His mother suffered a great deal in life only to end up crippled on a bed. This made him loose faith in his creator, the only thing that mattered to him was taken away from him. “How can there be a god so cruel?”. And so he says, “ I wish that her misery would just end”. He believed that her destiny was one filled with misery.
There is this special gift we have in us, the power to change the world. We human beings are great, we have magic in us that can touch the hearts of others. Just because someone is in a comma, or unconscious on their death bed- doesn’t mean that they are not contributing to the world. Everyone has a purpose here on earth, and the earthly sufferings might just be worth the joy and change that they bring through the process.
I’ve seen these bed ridden matured people lying on their beds- completely depend on their caretakers. Some of them stare straight into their children’s eyes, without recognizing their own flesh and blood. Tubes running through their mouths, rashes on their skin… “Why my mother he asks”.
As a stranger looking from a window, I see the people that live around her. I see the caretakers that care to all of her needs. I see the smile on their face, the love in their touch and the compassion that they have in them.
May it be that the purpose of her suffering is to change the lives of her caretakers?? May it be that the reason for her to be lying on that bed is to make her son a stronger person? To make bystanders think of their own mother???
No life on this earth is useless. People make changes, wherever they are. A smile on a face may make a world of a difference in a stranger’s life. The journey we take is one to be celebrated for all the joy, not to be mourned for all the sorrows.
I believe that our destiny changes every second we live, because human beings are ever evolving. We are called beings- because we are being mad each moment. We are ever evolving, and our destiny changes along with our thought; we are great- we shall be what we wish to be.
Our destiny is not made by chance, or some luminous man with a scripture. It is a matter of our choices in life. We can’t just wait for our destiny to happen, we live our destiny. It does not exist a second beyond NOW.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Who is Mautik Hani?
Do we care?
This is who she is not:
She is not a 'statistic.'
She is not an ‘isolated incident’.
Mautik Hani was a woman.
She was a daughter; she was someone’s friend.
Somebody called her ‘my neighbour’; another called her ‘my sister’.
Mautik Hani had dreams to chase;
questions to ask; memories to share.
There were things that made her sad;
and there were things that made her laugh.
She had feelings; she had ideas; and she had gifts to share
Her body could be flooded with pain, or pierced with joy.
She carried burdens, and somewhere, she bore hope.
Mautik Hani was a person.
No different from you,
No different from me.
We asked her in.
And then we let her die.
~
Bruised. Beaten. Her bones exposed.
The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air.
Bound. Gagged. Unconscious.
Her body weary; attacked; abused.
She slipped away from consciousness.
As did we.
~
In the past two years, Tenaganita has handled 265 cases of domestic workers who’ve been beaten, raped, deprived of wages, harassed, violated, kept in isolation, tortured and abused. While we’ve been able to get some compensation for cases of unpaid wages, not a single case of violence or abuse has gone to court or been brought to justice.
Police investigations are sluggish, court systems inaccessible, and processes drag on endlessly. Often, the victims drop the cases out of weariness, and go home as the final tethers of hope snap. Some wait persistently, stuck in the hole of trauma, each passing day taking away with it possibilities of justice.
We see the numbers grow, we watch the statistics swell, and we close our eyes as the perpetrators walk away.
The stories of these women are horrific;
Sodomised.
Scalded.
Lacerations on the vagina.
Forced to eat cockroaches.
Mouth stuffed with chilies.
Drowned.
Burned.
Face attacked with a fish scraper.
Raped.
These stories are real. These women are real. Each one is testament to the reality we’ve created around us.
We keep these women unseen and unheard, invisible from the world. They are present only when we want them to work for us, and yet we won’t even recognize what they do as ‘work’.
We are so afraid they’ll run away; we convince ourselves they’ll pick up ‘diseases’ and infect us. We tell ourselves that we’re just protecting our families. We quietly feel superior to them. We don’t let them speak to the neighbours. We worry when they have friends. We feel their work is simple, and yet we don’t do it ourselves. We throw a fit when we need to work on weekends, yet we won’t even grant them a day off. We expect pay raises, and cluck our tongues in shock when they ask for it. We hear about ‘a maid who was abused’ and quickly share the story about ‘the maid who stole from her employer’. We look at the way our friends treat them, convince ourselves that ‘we’re not like that’ and yet we stay silent about it.
This is not a generic ‘we’. It’s a ‘we’ made up of you, of me, of your sister, your friend, your husband, your wife, your boss, your neighbour, your father, your teacher — every person in this country is contained in that ‘we’. Make no mistake of this; we let this happen.
We let this happen because we’ve ignored the thousands of signs that have led to this point. Signs contained in domestic workers whose wages were never paid, who’ve been kept in isolation, who’ve been made to work every day of their lives, who’ve been slapped, who’ve been burned, who’ve been put down. Do a thousand domestic workers need to die before we decide it is enough? Or have we removed ourselves so far from our conscience that this becomes something we merely wince at but stay silent about?
Our actions have harmed these women so severely.
But so have our inactions.
Silence has a way of legitimizing violence, and our deafening silence when faced with the realities of domestic workers in our country has done exactly that.
Mautik Hani died at 36 years old from the beatings of her employers.
Mautik Hani also died because we brushed off each case that came before her as an ‘isolated incident’.
We saw the signs, we closed our eyes, and we let her die.
by Katrina Jorene Maliamauv, 26th October 2009.
This is who she is not:
She is not a 'statistic.'
She is not an ‘isolated incident’.
Mautik Hani was a woman.
She was a daughter; she was someone’s friend.
Somebody called her ‘my neighbour’; another called her ‘my sister’.
Mautik Hani had dreams to chase;
questions to ask; memories to share.
There were things that made her sad;
and there were things that made her laugh.
She had feelings; she had ideas; and she had gifts to share
Her body could be flooded with pain, or pierced with joy.
She carried burdens, and somewhere, she bore hope.
Mautik Hani was a person.
No different from you,
No different from me.
We asked her in.
And then we let her die.
~
Bruised. Beaten. Her bones exposed.
The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air.
Bound. Gagged. Unconscious.
Her body weary; attacked; abused.
She slipped away from consciousness.
As did we.
~
In the past two years, Tenaganita has handled 265 cases of domestic workers who’ve been beaten, raped, deprived of wages, harassed, violated, kept in isolation, tortured and abused. While we’ve been able to get some compensation for cases of unpaid wages, not a single case of violence or abuse has gone to court or been brought to justice.
Police investigations are sluggish, court systems inaccessible, and processes drag on endlessly. Often, the victims drop the cases out of weariness, and go home as the final tethers of hope snap. Some wait persistently, stuck in the hole of trauma, each passing day taking away with it possibilities of justice.
We see the numbers grow, we watch the statistics swell, and we close our eyes as the perpetrators walk away.
The stories of these women are horrific;
Sodomised.
Scalded.
Lacerations on the vagina.
Forced to eat cockroaches.
Mouth stuffed with chilies.
Drowned.
Burned.
Face attacked with a fish scraper.
Raped.
These stories are real. These women are real. Each one is testament to the reality we’ve created around us.
We keep these women unseen and unheard, invisible from the world. They are present only when we want them to work for us, and yet we won’t even recognize what they do as ‘work’.
We are so afraid they’ll run away; we convince ourselves they’ll pick up ‘diseases’ and infect us. We tell ourselves that we’re just protecting our families. We quietly feel superior to them. We don’t let them speak to the neighbours. We worry when they have friends. We feel their work is simple, and yet we don’t do it ourselves. We throw a fit when we need to work on weekends, yet we won’t even grant them a day off. We expect pay raises, and cluck our tongues in shock when they ask for it. We hear about ‘a maid who was abused’ and quickly share the story about ‘the maid who stole from her employer’. We look at the way our friends treat them, convince ourselves that ‘we’re not like that’ and yet we stay silent about it.
This is not a generic ‘we’. It’s a ‘we’ made up of you, of me, of your sister, your friend, your husband, your wife, your boss, your neighbour, your father, your teacher — every person in this country is contained in that ‘we’. Make no mistake of this; we let this happen.
We let this happen because we’ve ignored the thousands of signs that have led to this point. Signs contained in domestic workers whose wages were never paid, who’ve been kept in isolation, who’ve been made to work every day of their lives, who’ve been slapped, who’ve been burned, who’ve been put down. Do a thousand domestic workers need to die before we decide it is enough? Or have we removed ourselves so far from our conscience that this becomes something we merely wince at but stay silent about?
Our actions have harmed these women so severely.
But so have our inactions.
Silence has a way of legitimizing violence, and our deafening silence when faced with the realities of domestic workers in our country has done exactly that.
Mautik Hani died at 36 years old from the beatings of her employers.
Mautik Hani also died because we brushed off each case that came before her as an ‘isolated incident’.
We saw the signs, we closed our eyes, and we let her die.
by Katrina Jorene Maliamauv, 26th October 2009.
What a friend they found in him
Remember Finardo G Cabilao that was brutally murdered, tortured, found sprawled in a pool of blood just like a butchered animal in a pasar malam, with severe head injuries due to repeated hitting with a blunt object by several assaulters??
I speak of him as though he was a good friend. Our paths have never crossed in this lifetime, but I trust the words of the thousands of people whose hearts he has touched, and who speak ever so fondly of this great man.
Finardo Cabilao was a diplomat from Philippines, assigned to Malaysia with an important task at hand; to stop human trafficking.
As a fully qualified social worker, Cabilo headed counseling and many other social services for countless Filipino laborers working overseas, especially those who have fallen trap into slavery gangs in Malaysia. He, a 49 year old petite man, never took fear or hesitated to join the raids and rescue operations in scattered nightspots all over East Malaysia in look for the culprits of this nasty business that thrive on women and children.
Cabilao was, by all accounts, a dedicated public servant and a tireless defender of his fellow-Filipinos who were in trouble. He was constantly risking his own safety or his status as a diplomat to help Filipinos who were sold as meat to brothels, with barely any hope for redemption. Cabilo’s embrace was described by the victims as being a sanctuary from their tormentors. Sitting next to him, one would never guess that upon the shoulders of that frail man- rests the salvation of many trafficked victims.
Cabilo put his life on the line, knowing that he was messing with some of the biggest tycoons who were making money off these trafficked victims. However, after “in-depth investigations”, Inspector-General of Police Tan Sri Musa Hassan said there was NO link between the Cabilo murder and human trafficking syndicates.
How does one rule out ALL possibiliies that the Cabilo, the Head of the social welfare department of Philippines Embassy had NOTHING to do with the fact that he was fighting against human trafficking??
Well, the authorities seem to have a perfectly reasonable and practical answer… “probably, the motive of the murder had to do with a homosexual relationship” said Musa.
Wow, who would have reckoned huh? After years of fearless fighting against some of the biggest gangsters in Malaysia, and after receiving several work-related death threats, he goes and gets himself butchered by a man that he was supposedly having a homosexual relationship with. Not only did he visit a sex worker, it was concluded that the motive of the murder was because the suspect was not paid for his service."
So here we have, a respectable 49 year old man who had devoted his life to fight against the trafficking of people, not to mention working in an embassy that has a reputation of paying their staff handsomely, married to a beautiful woman – murdered for not paying a male sex worker his worth.
According to The Star online, September 5th 2009- "Investigations are still ongoing to make a stronger case, including checking his DNA before sending it to the Attorney-General’s Chambers" (Musa, Sep 2009).
It seems to be that the purpose of the investigation was not to find enough evidence to rule out various motives to the murder. Rather, it is to find enough evidence to prove a preconceived motive of the murder.
Well, its just part of history repeating itself I guess. When there is a lack of evidence and the public is watching, let the gays get the blame for it!
As thousands of Philippians and victims of trafficking pine for the loss of a great soul, and await justice for Cabilo and those alike, the Malaysian authorities were reported to be still “working on the case.” Looks like the tycoons just found themselves some new BFF’s !!
..........................................................................................................................................................................
Just sum info that a friend had shared with me as i was writing this article; i thought might be interesting:
According to a pole done by the Malaysian Home Ministry:
* 76 % out of a 1600 sample size were angry at the local police.
* 70% out of a 1500 sample size had paid bribe to a police officer out of desperation.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Twenty froggies
This was my favourite bedtime poem that mummy use to read to me when i was tiny :)
Twenty froggies went to school, down beside a rushy pool,Twenty little coats of green, twenty vests all white and clean."We must be in time", said they; "First we study, then we play;That is how we keep the rule, when we froggies go to school."
Master Froggy, grave and stern, called the classes in their turn,Taught them how to nobly strive; likewise how to leap and dive;From his seat upon a log, showed them how to say "Kerchog!"Also how to dodge a blow from the sticks which bad boys throw.
Twenty froggies grew up fast, big frogs they became at last;Not one dunce among the lot; not one lesson they forgot;Polished to a high degree, as each froggy ought to be,Now they sit on other logs, teaching other little frogs.
Twenty froggies went to school, down beside a rushy pool,Twenty little coats of green, twenty vests all white and clean."We must be in time", said they; "First we study, then we play;That is how we keep the rule, when we froggies go to school."
Master Froggy, grave and stern, called the classes in their turn,Taught them how to nobly strive; likewise how to leap and dive;From his seat upon a log, showed them how to say "Kerchog!"Also how to dodge a blow from the sticks which bad boys throw.
Twenty froggies grew up fast, big frogs they became at last;Not one dunce among the lot; not one lesson they forgot;Polished to a high degree, as each froggy ought to be,Now they sit on other logs, teaching other little frogs.
Monday, October 19, 2009
f.e.e.l t.h.e l.o.v.e
JUSTICE is what LOVE LOOKS LIKE IN PUBLIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Above is officially my favourite phrase of the year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This simple words are true encouragement, to continue doing the things that i find worth doing in life, regardless of the hardship.
Above is officially my favourite phrase of the year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This simple words are true encouragement, to continue doing the things that i find worth doing in life, regardless of the hardship.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
One revolution
There is an estimated over 2 million migrants and 100,000 asylum seekers and refugees in Malaysia. Most of them from neighboring countries such as Mynmmar, Philipines, Thailand, Viatnam, Nepal, Bangladesh, India and Indonesia. These people, mostly Asians, are well assimilated into our culture and some of them are even born and raised in our “Tanah tumpah darahku”. They look like us, they eat our food, they speak our language, they walk our land, they wear our clothes. Needless to say, with our multicolored and multicultural society within Malaysia, it is difficult to differentiate a true Malaysian from “the rest”.
Illegal Migrants and asylum seekers and refugees are often intertwined with each other because of their nature of “not belonging to the country”. However, there is a huge difference between these groups. Illegal migrants are foreigners who cross national borders in a way that violates the immigration laws of our country or overstay their visitation/ study / or work permit. Refugees are people who flee their country of origin to escape danger or persecuting. On the other hand, asylum seekers are people who seek to be recognized as a refugee, a point where ones status is afloat.
There is obvious worry among the rakyat and our government regarding the influx in illegal migrants and asylum seekers in our country. Some of these worries are baseless, and others completely understandable such as the lack of resources within the country to sustain the growth of this community and the rise in crime. Whatever our stand may be on this issue, we have to acknowledge the fact that they are here in our present, and the numbers seem to be growing as the days pass us by.
In the current situation, less has and can been done to assist this group- mainly because of labels such as “illegal” and “foreign”. Children are raised without education, families have no access to medical support and most of them live in slumps that you and I would never imagine even walking pass by. This ghetto they call it, is one of the rich soil for social and health problems to flower. It is where women and children are abused, it is where people start stealing, it is where diseases and STD’s such as AIDS sprout, this is where people die of abuse, hunger and illness.
A conversation regarding the issue of illegal migrants in our country sparked a debate between a fellow friend and i. “Why should we help out foreigners when there is much space for improvement in our rakyat?” she asks. Besides the obvious argument of “basic human rights” and “ a world without boarders”, I realized that different goals and interests can be achieved from common processes.
If the debate should take a turn to a more technical approach, I would argue that the overall lifestyle of illegal migrants and asylum seekers residing in our country should be overlooked, and assisted for improvement as a step to improve our Malaysian society as a whole taking into account that they make up 10% of our society.,
There is always a bigger picture to look at. For this purpose, allow me to paint this picture of the benefits of efforts to improve the lifestyle of migrants and refugees in our country.
Access to health care would definitely reduce the prevalence of epidemic such as HIV, and promise a more “civilized” portion of the community. Should there be improvement in the area of medical access, HIV and other STD’s within the migrant community can be curbed, this will in return reduce the transmission of the virus to the “locals”. Access to education may allow young children to learn values that would make them “friendly” members of the community where the “locals” shall not fear safety when walking in their own land.
An acknowledgement of a “refugee” status for asylum seekers (the term “refugees” are not acknowledged in Malaysia) would allow a faster and smoother process of their relocation to other recipient countries.
A migrant can be killed and go unnoticed because there are no records of their existence.
Other than that, there are many abuse and rape cases that go on unreported because “illegals” are afraid to approach our local authority. Should there be a safe place where they can make complaints, there will be lesser “ harmful” people walking our streets.
These are just some of the many steps that can be taken into considerations.
At this moment, I believe the future of our nation should overpower the jurisdiction. By improving the lifestyle of illegal migrants and refugees in our country, I believe that the government would not be encouraging or welcoming illegal migrants into the country, but instead looking out for the future of our nation. I understand that resources are scarce, especially with the wave of global recession, however, there are many international funding that support such efforts, and would be more than willing to elevate our financial burden or constrains, with the support of the government. There are also many sprouting NGO’s that are beginning to lend a hand, and with collaboration from the government, wonders can be achieved.
Thus, whichever point of view we may come from, whether or not it is to advocate for basic human rights, a world without boarders, or to put the interest of our people before the “others”, I believe it can all be achieved by one common process. Let me stress again, whether we like it or not, they are here in our now. Its either we sit back and complain about the situation, or we can make the best of what we have and work around our struggles.
Uphold rights of every person as set out in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which is international customary law and therefore binding on Malaysia.
R.I.P Kuchimai
Thank you baby for living such a beautiful life. You were always so forgiving, youthful till your last day, and just pure....
We love what you have thought us, we love that you were in our lives, we love that you were more than we could ever ask for.
We love what you have thought us, we love that you were in our lives, we love that you were more than we could ever ask for.
R.I.P Uncle Muru
You can cry now that he is gone
Or you can smile because he has lived
You can close your eyes and pray
That he will come back
Or you can open your eyes and see
All he has left for us
You heart can be empty
Because you can’t see him
Or it can be full of the love you shared with him
You can turn your back on tomorrow
And live yesterday
Or you can be happy for tomorrow
Because of yesterday
You can crush your faith
Because of his life that was taken
Or you can strengthen your spirit
Because of the life that was given
You can think of all that he would have had
Should he have lived
Or you should know that he has more
Should you choose to believe
You can cry and close your mind
Be empty and give up hope
Or you can do what he’d want:
Smile, open your eyes, love, and go on!
Love,
Or you can smile because he has lived
You can close your eyes and pray
That he will come back
Or you can open your eyes and see
All he has left for us
You heart can be empty
Because you can’t see him
Or it can be full of the love you shared with him
You can turn your back on tomorrow
And live yesterday
Or you can be happy for tomorrow
Because of yesterday
You can crush your faith
Because of his life that was taken
Or you can strengthen your spirit
Because of the life that was given
You can think of all that he would have had
Should he have lived
Or you should know that he has more
Should you choose to believe
You can cry and close your mind
Be empty and give up hope
Or you can do what he’d want:
Smile, open your eyes, love, and go on!
Love,
Lil one.
Mind Vs Mater
What the hell is reality? Do you, me or this Seasons chrysanthemum tea in front of me really exist outside of the mind? The possibility of objects and even thoughts might just be an illusion is truly annoying, as close as trying to quantify infinity. It’s sickening.
Have you ever seen a figure from the corner of your eye but when you turned to look there was nobody there? If it is possible to be sometimes deceived by the human mind, therefore isn’t it possible to always be deceived?
Ho do we figure out the purpose of life when we cant even be sure if life exist?
As science would explain matter; we know that an object exist because our 5 senses tells us its there. We see, touch, smell, hear or taste it, and therefore it is real.
But when you look at an object, the light bounces off the objects and hits the retina, some wham bham chemical changes happen, alakazheem alakazhaam and wallah……we see!!!! And the same process somewhat repeats when we use all our other senses too.
So technically…… its not that we are experiencing the object itself, by right….we are experiencing the chemical change that happens within us. NONE of us has EVER experienced ANYTHING directly.
Suppose we were to mimic those exact chemical reactions and channel it into our brains….wouldn’t it look/see/fee/smell/taste like a matter from outside your brain? Would we then know how to differentiate between mind and matter?
So then…how do we know or proof that anything scientific is “true” if we never get a chance to experience/ perceive ANYTHING on this world directly???
I’m starring at my chrysanthemum tea at the moment. If nobody was looking at it, would it still be yellow? Is color just a common reaction by the human mind? Does the world only have color when someone is looking at it?
Ages ago, people believed that the world was flat until one find day, one smart fella went “hey guess what?? It’s a sphere!!!”. People thought he was crazy, it was only after a long time was his theory proven and people started accepting the new found “truth”. Once, the reality was that the world was flat, nobody questioned it, nobody doubted it….. but then, the reality changed. Maybe 2000 years from now, people will be laughing at our stupidity for believing that “this world/life” is the reality. Our perception of the world doesn’t necessarily depend on the object itself, it depends on the mind. If what we experience in life merely just a blob of chemicals, are we then living in reality? Is reality referring to stuff that our minds conjure??
When we say the word “chrysanthemum tea”….. we generalize the word to all tea that are similar. But truth being, no two tea have anything in common except for its name. When we talk to someone and refer to something, we assume that it’s the understanding of the same “something”….when in fact….its not!!!
So how do we trust what we have been thought? Are we sure that it is the same “teachings” of the founder and not an altered state of it by the learner?? As we turn to people who we assume to be more stronger/ wiser etc… we should rely wonder… how the hell do they know???? How does anyone ever be sure about anything???
Doesn’t everything just seem maya? Is it less of a life value being stuck in a state of maya???
Have you ever seen a figure from the corner of your eye but when you turned to look there was nobody there? If it is possible to be sometimes deceived by the human mind, therefore isn’t it possible to always be deceived?
Ho do we figure out the purpose of life when we cant even be sure if life exist?
As science would explain matter; we know that an object exist because our 5 senses tells us its there. We see, touch, smell, hear or taste it, and therefore it is real.
But when you look at an object, the light bounces off the objects and hits the retina, some wham bham chemical changes happen, alakazheem alakazhaam and wallah……we see!!!! And the same process somewhat repeats when we use all our other senses too.
So technically…… its not that we are experiencing the object itself, by right….we are experiencing the chemical change that happens within us. NONE of us has EVER experienced ANYTHING directly.
Suppose we were to mimic those exact chemical reactions and channel it into our brains….wouldn’t it look/see/fee/smell/taste like a matter from outside your brain? Would we then know how to differentiate between mind and matter?
So then…how do we know or proof that anything scientific is “true” if we never get a chance to experience/ perceive ANYTHING on this world directly???
I’m starring at my chrysanthemum tea at the moment. If nobody was looking at it, would it still be yellow? Is color just a common reaction by the human mind? Does the world only have color when someone is looking at it?
Ages ago, people believed that the world was flat until one find day, one smart fella went “hey guess what?? It’s a sphere!!!”. People thought he was crazy, it was only after a long time was his theory proven and people started accepting the new found “truth”. Once, the reality was that the world was flat, nobody questioned it, nobody doubted it….. but then, the reality changed. Maybe 2000 years from now, people will be laughing at our stupidity for believing that “this world/life” is the reality. Our perception of the world doesn’t necessarily depend on the object itself, it depends on the mind. If what we experience in life merely just a blob of chemicals, are we then living in reality? Is reality referring to stuff that our minds conjure??
When we say the word “chrysanthemum tea”….. we generalize the word to all tea that are similar. But truth being, no two tea have anything in common except for its name. When we talk to someone and refer to something, we assume that it’s the understanding of the same “something”….when in fact….its not!!!
So how do we trust what we have been thought? Are we sure that it is the same “teachings” of the founder and not an altered state of it by the learner?? As we turn to people who we assume to be more stronger/ wiser etc… we should rely wonder… how the hell do they know???? How does anyone ever be sure about anything???
Doesn’t everything just seem maya? Is it less of a life value being stuck in a state of maya???
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Just my luck
So she rushes out of her house last week, as usual.. always late to work. Before she shuts the door, her housemate calls out her name, “Kathy”!...
“Ya”?, she turns around. “pull up your skirt”! “I can see your thongs”. Kathy reached out to the back of her skirt and tugged up her skirt while trying to balance her half a ton laptop on her back, handbag in one hand and having to calm down her ADHD dog with the other hand.
So the fact that she was indeed wearing thongs on that day was confirmed. In fact, she even remembers what color it was- purple, and fit.
Work was quiet that day, there wasn’t anyone in the office but her. She sat in her chair quietly as the time passed by slowly. Lunch time was something to look forward to. 1.30pm sharp, she picked up her 100 baht bag and locked up the office, walked down the stairs and headed out. As she was walking, she felt cold wind blow against her skirt, and for some reason… the cold air didn’t stop at the flair…it moved up…. all the way up where the sun don’t shine.
Kathy placed her right hand over her but cheeks discretely, hoping that none of the annas from the Tamil CD shop below her office would notice her touching herself. Confused was exactly what she was, not quite sure how to process what she had just realized. The cheeks were smooth all the way to the top, no string on top and no string in between. Oh my.Where the fuck was her panties??? Where???? I mean… what the hell could have happened to it??? It was there a few hours ago, and it was gone.
She stood there in shock, looked around and checked her ankle to see if she might have been dragging her purple thongs throughout Masjid India. The fact that that she was gonna spend the whole day without panties in Masjid India wasn’t the issue. Quite traumatizing it was imagining the creepiest possible way that she could have lost her panties in Masjid India, and worst case scenarios- If there was a sanitary pad attached to it!!!!
Panties thoyol maybe? Coz she remembered one of her colleague telling her how one of her bra strap had unhooked, FRONT and BACK and slipped all the way through her long sleeved blouse and fell out on the roads of Masjid India.
Nothing could ever surprise Kathy again. She took pulling a “Kathy” to a whole different level. Her mother always told her that she would loose her panties someday. Well, I guess I just proved that it wasn’t just a figure of speech… at least one person saw it coming. Like there isn’t enough to think about in life, now she even has to think about ways to safeguard her panties before walking out the door.
Kudos Kathy, Kudos.
“Ya”?, she turns around. “pull up your skirt”! “I can see your thongs”. Kathy reached out to the back of her skirt and tugged up her skirt while trying to balance her half a ton laptop on her back, handbag in one hand and having to calm down her ADHD dog with the other hand.
So the fact that she was indeed wearing thongs on that day was confirmed. In fact, she even remembers what color it was- purple, and fit.
Work was quiet that day, there wasn’t anyone in the office but her. She sat in her chair quietly as the time passed by slowly. Lunch time was something to look forward to. 1.30pm sharp, she picked up her 100 baht bag and locked up the office, walked down the stairs and headed out. As she was walking, she felt cold wind blow against her skirt, and for some reason… the cold air didn’t stop at the flair…it moved up…. all the way up where the sun don’t shine.
Kathy placed her right hand over her but cheeks discretely, hoping that none of the annas from the Tamil CD shop below her office would notice her touching herself. Confused was exactly what she was, not quite sure how to process what she had just realized. The cheeks were smooth all the way to the top, no string on top and no string in between. Oh my.Where the fuck was her panties??? Where???? I mean… what the hell could have happened to it??? It was there a few hours ago, and it was gone.
She stood there in shock, looked around and checked her ankle to see if she might have been dragging her purple thongs throughout Masjid India. The fact that that she was gonna spend the whole day without panties in Masjid India wasn’t the issue. Quite traumatizing it was imagining the creepiest possible way that she could have lost her panties in Masjid India, and worst case scenarios- If there was a sanitary pad attached to it!!!!
Panties thoyol maybe? Coz she remembered one of her colleague telling her how one of her bra strap had unhooked, FRONT and BACK and slipped all the way through her long sleeved blouse and fell out on the roads of Masjid India.
Nothing could ever surprise Kathy again. She took pulling a “Kathy” to a whole different level. Her mother always told her that she would loose her panties someday. Well, I guess I just proved that it wasn’t just a figure of speech… at least one person saw it coming. Like there isn’t enough to think about in life, now she even has to think about ways to safeguard her panties before walking out the door.
Kudos Kathy, Kudos.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Lovers, soul mate, whatever
Our paths chime a fairy-tale so common,
We were merely more then freshmen,
With a lover, soul mate, whatever…
Please don’t cry in your teacup forever.
May your next choice be one of your heart’s voice,
Lover, soul mate, whatever…
Have faith that somehow forever,
We can find a way to be together.
Blissful glee like our Marley and me,
I’ll make you my best mate, faithful company,
Really now, does it matter?
Lover, soul mate, whatever,
We can cry tears of joy in your teacup whenever.
My heart find asylum in yours,
Lovers now seem so lost,
Soul mates never seem to cross,
Whatever might just be our force.
We were merely more then freshmen,
With a lover, soul mate, whatever…
Please don’t cry in your teacup forever.
May your next choice be one of your heart’s voice,
Lover, soul mate, whatever…
Have faith that somehow forever,
We can find a way to be together.
Blissful glee like our Marley and me,
I’ll make you my best mate, faithful company,
Really now, does it matter?
Lover, soul mate, whatever,
We can cry tears of joy in your teacup whenever.
My heart find asylum in yours,
Lovers now seem so lost,
Soul mates never seem to cross,
Whatever might just be our force.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Balance
How do u find a balance between what u want to do in life and what you ought to do in life?
I have a sister (the most talented of the rest) who is strong, intelligent, beautiful and manages to strive under any circumstances and walk out the best. She landed a job in very high acclaimed corporate company and was pulling in some big bucks, didn’t suit her fancy…so she moved on. Found projects to work on, did an excellent job, was offered a permanent position….didn’t suit her fancy, so she moved on.
Last year, she went for a permaculture course in the US, had a blast of a time- and she came back a different person all together. She is now living in a farm house in Batu Arang running her own permaculture course. Mud filled hands, dirty clothes, organic soap (that really dusnt do justice to her hair or skin), rat bitten hair, blisters on the souls of her feet and not to mention “not getting any”- all from farming and working on the land.
He land is gifting her with beautiful vegetables, fresh fish and embun pagi. I swear she aged at least 3 years within the past month, and shez so out of touch from the rest of the world- but I have to say, I have never seen her more content with herself and where she is in my life. There is really nothing more that she could ask for, she is exactly where she wants to be.
So, im guessing it took her courage to break away from the usual stereotype. Pay your loans, support your family, buy a house, get insurance, get a car, buy your loved ones presents, give back to charity, go travelling…… theres just too many things at stake in exchange for doing something that you want to do.
We are not selfish if we choose to live our passion, there is always a way to strive if we believe that we shall be great someday. And so you shall, be great someday… and till that day comes, I will be here, buying you your favorite snacks when you have your womanly (or whats left of it) cravings.
I too wish to run off to Africa live with the zebras, swim with the dolphins and touch the white lion’s mane, kiss the tail of a whale, play with children, sing with the old, dance with the crippled. Waiting patiently is no sweat, if you believe that it WILL happen, just not now.
So I guess my balance is faith in myself.
I have a sister (the most talented of the rest) who is strong, intelligent, beautiful and manages to strive under any circumstances and walk out the best. She landed a job in very high acclaimed corporate company and was pulling in some big bucks, didn’t suit her fancy…so she moved on. Found projects to work on, did an excellent job, was offered a permanent position….didn’t suit her fancy, so she moved on.
Last year, she went for a permaculture course in the US, had a blast of a time- and she came back a different person all together. She is now living in a farm house in Batu Arang running her own permaculture course. Mud filled hands, dirty clothes, organic soap (that really dusnt do justice to her hair or skin), rat bitten hair, blisters on the souls of her feet and not to mention “not getting any”- all from farming and working on the land.
He land is gifting her with beautiful vegetables, fresh fish and embun pagi. I swear she aged at least 3 years within the past month, and shez so out of touch from the rest of the world- but I have to say, I have never seen her more content with herself and where she is in my life. There is really nothing more that she could ask for, she is exactly where she wants to be.
So, im guessing it took her courage to break away from the usual stereotype. Pay your loans, support your family, buy a house, get insurance, get a car, buy your loved ones presents, give back to charity, go travelling…… theres just too many things at stake in exchange for doing something that you want to do.
We are not selfish if we choose to live our passion, there is always a way to strive if we believe that we shall be great someday. And so you shall, be great someday… and till that day comes, I will be here, buying you your favorite snacks when you have your womanly (or whats left of it) cravings.
I too wish to run off to Africa live with the zebras, swim with the dolphins and touch the white lion’s mane, kiss the tail of a whale, play with children, sing with the old, dance with the crippled. Waiting patiently is no sweat, if you believe that it WILL happen, just not now.
So I guess my balance is faith in myself.
Beloved One
We have both been here before
Knockin upon loves door
Begging for someone to let us in
Knowing this we can agree to keep each other company
Never to go down that road again
My beloved one,
my beloved oneYour eyes shine through me
You are so divine to me
Your heart has a home in mine
We wont have to say a word
With a touch all shall be heard
When I search my heart its you I find
My beloved one, my beloved one, my beloved one
You were meant for me,
I believe you were sent to me from a dream straight intoTo my arms
Hold your body close to me
You mean the most to me
We will keep each other safe from harm
My beloved one, my beloved one, my beloved one
-Ben Harper-
Knockin upon loves door
Begging for someone to let us in
Knowing this we can agree to keep each other company
Never to go down that road again
My beloved one,
my beloved oneYour eyes shine through me
You are so divine to me
Your heart has a home in mine
We wont have to say a word
With a touch all shall be heard
When I search my heart its you I find
My beloved one, my beloved one, my beloved one
You were meant for me,
I believe you were sent to me from a dream straight intoTo my arms
Hold your body close to me
You mean the most to me
We will keep each other safe from harm
My beloved one, my beloved one, my beloved one
-Ben Harper-
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
pop!!
Wippie d doo daaaaaaa......... so Zion is finally out of the oven !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Zion Hendrix to be accurate. I hope he turns out to be a beautiful soul just like his mummy... * Cheers!!!!*
Thursday, March 26, 2009
This one is special
SANTA MARIA!!!!! Anxiety is building up!!!! Joe is due somewhere this/next week. Grrrr, i havnt had time to assimilate to the change. I pray all goes well. Shall be running down to JB to welcome baby Zion into the world when his stars and planets meet at the right time and place. As far as love is concern, yet another bundle of joy to add to my list of earthly delights. Sperfabulistic!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Indigo Children
Ever felt like you don’t quite fit in? Maybe you were made for things greater than just “fitting in” :)
Many energy healers around the world started noticing a surge of babies born after the 1970’s to have indigo aura. According to their statistics, more than 60 % of people aged 14-25 are “indigo babies”. Indigo children have been on earth for as long as 100 years, but has increased in numbers since the world war two. Indigo children are believed to be sensitive beings, and very empathic towards their surroundings. They tend to be very in-tuned with the feelings of others, and are easily able to detect emotions. Indo babies have a clear sense of their “self” and feel a need to make a big change in his world, also recognized for their high talents and appreciation for creativity. They often ponder about their spirituality, and are known to be “wise beyond their years” because of their search for the self. Also very self-driven rather than system followers, which always makes them rebels, and thus the engine of change in the world.
The indigo phenomenon is believed to be a next step in our evolution as the human species. We are all capable of become Indigo children, but those born with it are here to show the way. Indigo Children can sense dishonesty, like a dog can sense fear. Indigos know when they're being lied to, patronized, or manipulated. And since their collective purpose is to usher us into a new world of integrity, the Indigos inner lie-detectors are integral. These children are worthy of awe, not labels of dysfunction. If anyone is dysfunctional, it's the systems that aren't accommodating the continuing evolution of the human species. If we shame the children with labels, we will crush a civilization before its had time to take roots.
Until fairly recently, all humans born on Earth were born as Third Dimensional beings. This means that they were fully in the material plane or realm, and their consciousness was "locked" into the Third Dimension. They functioned on the first three chakras, the material, the emotional and the mental. Where there was spirituality, it was usually seen as something outside or other than normal every day functioning. For example, Buddha had to sit under a tree for years to achieve spiritual enlightenment.
Many energy healers around the world started noticing a surge of babies born after the 1970’s to have indigo aura. According to their statistics, more than 60 % of people aged 14-25 are “indigo babies”. Indigo children have been on earth for as long as 100 years, but has increased in numbers since the world war two. Indigo children are believed to be sensitive beings, and very empathic towards their surroundings. They tend to be very in-tuned with the feelings of others, and are easily able to detect emotions. Indo babies have a clear sense of their “self” and feel a need to make a big change in his world, also recognized for their high talents and appreciation for creativity. They often ponder about their spirituality, and are known to be “wise beyond their years” because of their search for the self. Also very self-driven rather than system followers, which always makes them rebels, and thus the engine of change in the world.
The indigo phenomenon is believed to be a next step in our evolution as the human species. We are all capable of become Indigo children, but those born with it are here to show the way. Indigo Children can sense dishonesty, like a dog can sense fear. Indigos know when they're being lied to, patronized, or manipulated. And since their collective purpose is to usher us into a new world of integrity, the Indigos inner lie-detectors are integral. These children are worthy of awe, not labels of dysfunction. If anyone is dysfunctional, it's the systems that aren't accommodating the continuing evolution of the human species. If we shame the children with labels, we will crush a civilization before its had time to take roots.
Until fairly recently, all humans born on Earth were born as Third Dimensional beings. This means that they were fully in the material plane or realm, and their consciousness was "locked" into the Third Dimension. They functioned on the first three chakras, the material, the emotional and the mental. Where there was spirituality, it was usually seen as something outside or other than normal every day functioning. For example, Buddha had to sit under a tree for years to achieve spiritual enlightenment.
The Third Dimensional being is aware of him or herself as a separate and unique individual. There is no real sense of the unity or oneness of consciousness that is a factor of higher dimensional consciousness. Because of this sense of separation, humans have built a society that has very little awareness of the interconnectedness of beings and actions. And because of this lack of awareness, humans have created a planet of sorrow and suffering, where individuals see no need to be responsible for their thoughts, feelings and actions. Fear of not surviving on the individual level, because of lack of resources, has led to greed and imbalances that need to be addressed in order to create a stable planetary home for all humans.
The Indigo children arrived with the key to multi-dimensionality. They were born into Third Dimensional bodies, but their consciousness was effectively in the Fourth Dimension and capable of moving into the Fifth. When this "wave" of Indigo consciousness arrived on the planet in the early 1970s, the way was opened for all humans and the planet itself to shift into the Fourth Dimension.
At the Fourth Dimensional level of Consciousness, humans become aware of the Universal Law of One, otherwise known as "Unity Consciousness". This Law states that we are all One, we are all connected and that whatever affects one of us affects all of us. Indigo children carry this awareness in their consciousness, and it leads them to be warriors for many causes that will heal the Earth and stop humans from destroying and polluting their environment and harming other humans. The Law of One also fosters the understanding in Indigo beings that we are all equal, and that no one is greater than any other. The Indigo-Crystal adventure represents a huge evolutionary leap for the human species.
The Crystal Children began to appear on the planet from about 2000, although some date them slightly earlier. 90% of children aged between 1-7 are believed to be “crystal babies”. The first thing most people notice about Crystal Children is their eyes, large, penetrating, and wise beyond their years.
The Crystal Children have opalescent auras, with beautiful multi-colours in pastel hues. In the new world which the Indigos are ushering in, we will all be much more aware of our intuitive thoughts and feelings. We won't rely so much upon the spoken or written word. Communication will be faster, more direct, and more honest, because it will be mind to mind.
So, it's not surprising that the generation following the Indigos are incredibly telepathic. Many of the Crystal Children have delayed speech patterns, and its not uncommon for them to wait until they're 3 or 4 years old to begin speaking. The trouble comes about when the Crystals are judged by medical and educational personnel as having "abnormal" speaking patterns. It's no coincidence that as the number of Crystals are born, that the number of diagnoses for autism is at a record high.
As the indigo children have left their mark of change onto this world, it is the role of the Crystal children to maintain this change, act as a link between the transitions, and bring peace to the world as we evolve into our Golden Era.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Ceh-wah
The three Arokiam women decided to get together today and take a drive down to Kuala Kubu Bharu. Tei, a lively young Chin refugee that has been helping my sister out in her farm also followed us on our little crusade. I always feel stronger somehow, when I am in the company of my two favorite women-yet unbearable. The two hour journey was quite what I expected- a whole lot of nonsense, which kinda made sence on that particular journey. I was put in the back seat of the car, and watched by the rest as they awaited for me to kick off a young and bubbly conversation with Tei. Nothing came to mind besides the usual “ASL please”. 15 minutes down the journey, dagger stares were thrown from my sister followed by comments from my mother, in Tamil!!! Oh boy, Tamil meant trouble, definitely something she wouldn’t have wanted Tei to understand. As the pressure was building up in the car, I saw Tei lean forward from the corner of my eye. She held a tissue on her mouth and vomited out the chakuai that we ate a few minutes before. Boy, What a relief. All attention was on her and the “funny air” was gone- now covered with vomit fumes. We stopped by the side of the road and spent most of the journey fussing over her. Conversation came naturally after that, I guess I just needed an ice-breaker, in whatever form. Instead of the usual pass the parcel, pass the vomit seemed quite suitable. Saved by the vomit.
We parked our car by the hill, and walked up to Antares’ house. Antares is a well-known local artist, a rebel at heart, eccentric at being, and one that fights for a good cause…just because. From afar, I saw his wife, Anoor waving at us. Wrapped in what we would call rags, there stood a woman- a real woman. Her skin was dark, features somewhat unique, short curly hair, thin and petite, young in flesh but old in soul. Antares now stays with the orang asli in Kuala Kubu Bharu, well-assimilated into their culture, and the proud husband of one of the locals. I have heard stories before, that Antares had wedded a “special” woman, and was gifted with one “special” son. I was there that day, to meet them- and of course taste Antares’ famous “magic mushrooms” that he had promised us prior to our visit. However, sadly, unfortunately, and with much relief to my mother, Antares had helped himself to a few cups of “happy tea” while waiting for our arrival. His six dogs and five cats roamed his land and shared the vicinity.
We climbed up the stairs leading to his house, bearing gifts of shit- literally. My sister thought that it would be a nice gesture to bring him some organic fertilizer- to enrich his rich land. True enough, he was ecstatic at the sight of shit. We introduced ourselves to the family. His wife seemed a little reserved and skeptic. His son, a 12 year old naked boy, thin and tall, squatted on a plastic chair glued to the computer- was completely oblivious to our presence. Unlike his father, this little one couldn’t give two shits. The house was on stilts, so I walked below the window and called for him. He greeted me with an “alien language”. Most of his syllables were made up of the sounds “la” and “na’. In a weird way, I completely understood him. A thought passed through my mind- he didn’t mind not being understood- which by itself is an understanding of the self that is so profound. He made me smile, and I made him “na na la la la”.
The sky was starting to get dark, we felt a few drops of rain trickle down our body. We immediately packed the necessary, gathered the heard and headed down to the waterfall. How sweet it must be- living next to such a majestic creation, with the sound of the cicadas to kill the silence- being in a place that was made for you, in your land that you inherited from children, right where one was ment to be.
The journey there took barely a few minutes. Anoor and son decided to perch by the shallow river. The rest of us continued our journey through the narrow road, that led to a beautiful opening. All of the dogs seemed pleased to be there, sniffing about in the familiar land. Without a second of hesitance, they made their way to the water and plonked. Haha, what an unusual sight. After a few hops and skips from rock to rock- there we were at the famous “diving spot” that I had been looking forward to. My mother and Antares waited by the bank and watch the three young ones splash about in the water.
The water was as perfect as perfect could be. Warm enough to keep you from shivering, and cold enough to give you a chill down your spine. Sabina climbed her way to a high spot on one of the rocks, apparently, the exact same spot that she allowed Antares to coax her for a good 15 minutes to take a plunge of death-or so she made it seem. While the both of us were busy getting all jittery, Tei made her way up to the “spot” and dove in fearless. Wow!! Where did the quiet mouse in her go to?? Sabina and i were in disbelief, we waited for her to pop her head out of the gushing waters, patiently as the anxiety in us built up. No biggie on her side tho, she arose from the water and the look on her face said it all- it was one hack of a thrill. She laughed and kept on tumbling among the rocks- Tei the little Mogli. Next up was my Sabina’s turn. Being the eldest among us and the more experienced one- there was no room to show fear. She took a leap, not to far out, but just enough to avoid the rocks that could have caused her some massive concussion. Then came my turn. Surprisingly, most of my anxiety had dispersed. Partially because my swimming skills had improved a tad bit over the past years. I held my nose tight and counted loudly, “one , two, three”!, not allowing my mind to take over my body, my feet left the rocks I stood on pushing my body as far as I could. I made a huge splash in the water, and I felt myself disappear from this world for a few seconds, time seemed maya. Somehow, I didn’t panic, I just let myself be. The current pushed me up and I followed till the waters were still. The adrenaline rush was out of this world, crinkly toes put to shame.
Adventurous we were, climbing every algae- filled rock and discovering every god-made jacuzzi. We strayed a little far, excited that we had found a pool- like spot, we swam about like little guppies. The day was getting chilly, so we made our way back. The swim home was a little tricky, and the current was not at our mercy. Before any of us could react to what was approaching, my reflex made me stretch out and pull my sister from falling down the rocky fall. I felt my heart dip when I missed her hand by a second, and there I was watching my other self dip down that intimidating waterfall, rock and all. I froze, and I waited. A few moments after, I saw her escape the current and hold on to a tree bark for her dear life. Antares quickly noticed the commotion, and he ran to her rescue. From the top of the waterfall, I could see the concern in my mother’s face. We were all scared, but somewhat relieved that she was alive and kicking. As I was hurrying my way to her, I saw her stand up. I stopped to take a few moments to myself- just registering that that very moment could have been the worst day of my life. From afar, I saw Antares performing reiki on her slightly injured leg, as she laughed . Pewh, how typical of Sabina Arokiam! I was angry and worried, and tickled and shocked all at the same time.
The whole “Sabina” drama marked the end of our little adventure. As we took our first few steps back home, suddenly my sister’s last words before she fell came to me. “Woops, Here I Go”. I burst out laughing and the others shared my amusement. Geez, I would never have imagined anyone’s last words before a near death experience to be: “Woops, Here I Go”!!!!!. One too many Murphy’s has made the flesh too sore.
When we stepped foot at the house again, the rain had already shied away. Caught up in the moment, I hadn’t noticed that Sabina was going through some severe emotional distress. I soon discovered that much to her horror- Brother E**** was also there for a visit. What odd luck, we were just talking about the few home-runs that he tried to score with my sister the last time she met him. Itchy man he is. As the story goes, he even tried to rest his fingers under my sister’s bum as she was about to sit on a chair. Hahahah, who would have expected it from a brother eh? She said a quick hello, and avoided much delay after.
We made ourselves at home in what Antares had introduced to us as- his “bamboo palace’. It was just the perfect home, nipah roof, bamboo floor, and beautiful veranda- all of which were resting on stilts. I stole a few minutes alone on the hammock after drying up. I swung slow, afraid that it might give way considering that it was just bamboo keeping the house together.
Tea was served, we sat around a plastic table enjoying the tea that Antares had mad for us- each cup catered to our specific interest, the smell of wet-dog made me feel at home. Conversations after that gave me a clue that both my mother and Antares had already exchanged a few stories about my family. Tea time brought us many interesting conversation, many of which that touched me on a more personal note. Brother E**** however, was too obsessed yacking away about himself, disrupting the sync of the energy around the table that existed before. I had prepared myself for a horny little bastard, but nothing annoys me more than a yacky know-it –all. from across, I saw my mother trying her best to make conversation with Anoor. From her facial expressions, crinkly excess skin on her forehead- I could tell that most of the conversation was lost in translation.
I got off my seat and took the stairs down. Being the perfect opportunity to escape the round table discussion, Tei jolted out of her chair and followed me down. We took a walk around the house and settled down facing the beautiful sunset. The silver lining was amazing, the rays and the orangey-pink sky made it extra- ordinary. We started talking, and I begun to enjoy our conversation. She spoke to me about her four brothers, and I butted in by saying that I would be happy to share my sister with her. She nodded her head, and said thank you. She looked like she needed to say something, so I kept my eyes locked on her face. She smiled as she said, “I love her very much, she is the best teacher”. I couldn’t describe how proud of my sister I was at that moment, this is the greatest gift one could give to another- love and knowledge. I was happy that Sabina had made a difference in her life- just as she had done in mine. I learnt so much about that young girl in that few minutes. She is a strong, unique, loving young woman, and one day- she shall be great, not because she must, but because she knows that it is she.
Right before the last ray of sunlight disappeared, the sweet potatoes were ready- freshly baked, hot and wild. It was the best sweet potatoes I have ever tasted, I admit, it may have been fully psychological. I made my way around the little crowd avoiding Antares’ legs afraid that his sarong might give way any moment, settled myself in the only available spot- beside Antares’ wife. We soon made small conversations. I found it hilarious, we seemed like we were having a fully functional conversation, but to tell you the truth- I couldn’t understand a single word she was saying and vice versa. But it didn’t matter, all she wanted was for someone to listed, the nodding and smiling looked like it made her happy, so I kept up my good work. From what I gathered, one of the most intense topics throughout our conversation involved the word ‘mabuk” for more than four times followed by “nenek” “mati” and “longkang”. Thinking of it now, geez, poor lady, gruesome even - if it means what I think it means.
We rounded up our conversations and said our goodbyes, exchanging a few hugs. It seemed like everyone there had enjoyed each other’s presence, and farewell was not an option- we would most definitely be back in the near future. In fact, Antares’ wife had asked me for my phone number. According to him, this is the first time she had taken interest in anyone, all the more, ask for a number. Antares couldn’t help but spark some curiosity among the rest. Apparently, she hasn’t yet conquered the superficial knowledge of functioning a phone. She pulled me closer to her, and whispered, “bawa baju, rambutan, dan nie (pointing to her eyes)”. Ahhhhhh, now it all made sense, for a second I thought I was special. It seems like I was the perfect target to fish a gift, impressed by the rainbow on my eyes, lips and nails. Everyone had a good laugh, because she did it in such a pure and innocent way, shining the child in her. I dug through my bag- and brought out my lipstick. The glow on her face was priceless as I handed it to her.
Today I got to know many strangers, today I went back to my real home, today I shared my love, today I learnt many things new. It was a splendid day indeed. I hope I have many more days as such, to keep my spirits high.
We parked our car by the hill, and walked up to Antares’ house. Antares is a well-known local artist, a rebel at heart, eccentric at being, and one that fights for a good cause…just because. From afar, I saw his wife, Anoor waving at us. Wrapped in what we would call rags, there stood a woman- a real woman. Her skin was dark, features somewhat unique, short curly hair, thin and petite, young in flesh but old in soul. Antares now stays with the orang asli in Kuala Kubu Bharu, well-assimilated into their culture, and the proud husband of one of the locals. I have heard stories before, that Antares had wedded a “special” woman, and was gifted with one “special” son. I was there that day, to meet them- and of course taste Antares’ famous “magic mushrooms” that he had promised us prior to our visit. However, sadly, unfortunately, and with much relief to my mother, Antares had helped himself to a few cups of “happy tea” while waiting for our arrival. His six dogs and five cats roamed his land and shared the vicinity.
We climbed up the stairs leading to his house, bearing gifts of shit- literally. My sister thought that it would be a nice gesture to bring him some organic fertilizer- to enrich his rich land. True enough, he was ecstatic at the sight of shit. We introduced ourselves to the family. His wife seemed a little reserved and skeptic. His son, a 12 year old naked boy, thin and tall, squatted on a plastic chair glued to the computer- was completely oblivious to our presence. Unlike his father, this little one couldn’t give two shits. The house was on stilts, so I walked below the window and called for him. He greeted me with an “alien language”. Most of his syllables were made up of the sounds “la” and “na’. In a weird way, I completely understood him. A thought passed through my mind- he didn’t mind not being understood- which by itself is an understanding of the self that is so profound. He made me smile, and I made him “na na la la la”.
The sky was starting to get dark, we felt a few drops of rain trickle down our body. We immediately packed the necessary, gathered the heard and headed down to the waterfall. How sweet it must be- living next to such a majestic creation, with the sound of the cicadas to kill the silence- being in a place that was made for you, in your land that you inherited from children, right where one was ment to be.
The journey there took barely a few minutes. Anoor and son decided to perch by the shallow river. The rest of us continued our journey through the narrow road, that led to a beautiful opening. All of the dogs seemed pleased to be there, sniffing about in the familiar land. Without a second of hesitance, they made their way to the water and plonked. Haha, what an unusual sight. After a few hops and skips from rock to rock- there we were at the famous “diving spot” that I had been looking forward to. My mother and Antares waited by the bank and watch the three young ones splash about in the water.
The water was as perfect as perfect could be. Warm enough to keep you from shivering, and cold enough to give you a chill down your spine. Sabina climbed her way to a high spot on one of the rocks, apparently, the exact same spot that she allowed Antares to coax her for a good 15 minutes to take a plunge of death-or so she made it seem. While the both of us were busy getting all jittery, Tei made her way up to the “spot” and dove in fearless. Wow!! Where did the quiet mouse in her go to?? Sabina and i were in disbelief, we waited for her to pop her head out of the gushing waters, patiently as the anxiety in us built up. No biggie on her side tho, she arose from the water and the look on her face said it all- it was one hack of a thrill. She laughed and kept on tumbling among the rocks- Tei the little Mogli. Next up was my Sabina’s turn. Being the eldest among us and the more experienced one- there was no room to show fear. She took a leap, not to far out, but just enough to avoid the rocks that could have caused her some massive concussion. Then came my turn. Surprisingly, most of my anxiety had dispersed. Partially because my swimming skills had improved a tad bit over the past years. I held my nose tight and counted loudly, “one , two, three”!, not allowing my mind to take over my body, my feet left the rocks I stood on pushing my body as far as I could. I made a huge splash in the water, and I felt myself disappear from this world for a few seconds, time seemed maya. Somehow, I didn’t panic, I just let myself be. The current pushed me up and I followed till the waters were still. The adrenaline rush was out of this world, crinkly toes put to shame.
Adventurous we were, climbing every algae- filled rock and discovering every god-made jacuzzi. We strayed a little far, excited that we had found a pool- like spot, we swam about like little guppies. The day was getting chilly, so we made our way back. The swim home was a little tricky, and the current was not at our mercy. Before any of us could react to what was approaching, my reflex made me stretch out and pull my sister from falling down the rocky fall. I felt my heart dip when I missed her hand by a second, and there I was watching my other self dip down that intimidating waterfall, rock and all. I froze, and I waited. A few moments after, I saw her escape the current and hold on to a tree bark for her dear life. Antares quickly noticed the commotion, and he ran to her rescue. From the top of the waterfall, I could see the concern in my mother’s face. We were all scared, but somewhat relieved that she was alive and kicking. As I was hurrying my way to her, I saw her stand up. I stopped to take a few moments to myself- just registering that that very moment could have been the worst day of my life. From afar, I saw Antares performing reiki on her slightly injured leg, as she laughed . Pewh, how typical of Sabina Arokiam! I was angry and worried, and tickled and shocked all at the same time.
The whole “Sabina” drama marked the end of our little adventure. As we took our first few steps back home, suddenly my sister’s last words before she fell came to me. “Woops, Here I Go”. I burst out laughing and the others shared my amusement. Geez, I would never have imagined anyone’s last words before a near death experience to be: “Woops, Here I Go”!!!!!. One too many Murphy’s has made the flesh too sore.
When we stepped foot at the house again, the rain had already shied away. Caught up in the moment, I hadn’t noticed that Sabina was going through some severe emotional distress. I soon discovered that much to her horror- Brother E**** was also there for a visit. What odd luck, we were just talking about the few home-runs that he tried to score with my sister the last time she met him. Itchy man he is. As the story goes, he even tried to rest his fingers under my sister’s bum as she was about to sit on a chair. Hahahah, who would have expected it from a brother eh? She said a quick hello, and avoided much delay after.
We made ourselves at home in what Antares had introduced to us as- his “bamboo palace’. It was just the perfect home, nipah roof, bamboo floor, and beautiful veranda- all of which were resting on stilts. I stole a few minutes alone on the hammock after drying up. I swung slow, afraid that it might give way considering that it was just bamboo keeping the house together.
Tea was served, we sat around a plastic table enjoying the tea that Antares had mad for us- each cup catered to our specific interest, the smell of wet-dog made me feel at home. Conversations after that gave me a clue that both my mother and Antares had already exchanged a few stories about my family. Tea time brought us many interesting conversation, many of which that touched me on a more personal note. Brother E**** however, was too obsessed yacking away about himself, disrupting the sync of the energy around the table that existed before. I had prepared myself for a horny little bastard, but nothing annoys me more than a yacky know-it –all. from across, I saw my mother trying her best to make conversation with Anoor. From her facial expressions, crinkly excess skin on her forehead- I could tell that most of the conversation was lost in translation.
I got off my seat and took the stairs down. Being the perfect opportunity to escape the round table discussion, Tei jolted out of her chair and followed me down. We took a walk around the house and settled down facing the beautiful sunset. The silver lining was amazing, the rays and the orangey-pink sky made it extra- ordinary. We started talking, and I begun to enjoy our conversation. She spoke to me about her four brothers, and I butted in by saying that I would be happy to share my sister with her. She nodded her head, and said thank you. She looked like she needed to say something, so I kept my eyes locked on her face. She smiled as she said, “I love her very much, she is the best teacher”. I couldn’t describe how proud of my sister I was at that moment, this is the greatest gift one could give to another- love and knowledge. I was happy that Sabina had made a difference in her life- just as she had done in mine. I learnt so much about that young girl in that few minutes. She is a strong, unique, loving young woman, and one day- she shall be great, not because she must, but because she knows that it is she.
Right before the last ray of sunlight disappeared, the sweet potatoes were ready- freshly baked, hot and wild. It was the best sweet potatoes I have ever tasted, I admit, it may have been fully psychological. I made my way around the little crowd avoiding Antares’ legs afraid that his sarong might give way any moment, settled myself in the only available spot- beside Antares’ wife. We soon made small conversations. I found it hilarious, we seemed like we were having a fully functional conversation, but to tell you the truth- I couldn’t understand a single word she was saying and vice versa. But it didn’t matter, all she wanted was for someone to listed, the nodding and smiling looked like it made her happy, so I kept up my good work. From what I gathered, one of the most intense topics throughout our conversation involved the word ‘mabuk” for more than four times followed by “nenek” “mati” and “longkang”. Thinking of it now, geez, poor lady, gruesome even - if it means what I think it means.
We rounded up our conversations and said our goodbyes, exchanging a few hugs. It seemed like everyone there had enjoyed each other’s presence, and farewell was not an option- we would most definitely be back in the near future. In fact, Antares’ wife had asked me for my phone number. According to him, this is the first time she had taken interest in anyone, all the more, ask for a number. Antares couldn’t help but spark some curiosity among the rest. Apparently, she hasn’t yet conquered the superficial knowledge of functioning a phone. She pulled me closer to her, and whispered, “bawa baju, rambutan, dan nie (pointing to her eyes)”. Ahhhhhh, now it all made sense, for a second I thought I was special. It seems like I was the perfect target to fish a gift, impressed by the rainbow on my eyes, lips and nails. Everyone had a good laugh, because she did it in such a pure and innocent way, shining the child in her. I dug through my bag- and brought out my lipstick. The glow on her face was priceless as I handed it to her.
Today I got to know many strangers, today I went back to my real home, today I shared my love, today I learnt many things new. It was a splendid day indeed. I hope I have many more days as such, to keep my spirits high.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Katrina Who???
Back in my younger days, I thought of my name as being unique and somewhat cool. Nobody I knew had it, and kids at school use to get fascinated by my one of a kind calling. People called me Kat, Kathy, Kanna, Trina and Katax (this one was derived from a disasterous scrabble game with my cousins at 3 am). Some of it stuck on, some of it forgotten- but I always remained Katrina. The others that didn’t matter much insisted to call me Katherine- which by the way, is a name that I absolutely despise.
I think that the representation of this name to me was amplified because I don’t have a middle name. Tragically, my father wasn’t around to watch my coming into the earth and he conveniently forgot to add his name to my birth certificate when he went back a few days later. THUS, I was left with neither a middle name, nor a surname.
Apparently, I was named by my grandmother. My mom feared her existence- her decision was usually final. Little did she know that I failed to carry down the legacy of the “Das”, that has been passed down for generations. Katrina Mudali Das- Yuck. God Bless my Father’s faked pre- Alzheimer’s!!
Maybe I was lucky in a way that I didn’t get stuck with any traditional names such as “Ranjeni” or “Pushpa”. I have a Sabahan brother-in-law whose name is Jamal. He spoke and looked like a Malay, thus my grandmother refused to call him by his original name. Matthias was his confirmation name, and the preferred option. However, over the past year, “Mathias” has slowly and conveniently evolved into being “Muttiah”. Poor boy.
Some people think its kinda cool. I do admit that it would have been cool if my parents came to a conscious decision to name me Katrina- and just Katrina. Once you get around the whole drama of my name’s birth, it just sounds kinda sad. Not to mention the trauma I went through as a child, convinced by my siblings that I was picked up by the rubbish dump. Thank god I grew to resemble one of my two of my cousins- each from different sides of the genes.
Long story short, my point is that there is no other name besides Katrina, that I can truly identify myself with.
As I grew older, I found an album in my dad’s dusty record collection- it read “Katrina and The Waves”. Oh well, it didn’t bug me much, coz they looked geeky anyway, and nobody really took notice of them – besides old school men such as daddy; impressing them wasn’t exactly on top of my list.
On my first day of registration in college, I walked over to the counter to enroll myself. Boy was I shocked when I saw that there were two “Katrinas” on that darn enrollment list. Not only was it my name, it was spelt the same way too!!!! I felt stripped of my identity, and I was determined to find the “OTHER” Katrina to kinda see if she lived up to the uniqueness of the name. Ironically, we met in a lift, and introduced ourselves. She was one of my first few friends in college, and she remains a very good friend to me till today. I grew to like her, Fab Kat; OCASSIONALLY cooler than me J, so there wasn’t any competition for the “True Katrina”. We hung out together most of the time, and ironically, ended up under the same work roof. The confusion that started five years ago still remains. Some people resort to calling us Kat A and Kat B, or Kat 1 and Kat 2. It never really bugged me as I thought it would have, I enjoyed the little jokes that we use to make, and even the jokes made at the expense of us. However, there were also other Kats in college. One of them called Katriona; probably the more sophisticated version of Katrina, and the other was just unacceptable…… her name didn’t even contain the letter “K” in it. It derived from some stupid nickname that her siblings gave her when she was young, and thus it stuck on.
With the four “Kats” in college simultaneously, I kinda got used to being the “less unique”. Soon came Hurricane Katina, Katrina Kaif and many other random strangers that answer to the calling.
I always knew that I was named after a saint. My caloricity led me to a very disturbing fact of history. The name belonged to a 4th-century saint and martyr from
*Shudde*
OMG !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Its like naming your child “Doom” or “Curse” !!!!.
In this moment, sitting in my room alone with thousand thoughts running through my head, candle lights surrounding my room, cold air running though my toes, had parquet comforting my body- I don’t really care if I’m really a “Katrina” anymore. Because I have a choice to be who I want to be- I choose to be “Katrina- one ever evolving.
From days that we use to cry by the pool, eat crackers in the balcony, head out to Bangsar with a hankie as a top, spend each day of our lives in the infamous 3-15-5 Pantai Hillpark…….you have come a long way. Caring and loving has always been your way, but now I see something new- I see hope in your face.
Congratulations Joe!!!!!!!!!!!! a new life awaits his turn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It’s always an honor to watch someone you love become a mother.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
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Today I feel somewhat lonely. Every time I question my existence in this world, I cant help but to feel lost and small among so many other –things of more importance
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When I compromise my feelings for the sake of someone else’s happiness, it seems like an act of kindness. When that someone else expects me to sacrifice my feelings for the sake of his or her own happiness, it seems like an act of selfishness
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When I loose my freedom to act and feel, I loose my drive to breathe
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We can not force happiness upon someone, or question its existence or non-existence, it just is, when it shall, how it will.
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When I do things that are not “me”, I feel like I’m betraying myself
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Its sad when I wake up some mornings, realizing that what I thought was a thought so profound is actually something so dumb
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The simple truth is that I want to remain “me”, untouched and rare. I despise when people think they know whats best for me. I do not need you to shower my seed, I choose to wait for the rain
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What you may think of as important always seems so trivial to me
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Someone clipped my wings when I reached out to embrace
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I don’t want to search because it is too dark, cant I wait for the moonlight?
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Why does it bug me so much that I have nothing to remind me of my childhood? Is it because it is no longer with me?
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Thou shall not put thy burden of guilt on thy neighbor
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I hate to hear people’s voices that try to teach me how to live
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People see wisdom in different things
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There are two types of lies: The ones we tell to others & the ones we tell ourselves
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Sometimes you just kno things
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I feel different today
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Do not try to chop of its branch every time it creeps for sunlight
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Sunday, January 18, 2009
I Wuff You!!!!!!
I haven't slept much today. Was awake the night trying to comfort Milano.
A dog in my dad's center gave birth to 7 puppies. Its funny, but all of em are so distinctively different. I couldn't help it but take one home. Named him Milano. Hez pure black but he has the most loveliest shaggy coat. 3 weeks old, what a darling. Im giving him up to my cousin next month.
Grr, its gonna be tough trying not to get attached to him. They're like babies aren't they? And i love the soft toffee smell you get on puppies, and their gentle huff when you lift them up.
The look on his mothers face as i took him away was like a stab to my heart. Heard him cry himself to sleep today morning. *sniff*.
Sigh- now thats my true passion in life, being close to what is most pure. I wanna take a few years off when i'm older and live in the jungle. I wanna swim with the whales, touch the elephants feet, kiss the orang utan and watch the horn bills fly. I want to sleep on the grass, wash my face in a river and ohh.... i almost fogot.... find my unicorn.
Pull out the bip before reading....
Mangosteen Sorbet
Ingredients:
Ingredients:
500g mangosteen flesh, deseeded and shells reserved for decoration
juice of 1 lime (or to taste) - I used calamansi limes
100g caster sugar (or to taste)
juice of 1 lime (or to taste) - I used calamansi limes
100g caster sugar (or to taste)
100ml liquid glucose
8-10 mangosteen shells with lids, rinsed and dried
8-10 mangosteen shells with lids, rinsed and dried
In a blender, puree the mangosteen flesh with the lime juice and the sugar till smooth. In a small saucepan over low heat, melt the glucose and pour it into the blender with the mangosteen mixture. Blend together. Taste the mixture and if it is not sweet, add extra sugar and if too sweet, add more lime juice. If you have an ice-cream maker, process it as per the equipment's instructions or if you don't have one, just put it in a plastic container to the freezer and blend it again about 4 hours later. Leave it in the container till the next day and then scoop out into the mangosteen shells to serve.
*Drooling Nasty*
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Manis Di Mulut
I had Tang for the first time after so so many years. I was ecstatics when i saw it in the super market. The packaging has changed tho, remember how our tang used to come in thick glass bottles with green wrapping? The one we bought was a tacky yellow packaging that came in a bag. Unlike our good old Smarties and Haw flakes which taste cheaper as the years go by, Tangs somehow managed to sustain its tangy tingly zesty feeling on your tongue. I didn't have a chance to make a glass today, so i grabbed the small packet and stuffed it in my handbag as i rushed out the door headed to work. The first thing i did when i reached the office was to sit down and enjoy myself a cold cup of Tangs. Ouu Yummy. It all kinda brought back old memories. Glucose came to mind too, the grape flavor was my favorite. I cant imagine drinking glucose again, it just sounds ikky to me now, but i think i wouldn't mind having some of the powder. I remember eating all the powder from my tree-drops and refilling it with the glucose. It never quite tasted the same, but at least they looked alike. Oh Oh .... and my favorite....Fruitips!!! This may sound a bit creepy, but i goggled it..and i found out that Nestle had stopped production in Malaysia and the nearest place we can get it is in Singapore. Oh boy, that's not too far for some good old Fruitips. Maybe i should venture into Fruitips importing. I'm sure that all of us 70's and 80's kids would pool me much demand.
How we long for the things that remind us of our childhood. Just a few days ago, Eddy, Thilly and i came across a roti man riding his bike overflowing with all sorts of roti and chickadees on the road. There was a sudden excitement in the car. we couldn't stop the roti man because there were just too many cars on the road so we followed him for a bit and honked till he stopped. i think our eyes were too greedy, each of us grabbed two packets of buns each, however, i was quite disappointed because he didn't have my keropok durian. i was still overjoyed, for a second, i felt like ive known that roti man all my life. we took our bread home and had it after dinner. Potato bun, koko bun and the bun keras. ouuuu,,,,,, nothing like it eh? :)
p/s: Charlene, i promise to bring the packet of Tang right back home.
White Flag
When I was growing up, I hardly remember much of my dad. He was always off to some far away land earning a living. Close to him I was somehow, I remember crying outside my house one day as I waved goodbye to him.
As we grew older, Mum finally built up some courage to take on a job. She traveled daily to KL, left at 6 am and reached home at 9 pm. I grew very independent during these years, as I had to care for myself and the home. Father figures came and went, I grew much attached to one particular man but they all passed away like flies from AIDS.
I moved in with my sister a day after my SPM had ended, took on a 15 hour job as a waitress in DOME KLCC that paid me RM700 a month and treated me like crap.
After four month of Cinderella torture, I moved to Pantai Hillpark. College had just started and the jobs that I took on were pretty ok. Things were good for me. I found a few new friends in college that I got along with, day by day our friendship grew stronger, 5 years in counting. Back at home there was always Joe and Thilly to brighten my day and lean on in times of trouble. The three of us were inseparable. It kinda felt like Joe was our third house mate because she hardly went back home even though it was just a few floors down, but of course; her presence was more than loved. Thilly and I took on a job at TGI Friday’s where we had the most exciting and memorable time (I’’’ save that for another day). I had discovered a whole new family here in KL, and it soon became my home. People came and left the house, and my new found family grew bigger, but none of them ever left my life. Later on came Charlene and her family whom perfected the empty spots in my circle.
Months passed by and I grew more apart from my real family, or what was left of it. I don’t remember going home or even picking up the phone to call anyone one of them; but I was doing ok. My new found boyfriend had kept me pretty occupied and happy. I remember waiting for a phone call from my mother on my 18th birthday, but she never did. But I understand why, she knew I was angry at her.
We started talking months after, but I was always rude and constantly angry. She tried very hard to win me over, but nothing worked for almost a year. I could not forgive, for leaving me at times when I think I most needed her. I learnt to detach myself and I became someone else, a young lady who was her own and nobody else’s.
My 23rd birthday celebration with my family that year was the best ive ever had. My family always took the effort to celebrate birthdays no matter what the situation was, but this time I felt something different in the air: everybody was there as usual- but this time they all wanted to be there and it wasn’t just some stupid obligation towards the other.
The festive season blew in more fun. We had a family trip down to JB and laughed throughout our journey there.
Dad- your priorities were always wrong, you made may mistakes in life, but I love the way you love strangers- and you have thought me how.
Mom- youre kinda psychotic, I dunno where to start. Hahah, but I love the way you feel the pain and joy of people close to you- and you have thought me how.
Aka- You are so irritating- I love the way you are yourself- and you have thought me how.
Ana- You have caused much worry in our hearts- but I love the way you are, for the person you are inside beneath everything that others judge you for- and you have thought us all.
H a P p Y n E w Y e A r ! ! !
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