgets how to spell his surname which consists of three letters.

There is this book, given by a dear friend about inventions. It's his almanac which he consults often. From it, he can give a simple explanation of how a microwave works. But he couldn't care less that 1 +1 = 15. :P (neither do I, actually)

Here's a video which shows the professor side of him. It contains a smug face explaining about how ice melts, a little about gravity and some facts about tarantulas. Towards the end, you can see he got bored (more interested in the bubbles), as though everyone knows about what he reported.



Well, not everyone knows, including his papah and cousins and friends. He might as well be speaking an alien language. And when people here don't exactly speak English, let's not complicate things by using scientific jargon, eh?

Not that I am not proud, mind you. It's just that... they don't exactly test you on science in kindergarten, do they? And Newton's Theory is never part of the pre-school syllabus?

So, Gooly, let's revert to the basics, shall we? Writing neat letters?

Sounds oxymoronic, but I am frustratingly pleased with this trait of his. Frustrated, of course, that he is not optimizing his cerebral capacity. The latter feeling is reserved for his 'yau sing kak' trait (JUST LIKE ME ONLY!!) As beforesaid, he decides when and what he wants to know. I know I have limited options when it comes to enforcing educational subjects to him.

Excuse me while I go bang my head on the wall.

Ka-feh Wong Ji

I am at Koffee Prince, which is a stone's throw away from my apartment.

It offers free wi-fi.

And so I am typing away my prison-ed thoughts. For the past weeks, when they were brewing at the brink of over-spilling, I saved them into my trusty Microsoft WORDS, and thus you will find a few random posts at the bottom.

Koffee Prince is snug and comfortable.

But I can barely afford the RM9 frappe on a daily basis.

What more when Gooly wants a fair share of its scrumptious polka dotted cake?

TOT, where art thou? You promised me a quick service, and I have yet to receive your connection.

TOT, you are cruel, just like your master who fled the country but has an army of RED shirts lingering.

TOT, I hatechew!

That's MY TOT of the day...

Tom and Jerry

The ever famous frenemies.

Violent.

Irritating.

Idiosyncratic.

These words pretty sum up my blurb for the decades-old cartoon.

Gooly owns a Tom and Jerry DVD with over 70 episodes of head crashing, body smashing and brain hemorrhaging. He watches it everyday.

I think many children love the series for its volatile characteristics. Crash! Boom! Bang! The more severe the injury, the greater laughter is drawn.

But if you have a curious and inquisitive child like mine, watching Tom and Jerry is never a simple task.

To my best recollection, a child watches cartoon for its simplicity. It’s equivalent to an adult’s patronage of The Three Stooges. You know, an activity which leaves you cerebrally inactive and a little spit at the corner of your mouth, with some flies hovering around you.

My initial introduction of Tom and Jerry to Gooly is so that I have some time to cook, chat and day dream. Never mind the violence. They are not realistic and moronic, even a preschooler knows that.

But alas, my plan didn’t work.

He needs explanation for all the exaggerated actions; why the bomb didn’t just kill Tom?

He seeks justification; why does Tom hurt Jerry?

He wonders about mortality; why does the ugly duckling want to kill himself?

Have you noticed? The story lines for kids TV programs are often interlaced with complex themes and adult humour? Spongebob Square Pants, Sesame Street are the few children programmes I do so enjoy.

The humour is often subtle, and I wonder how kids grasp the fine nuances.

If there were one shared trait between Gooly and myself, it would be ‘curiosity’. And if curiosity really kills the cat, we would have quite a number of felines littered on our ground.

Tom and Jerry has obviously failed in its mission in providing me solitude. Do you have any cartoons that require minimal cerebral works to recommend? For Gooly, of course. “Kausailei”…. My books and idleness await me.

I am not worthy at times

The person I didn’t marry

.. is expressive. “I love you forever, I love you ever day” are uttered when deemed necessary and excessively

… is quick to apologize. It doesn’t matter who is at fault

… is chivalric. He holds my hand when descending the stairs or when crossing a street, albeit a less busy one

...shares quite an amount of house chores with zero complaints

… appreciates my experimental culinary skill

… says I am pretty whenever I have a change of clothes (pajamas included)

… forgives the moment I offer a hug. Retributions are never part of his plan

... promises a better future for me where a laser eye surgery is in store

… sympathizes along when I grimace in pain or agony

… offers kisses and hugs aplenty

This person I didn’t walk down the aisle with.

I just gave birth to him.

Very often we have been told of unyielding maternal love. Speaking for myself, I think it’s a bit over-rated. Mothers are subjected to pendular mood swings due to their commitment and loyal patronage to the sanitary pads industry. We scream and yell at little children at the flick of annoyance.

Are you as guilty as I am? I am already admitting my slavery condition. My hormones are my master. I am merely a marionette at their whims.

On the other hand, have we quite forgotten a child is capable of loving equally as much, or perhaps, more? Children don’t quite get the credit they deserve.

My Gooly, for example, hugs me even after an undeserving deadly stare from me. He also kisses me even after a hard and yet again, undeserving smack at the bottom. In other words, Gooly loves me, even though evidently I don’t deserve it at times.

Sure, there will come a time when I will have to take a back seat when he finds other prettier maidens.But frankly, I feel I am already blessed to have received his early years of uncompromising love.

Have you thought about how your child loves you of late? Time for a bit of self-reflection..

Updates n more..

*Connection
The line is still kaputz. Initially I was told the wireman would come within days upon abandoning my old, untrustworthy, streamyx-evil twin line. Days have turned into weeks. I have since dusted the wardrobe, washed the balconies, colour-coordinated my Paris collection and arranged the canned food in alphabetical order. MIL would have been so proud.


*Songkran
The mood has been some-what sombre this week despite the festive celebration. It's of course due to you-know-what. The red and yellow colours are taboo-ed now. One morning, I donned my yellow (submarine) dress absent-mindedly, and was summoned to change before leaving the house. My newly acquired red dress will remain in the hidden corner of the cabinet for a while, I guess.

During one of those hasty I-phone chats with Sinkar, he actually wondered how the combination of red and yellow attire will shock the locals. Trust a friend to award you such a diabolical death, eh? But I do think Ronald Macdonald is not very well-liked currently for his indecisiveness over the colour red and yellow.

I have celebrated Songkran twice prior to this. Gooly was two during the first round. We were at Jatujak. Last year, we did drive around a bit to get our car washed. Papah agreed to go on the sole proviso that he could ogle at the wet 'coyote dancers'.

This year, nothing. We went about our place, but nobody splashed or held water guns. Gooly was fairly disappointed. He was so looking forward to using his M-16.


*State of emergency
We were at Rama 2 Central Mall when we received a call from a concerned friend, asking about the situation. It seemed CNN had broad casted the news ahead of us. We looked around and concluded that people were either oblivious of the danger amounting or they couldn't care less. We were supposed to linger a while longer so we could go to the park opposite once the sun wasn't as commanding. But decided against it. We got home and started to stay-glued to the news.

While in the car, Papah announced that we had to cancel our stay at the 5 star hotel he DIDN'T book. It seemed he had planned a imaginery surprise. I played along and lamented, "What a waste.." We sure do have the weirdest sense of humour.

This is the third time we experienced the effects of Thailand's political turmoils. Yes, I do get apprehensive, to say the least, mainly because we have a child with us. Papah, over-charged with testosterone stayed up a bit to watch the news, hoping for some LIVE bombing action. MEN! *roll eyes*

Yesterday, people were more relaxed and by evening, many thronged the pool for a splashing good time. I was chatting with Pinpin's mom when suddenly..

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

..gunshots were heard. Or were they explosions? We couldn't be sure. But my eyes caught a few others, and we fell silent for a moment, all deciding weather to flee or to stay put. I could sense the fear in the eyes of the older children. The younger ones got excited.. Neh, like the Gooly who went, "Got fireworks ah?"

To date, I don't know what happened but my heart did miss a beat at the loud bangs.


*Harry Potter 7
On a lighter note, I re-read HP7 and love it! The first perusal was when I was in Melbourne. Note that I said, perusal.. cause I got lost in the plot. And I remember that it got a bit draggy. The stage of internet-less has prompted me to be a book worm, in which I once was. I got the book at a 90% discount, meaning at a ridiculous price of RM5.90. The cover is tattered and worn, but it doesn't irk me at all.

I finished the book with a 'kit terng' feeling. The surfeit of HP will most likely never happen to a fan like me.

It's interesting to note that Rowling had intended Dumbledore to be gay. Hmm..?

So what's up with you people? Still jubilant about the lack of posts from yours truly? Bah!

8, 9, 10 PIKCHA!

I must remember he is getting heavy~ Can't sit too long on my lap. Can't carry him no more. But I will still hold his hand. Let's walk together, son.

I sometimes forget that he enjoys simple things like an apple. And that he has a faint dimple on his right cheek. His eyes shine when he smiles, laughs and cries. They glisten and I writhe with envy.


He gets on my nerves when he jiggles, wriggles and fiddles at the wrong time or at the wrong place. But he tickles my funny bones too when I see the pikchas.

Wednesdays are good for pikchas.

Uha, cos I said so.