Be Still and Know ...

If you have read my other blog entries, you will realise that none of them focuses on religion. Not specifically, that is.

No, I am neither unreligious, nor am I one of those individuals who professes to be secular and is therefore constantly on the lookout to be overly politically correct in everything he/she says.

To me, religion is a special and sacred relationship shared between an individual and God/a higher being/a belief, and no one, and I mean really NO ONE deserves to come in between; neither family, friends, loved ones, enemies, religious leaders, governments, authorities, or most of all religious police should have a say in how this relationship develops or if it even develops at all.

For this reason, it is never acceptable to impose one's beliefs on others. Nonetheless, it is also not wrong when one decides to share his/her faith in the open.

If you are still reading this paragraph, then you are perhaps the 20 percent minority who has yet to be offended and is still keen to know what I am about to say...

I am a Christian. And yes, this post is somewhat about Christmas.


Despite the increasing focus on Santa Claus and his pack of deer or even his sexy Santarina(s), most of us do know that Christmas has something to do with the Christians. After all, both words begin with the word CHRIST for a valid reason. In case you do not know, though, let me enlighten you:

Christians all over the world celebrate Christmas to remember the birth of Christ into this world, which brings along the best gift i.e. the gift of salvation.

I have no intention of giving a sermon but what I am about to share may probably be a bit more relevant for those of us who are Christians. And specifically, Christians who celebrate Christmas. To be even more precise, Christians who find ourselves too caught up with preparations for Christmas.

This is, no doubt, the busiest time of the year for most, if not all churches: musicals, caroling, gift-exchanging, evangelizing, camps, etc. It is the same for myself, too. Although I am not actively involved in the Christmas programs in my church, I am usually guilty of being busy in other ways.

Despite coming from a Chinese family, it is surprisingly Christmas and not Chinese New Year that has always been the utmost celebration at home. We usually do our spring-cleaning, bake cookies, put up the Christmas tree, and have friends and family over for Christmas day itself. For this reason, it is not surprising to find myself skipping Christmas programs at church and ending up on my all fours, scrubbing the floors and staying up the whole night long to decorate the Christmas tree while waiting for the early birds to arrive.

This year, though, thanks to massive upgrading of sewage system around our neighbourhood (which resulted in roads being closed and diverted here and there), we have decided not to hold our annual Christmas open house. Just when I thought I would finally be having a slightly more tranquil Christmas, I began to be swamped with marking and editing. And there is, of course, that matter of Christmas activities in church, and other forms of RESPONSIBILITIES to fulfil both at home and in church.

As I was busy rushing some editing work, I heard a group of people singing a Christmas carol on TV. It did not sound angelic nor was it perfectly harmonized, but there was something very sincere in those voices that made me look up from my work. Indeed, I saw a small congregation in a tiny church singing praises to God. It was not a fancy church in a modern place but more like a simple church on a remote island; there was no state-of-the-art building nor elaborate stage with the best PA and the most modern musical instruments. Just a place where everyone was solely concentrated on worshipping the Lord.

Now, that is where I really wanna be for Christmas...

I often tell people that there are two songs I wish to include in my funeral service, if I may: Jesus Loves Me This I Know and Still. One tells of Christ's love for us, while the other assures that in whatever stormy situation we face, He will always be there and be in control. I love the last line from Still best, "I will be still and know that You are God."

Oh, of course I am not saying that we should all ditch our responsibilities and run to a remote island to worship God (though that sounds super appealing). My wish for all the busy Christians this Christmas then is that we take some time off so that we may BE STILL AND KNOW THAT HE IS GOD.

Blessed Christmas!

Only for illustration purposes: I am sure the actual barn was not so organized.

A Naked Lil Girl in Our Society

While waiting at the service centre for my car to be ready, I came across a newspaper article on beggars who were able to collect up to RM3,000 a weekend. The more I read, the more frustrated I became. Some of us do not even earn that much after working hard 8 hours a day, 5 1/2 days a week, for an entire month!

It did not help when the person at the counter later presented me with a long itemised list of parts of my car (which I did not even know existed) that needed to be replaced and its respective charges. I could certainly do a lot with that additional RM3,000!

While there are some people who do not think twice before giving alms to strangers on the streets or at the night markets, I am embarrassed to admit that I am not one of them. Whenever it comes to beggars or strangers, I am quite skeptical. No, make that VERY skeptical. Unfortunately, I would normally regret not giving them anything after I have walked away ...

I recall one of the mornings when Euro 2016 fever was at its peak. There was a very interesting match in the wee hours of the morning; as a result, I had been deprived of sleep. Well, more than usual, that is. As I was walking down the walkway that connects Pavilion KL to Jalan Sultan Ismail, I caught a glimpse of a young child about 5-8 years old walking up and down the stairs. It was not an entirely unusual sight, except for the fact that the child was absolutely NAKED.

There was not a single thread on that child. I immediately thought that perhaps the parents were nearby. What made it alright for the parents to be nearby while the kid was completely naked in the heart of town on a Monday morning, I do not know. But perhaps it was the faulty reasoning of the sleep-deprived Euro 2016 mind. Then I thought that perhaps it was yet another prank or a silly 'social experiment'. Well, I was not in the mood on a Monday morning to be pranked or experimented on.

When I took a second glance, I saw that the said kid was a little girl. We have seen many lil boys parading naked (okay, maybe not so often these days) but it was not that common for a girl that age to walk around naked, and in the middle of the city. Yet, my mind was so muddled that it never occurred to me that something must have been wrong.

That is, not until I reached the bottom of the stairs and overheard the lady at the nearby nasi lemak stall saying to one of her customers, "Yalah, kesian dia." (Yes, that poor thing.)

I continued my journey to the college and by the time I reached there, I felt lower than a snake's belly. I should have done something. I should have asked her if she was alright. I should have asked where her parents were. I should have made a call to the police. At least that would have been worth something. Anything at all.

The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. I asked if any other student had witnessed that incident on their way to college but some of them shrugged it off as a joke. They said I must have been really 'lucky' to encounter such things to begin my week. They only sobered when I told them that she could have been a victim of human trafficking or even rape.

It is so sad for our society to reach this stage where we have become immune and afraid of helping strangers. We have read, heard, watched, and witnessed so many incidents where the Good Samaritan gets punished or framed for helping others.

A woman who stops to help a weeping child may end up being accused of kidnapping or even worse, led to houses where she gets robbed and/or raped. A man who stops to help a woman to fix her flat tyre in the middle of the road may also suffer the same fate. Let's face it: We are all exposed to scams 24/7.

I once asked online friends if they had ever refrained from helping a stranger at the last minute simply because they thought that person may not be genuine. It turns out that I am not alone and that many of us do get caught in that dilemma, after all.

Nonetheless, it was comforting to know that there are still people out there who believe in helping others, regardless of the consequences. Some have even purchased meals and sat down to talk to these strangers. I do observe that it is much easier for guys than for girls, though. Maybe it is their instinct to be protective, but most guys would be ever ready to help. Whether Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, free-thinkers, or atheists, they feel that they have been blessed so much, so it is their duty to help others who are in need. When I asked one of them if he expects his sister to help strangers, he said that he would definitely stop her because it is more dangerous for a female to do the same.

Case in point, a female friend said she once gave a lift to a foreigner who had his bag snatched at 6 AM in the morning. There were no other cars around and she felt compelled to send him to the hotel. Of course, she had an earful from her boss and her mother after that. It was true. That victim could have been part of a syndicate to lure young women to an unknown location and either rob and/or rape her. Sad, uh?

I agree with that friend, even if I may not have the courage to do the same. If I were in a foreign country and had lost my bag, I would be forever indebted to the stranger who offers to at least send me to the hotel. I would not want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere with no money to spare, and no valid travel documents.

We have all heard, "Do unto others, what you would want others to do unto you." Yet, I learned that it is not our right to demand for a helping hand from strangers just because we need it.

Coincidentally, on the same day that I saw the naked girl in the city, I walked back to the carpark only find that two of my tyres were rather deflated. Some people will conclude that it was karma for not helping that small girl, but I digress. As I struggled with the tyres, a smartly-dressed guy who parked next to my car just watched and drove away without even a word. Yup, perhaps I was not cute enough and did not really pass off as a damsel in distress but I prefer to think that I had the looks of a female mechanic who seemed to be fully in control of the situation. =) Either way, he did not offer to help and I did not feel comfortable imposing.

I guess we would never know whether we should or should not render help when strangers approach us. Part of us would think, "I would definitely want others to help me if I were caught in the same situation", while the other part would go, "Don't be an idiot. That person is probably gonna scam you."

I was engrossed in a discussion with a friend at a coffee shop in a busy hypermarket in KL when an unknown lady took long strides to our table and approached me for money. She quickly explained that she needed money because she had been diagnosed with cancer. What happened next was even more bizarre: with the speed of lightning she then lifted her blouse, presumably to show me her breasts. I was caught off-guard and did not know how to respond. I do know of people who are genuinely in need of money for treatment and are willing to do almost anything to get it. I have seen a man who sells home-baked muffins outside Maybank in PJ Old Town just to support his daughter's medical expenses. I have also come across a girl who walks from store to store selling her home-baked muffins to support her studies. At the same time, it is not every day that women lift their shirts to show me their bare breasts in a crowded place...

I just shook my head and said no. How did I feel after that, you ask? Of course I felt guilty because there I was enjoying an RM14 plate of nasi lemak, yet I did not give her a single dollar. Till this day, I do not know what to make of that encounter. Someone said I should have bought her a meal, but she was asking for money. And just like that Euro 2016 sleep-deprived mind, the bare-breasts mind was not functioning at its best, either.

To be, or not to be, that is the question.

- Hamlet / William Shakespeare

We love to quote these words from Shakespeare's Hamlet. While Hamlet contemplates between living and dying, our "question" is often, "To give or not to give?"

Is there an absolute answer to this? Unfortunately, no. We can only review on a case-to-case basis. But if it helps you to sleep better at night, then act accordingly. And most importantly, do not expect anything in return.

2016: The Year I Chose to Make Margarita Instead

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, OR lemon cheesecake, OR lemon curd, OR lemon chicken, OR margarita!

"I've heard that you're no longer working at XXX, so where are you attached to these days?"

Since the beginning of this year, friends, relatives, students, and acquaintances have asked me the same question many times. My reply would always be :

"Oh ... here, there, and everywhere. I'm actually teaching part-time."

At the very mention of the tabooed word - part-time, their faces would immediately dissolve into a pitiful and sympathetic expression, much similar to the expression that a full grown adult usually receives after the earth-shattering discovery, "Oh (gasp), you mean you're not married? But why?"

They will then proceed to console the unfortunate soul by saying, "It's OK. Give the economy some time. I'm sure you'll find a full-time job soon." Or, in that second instance, they would say, "It's OK. I'm sure you'll find the right person soon."

On one hand, I am sincerely moved by their concern. Seriously, I am far from feeling offended at all.

On the other hand, I have been trying very hard to explain to almost everyone that even though holding a full-time job and having a life partner may be the society's norm, some of us have actually grown quite comfortable not doing either, or both.

Let's begin with the second issue: Back when I was in school, many friends had assumed that I would eventually make a good wife. Erm, to be more accurate, a good housewife. Why? No, I was never a sex-bomb nor someone with a drop, dead, gorgeous figure to attract half of the male population. I never even had that cute, sweet, and innocent face most of my classmates were born with.

A female Inspector Gadget

Where, when, how, and why then did this notion exist? Perhaps that honourable nomination for 'a good housewife' stemmed from the way I held the broom while sweeping the class, or perhaps it was the way I held the toilet brush while scrubbing at the bowl with all my life. My family never had a cleaner or a maid, so we were trained since young to do housework. As a result, the broom and the brush always looked like natural extensions of my hand. Thus, some friends thought that I would perhaps some day make a rather convenient housewife ... something like a female version of Inspector Gadget.

When I hit puberty and started to develop even more shock absorbents on my derriere, friends used to tease that I would be very fertile, and thus, make a good mother.

Yup, you could see that our sense of logic (along with our understanding of biology) was very much screwed back then ...

Kim Kardashian vs. Angelina Jolie

Decades have passed since and I have yet to prove any of the above hypothesis right. No one knows if I would make a good housewife. And no one knows if indeed people with big bums are more fertile than their skinny counterparts. The last I checked, Angelina Jolie still has more children than Kim Kardashian. Or that I would not be a terrible parent who ends up having to bail my kids out of the lockup once they hit their rebellious teenage years.

You see, most people at my age would usually be married, with kids, and working full-time. I, on the other hand, have none of the above.

While the rest of the world may regard an unmarried and childless female as pitiful, I beg to differ.

In fact, it is this year that I finally decided to take full advantage of what people may have deemed as my 'disadvantages.'

If you had known me well enough, you will agree that I am a workaholic. Despite all the grumbling about marathon marking and pathetic pay, I actually LOVE teaching. And I guess I'll be teaching (or nagging, whichever term fits your definition) till the day I breathe my last. I have images of myself being hooked onto the life-support machine and still struggling to use my sepet eyes to 'enlighten and educate' every visitor who sits next to my deathbed.

This penchant for teaching does not only extend to my students. Unfortunately, it has spread to every area of my life. I feel like I need to 'teach' my friends, my colleagues, my relatives, and more drastically ... my immediate superiors. Perhaps it is also due to age but I had long passed the stage when I was 100% submissive and could tolerate being pushed around at work (or anywhere, for that matter).

Towards the final quarter of last year, I felt I had to resign to save whatever was left of my sanity. I did not like the idea of people bringing out the worst in me all the time. I realised that I was becoming more of a bitter and resentful monster day-by-day, and I should like to think that this monster is NOT my true self.

I had not really dared to discuss this with many fellow colleagues because I knew that they would lovingly tell me to think twice, and I would eventually lose all guts to reprint the resignation letter ("Reprint"? Ah ... but that's the story for another day).

I tendered, and to cut the story short, I was officially JOBLESS by 29 December 2015. Friends and relatives were very worried about me. it was not a common practice to resign before securing a new job. To make matters worse, they had heard that the economy was bad:

Established educational institutions were freezing their staff intake. Some were downsizing their full-time lecturers. Why wasn't I worried? Why didn't I apply to more places? Why wasn't I attending as many job interviews as I should? What would I do for a living, then?

God has a peculiar way of dealing with people. With me, He has always allowed me to be swamped with so much work that I do not have the chance or time to worry about many trivial things in life. Not until things are pretty much settled and there is no more need to worry about it, anyway. Believe it or not, I was still finishing my final round of marking two days AFTER my last day at work. It was only then that I realised that I would be free as a bird, and ... WITHOUT A JOB!"

Ironically, I tried to share some of the concerns my friends had for myself, yet I couldn't.

And they got even more flustered when I constantly replied, "Oh, no worries. I'll just tidur bawah jambatan (sleep under the bridges). After all, I have been paying income tax and road tax for the past few years!"

Don't you agree that this charcoal painting by Rudolf Boogerman looks very realistic?

In truth, I was just too relieved to be free. I wanted some kind of rest. And somehow, it was difficult for me to explain to everyone why I deserved that rest.

As the new year began and everyone started with their usual rounds of resolutions, I finally put my finger on the reason why I was not as worried as my friends thought I should have been: My condition was very different from theirs.

Let me put it clearly:

a) I am not married, so I do not need my husband's approval before I make decisions.
b) I am childless, so I do not need to worry about my children's expenses.
c) I do not own a house, so I do not need to pay for installments.
d) I do not even drive a new car, so I do not need to pay for my 9-year old Myvi.

So you see, while the fact that I am husbandless, childless, houseless, and new-carless (if I may coin that term) seems to be a DISADVANTAGE to most people, to me and at this time, these are my ADVANTAGES.

2016: The Year I Took Advantage of My Disadvantages 

I can take that rest, because I do not have these burdens to bear. Not at this time, at least.

And the beauty of it all? I have been exposed to a whole new world of FREELANCING, which can be darn addictive, mind you! As a result, I now have more confidence, more freedom, sometimes more money, and most of all more quality time and energy to spend with my family members and loved ones.

I know that I will look back at this year in time to come and truly appreciate the meal-times I spent with my parents, the chats I had while catching up with friends, and the out-of-classroom lectures I shove into everyone who comes to me for consultation.

I may still die a pauper in a few years' time, but hey, I am not going to worry about that now. In fact, I just want to take time to sit back and thank God for all that He has blessed me with.

People say, "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade". This is partly true. But if you feel that lemon meringue pie, lemon chicken, lemon cheesecake, lemon curd, or even margarita fits you better, go for it.

After all, lemonade is NOT the ONLY option in life.  

Naughty Names and Funny Folders

Some time towards the end of last year, I was forced to do some housekeeping on the  company laptop. I had tendered my resignation and it was just a matter of time before the laptop would have to be returned to the company.  

In that process, I came across some of the most incredulous folder names, some of which I had totally forgotten:

One of my friends once shared that she had a "JIC" folder. When I asked her what the acronym stood for, she replied, "Just In Case". Apparently, she had stored all her backups in that folder. (This was, of course, back when Cloud was nonexistent or not popular). I thought that was very smart of her. I am ashamed to say that my backups, on the other hand, were scattered among folders such as "Miscellaneous", "Desktop", and "Rubbish".

Then there were, of course, important office documents such as "Office" or "Bonus and Workload Crap" where I stored all my years of KPIs and appraisals. I grudgingly recall those days when the company had occasionally loaded me with "Editing Nonsense" just because I happen to teach some English/Literature subjects. Somehow, the management had refused to believe that Literature Lecturers SHOULD NOT be confused with Copywriters, Proofreaders, or Editors.

But perhaps the folder that puts a smile on my face now is the one labelled "Mad Fella". In that folder lies all irrelevant documents created and demanded by one of the more overzealous superiors.

Now that I am on freelance, no one has yet inherited the "Mad Fella" folder. Nonetheless, teaching in three different institutions means I have at least 3 different email accounts and another 2-3 e-learning sites, all of which have different web addresses, login names, and passwords. All these are, of course, in addition to the usual logins and passwords to my personal emails, Facebook profile, Internet banking, and other online sites. For this reason, my current laptop has a file named "Passwords for Life". Before you consider hacking into that file, do be informed that I am not silly enough to save any logins or passwords of sites that are in any way linked to cash. =)

I also have another folder entitled "Tried, Tested, Proven" where I store all recipes which I have tried, tested, and ... proven.

It turns out that creating folders with weird names is not an exclusive art. When I asked around, some friends have mentioned that they too, are guilty of having in possession folders with rather suspicious names. These include "Do Not Open" (pretty obvious), "Ladies Training", "Blackhole", and "Greed". Just when I was about to conclude that this person was actively involved in human trafficking or cross-dressing, he explained that "Ladies Training" was actually a training file for a brand line, and as dodgy as "Blackhole" may suggest, it is merely a folder of articles which that person would want to read sometime in the future. "Greed" apparently contains details of debtors. (PM me if you need his contact.)

Perhaps I am not so weird, after all. But then again, I seem to notice that I have quite a few erm, strange entries in my phone, too.

Have you ever experienced this: You bump into someone at the mall and although you remember his/her name, you cannot immediately register where you first met this person. Was he/she a friend from primary school, secondary school, Form Six, undergrad, masters, the first office, second office, church, blah, blah, and blah? You begin to exchange updates about various other friends that each of you still keep in touch with, only to realise that half of that list are people not common to BOTH of you. When you come home, you excitedly tell one of your close friends that you bumped into that person. To which your close friend may answer, "Huh, who's that?" Once again, you realise that this friend does not know your other friend.

A real pigeon-hole

That is why I tend to compartmentalize and pigeon-hole my friends (sorry, guys). Unless you are a very close relative, I tend to bestow the same last names to everyone within the same organization or place where we first met. Of course some of these names may overlap, considering that some friends were with me at different phases and spheres in my life. Jennifer from institution ABC will be recorded as "Jennifer ABC", whereas Jennifer from XYZ will be known as "Jennifer XYZ". This method is not foolproof, though, but I'll save that story for another day.

When I scroll down the names in my phone, I see entries such as "Bank Nonsense" (I seem to like the word nonsense quite a lot), "DO NOT PICK UP", and "SPY". Other people claim to have "DO NOT PICK UP" in their phones, too, but upon checking, we realize that it is not the same person. Other creative names include "2 AM stalker" and "3 AM stalker". For unknown reasons, these two unidentified people have called me at those hours and had refused to say anything. I was half asleep in front of the TV when the first call came through. My brother decided to pick up the phone and save that caller as "3 AM stalker". It was therefore very natural for me to save the number of the next person who called at 2:00 AM but refused to say a word as "2 AM stalker". 

Almost the same time as I was asking around for weird entries in other people's phone, an advertisement came through via SMS at 3:45 AM one morning. It just so happened that I was catching up with my pile of work while seated in front of the telly (again), so I decided to 'punish' this person by leaving missed calls in his/her phone ... one hour later, at 4:45 AM. And another at 5:00 AM. The last one, just before I got ready for work at 5:45 AM. Call me Ms. Vindictive if you must, for I can tolerate spam messages but not at 3:45 AM in the morning! I then saved this caller's number as "Idiot @ 3:45 am".

One friend had an equally long and strange entry in her phone. Someone had called her at 12 midnight saying, "Do not leave me, Joanne!" Although she insisted that she wasn't 'Joanne', he did not believe her and kept calling. She saved his number as "Guy looking for Joanne". Other funny contributions include "Spam", "Blacklist", "Pervert", "Reject", "Gym (Do not answer)", and even "Sloth". I think if I were to go about asking for more, the list will be endless.

So what do you think? Is this a weird practice or do you also have naughty names and funny folders saved in your electronic gadgets?

Memory - A Double-Edged Sword

This post is certainly long overdue. How often have you heard someone saying something and in the next instant, you suddenly find yourself immersed in a moment of enlightenment and are filled with endless inspiration for the next blog post? The ideas come crashing violently like an avalanche but that will be the exact moment when there is nary a laptop/electronic gadget nor a piece of paper and a pen around for you to record these precious lil 'nuggets' before they slip away. 

Not being able to jot your ideas down is one thing, but not having the TIME to actually string these ideas together in your blog is another. When you finally do get to sit down and type, all the beautiful phrases you once had in mind disappear into thin air. You are, then, left with a writer's block.

Calvin's idea of a Writer's Block

... but I digress ...

... but maybe not, since the subject of this entry is on MEMORY, after all.

I seem to notice a strange obsession with the powers of memory in at least two recent TVB dramas. In one of these series, a traffic police officer has an excellent mental storage known as her memory palace in which she is able to visit and recall every minute detail about encounters she has had with practically anyone. She is nothing less than a human computer who can even mentally record the file number of each case.

Speed of Life

In another drama, a private investigator does the same. She is able to travel to the past (albeit in her mind) to look for clues which she may have missed out initially. Both women managed to solve many cases thanks to their extraordinary memory.

Eye in the Sky

Perhaps it is a coincidence that both characters are female. But then again, perhaps it is true that women do have better memory, and therefore, have better excuses for holding grudges. ;)

Well, I am a woman but sometimes I can have the memory of a potato. I may climb upstairs to my room or stand with the fridge door ajar and not remember what I had wanted to get from there in the first place. That is why I have learned a very useful skill in life: CHANTING my way to my destination. Granted, it is only applicable under 3 special conditions:

a) if you wish to retrieve only ONE item

While it is acceptable to chant, "salt, salt, salt, salt, salt" till your hand is safely wrapped around the salt shaker from across the table, there is no way for you to chant your entire shopping list. That's already singing a complete song, and you may end up with enough materials to produce an album.

b) if your destination is not too far

Even if it is just one item, you cannot be chanting "bread, bread, bread, bread, bread, bread," as you drive 7 km to TESCO.

c) if no one distracts you along the way

Remember the story of the dog that lost its precious bone after barking at its own reflection in the water? The very moment you open your mouth to speak to anyone is the exact moment when your memory spills out.

I often chant "Orange, orange, orange, orange, orange, orange ..." until I reach the refrigerator. I have also gone "phone, phone, phone, phone, phone" all the way to my room. Then there are times when I come out of my car and go "wallet, wallet, wallet, wallet, wallet..." If you do not know me, you will certainly think I am a wacko.

In fact, now that I have blabbed so much, I have forgotten the main point of this particular entry ...

I have to admit: Our memory is a very strange thing, indeed!

If my memory was that good, I would have aced every exam in school. The truth is, I have forgotten my fair share of important historical dates, scientific facts, grammatical rules, and mathematical formulae. Birthdays I can remember; anniversaries are not a challenge, but useful and important information? Nah, no way. Let's just forget about it.

Yet, I seem to have quite a peculiar collection in my personal memory store. The more nonsensical and trivial the information is, the more vividly I tend to remember. These are merely the tip of the iceberg:

i) I vividly remember refusing to walk down the aisle as a flower girl for my aunt's wedding when I was only 4. There was dry ice all over and I thought the adults must have been crazy to insist that I walk through what seemed like a 'smoky fire' to a 4-year-old.

ii) Embarassingly, I only started weaning myself off the milk bottle when my parents forgot to bring the bottle along on our very first trip to Penang. I was almost 5 then. I wailed so much but was too disgusted (and maybe even too egoistic) to accept my aunt's offer to use one of the bottles that belonged to a kid she took care of.

iii) When I was in Standard Three, one of my classmates misspelled Port Dickson as 'PORK Dickson and was reprimanded by our class teacher (who usually drew 'swimming pools' in our exercise books after drifting to sleep while marking). For some strange reason, our teacher was wide awake that day.

iv) This same best friend of mine had to literally sew me up in my pinafore when I was 11 because the zipper had given way.

v) When I was 14, the lady who sold fruits in our school canteen had commented that the natural colour of my hair was too light and had predicted that my entire head will turn gray ere long.

vi) One of the things I have brought home with my very first salary as a promoter was a big bag of Washington apples from Tops Supermarket.

All these information are non-beneficial. They cannot be exchanged for money nor can they be used to edify anyone. Even so, I think they will remain in my memory for a long time.

I do not only remember stories about myself but also about other people. For instance, my now teenaged godchildren, nieces, and nephews love to hear stories about random things they have done when they were only little babies or toddlers. I suppose their parents were too preoccupied taking care of them to take note of such insignificant facts.

It amazes me to think that I can forget important things but have such clear memory of other unimportant events. When I was flipping through one of the psychology textbooks a few years ago, I came across a very interesting term which may just explain what I am blessed with: a rather good episodic memory. Now don't ask me what that means. I cannot recall proper facts from textbooks, remember?

Sadly, this memory works as a double-edged sword. Along with all the warm, touching, encouraging, and funny anecdotes, I also tend to have equally good retention for bad memories. I recall the first (and hopefully last) time a person slapped my face (and for what reason). I recall my Standard Six PE teacher scolding me and commenting that my 'muka macam lembu' (face like a cow). I recall a boy in the school bus calling me a 'fatso'. I remember how a conman cornered me when I was barely 18. And many many more hurtful things that have happened all these years. Try as hard as I might, these things cannot be eliminated from my storage. If I had a giant eraser in life, these bad memories would have been the very first things I wish to erase. You see, they serve no purpose except to relive the pain and humiliation I felt at that time.

There is some consolation, though. My memory is starting to deteriorate with age. A case in point: I used to be able to remember all the 129 names of students from one of the Foundation classes. Now? All it takes is just 12 students to confuse me throughout the entire semester.

A classmate thinks that we should meet up more often to share these crazy stories of our childhood. My university roommate once said that I should occassionally remind her of the silly things we used to do while staying together. Former colleagues always enjoy talking about our fun-filled office days over a simple meal. Cousins laugh at each other's quirky habits as little children.

Sometimes I wish I could record all these down in writing, but it is somewhat impossible because as time passes, we generate even more memorable instances. We can only hope that the memories we generate each day will be sweet and memorable for the times to come. To quote Charles Swindoll, "each day of our lives, we make deposits in the memory banks of our children." Even when a person is long gone, memories of him/her lives on.

With that, I wish that you have a great week ahead filled with wonderful memories for the future!  

The Princess Who Wears BATA

"It's true," she said. "Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess. I pretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like one." - Sarah Crewe in Frances Burnett's A Little Princess

Little Princesses

Almost every little girl has fantasized that perhaps the parents she is living with is not her 'real' parents, after all. Perhaps she is really a princess of an obscure little country in a remote corner of the earth, exiled or smuggled away from her royal parents at birth in an attempt to protect her from villainous vultures vying for the throne. Perhaps one day, someone will come and reinstate her title as a princess.

Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps, Princess.

I would be telling an outright lie if I were to say that as a little girl I had never even once dreamt of being a princess. This royal fantasy never lasted for long, though. I guess deep down in my heart (and even as a child), I knew I was never cut out from any royal cloth and that I would have felt extremely out of place if someone were to tell me that I had royal blood flowing through my veins.  

Why? There is something safe about being able to blend in with the crowd and to be regarded as just another ordinary member of the public. I do not envy people who are the constant target of paparazzi. My definition of being at ease does not include sucking my tummy in, pushing my chest out, holding my chin up, and going around with a back as straight as an arrow at all times. Leave all that to the soldiers! 

I want to be able to slouch when my back aches, unbutton my pants or loosen my belt when I feel bloated, eat with my elbows resting on the table, and laugh so loudly that anyone within a 500 meter radius would think that a cruise liner is on its way. 

These, to me, are the simple pleasures of life.

Imagine living the life of Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge, for one day. I bet all she wants at the end of the day is to kick off those trademark high heels of hers, and slouch on a sofa with an Archie comic in one hand and a glass of colourful Slurpee in another. But then again, maybe that's just me.

Back when I was at a marriageable age, I used to make fun of my dad's table manners (or the lack thereof). You see, my dad enjoys eating. When he eats, he gets erm ... pretty excited. By that, I mean he will forget all his table manners, glue his elbows to the table, and start slurping and burping. I would then exclaim, "This is why I can't ever marry a prince! The palace doesn't allow family members to slurp and rest their elbows on dining tables." 

Now that I am much older, I realized that I am definitely no princess material but truly my father's daughter. I do not care much about table manners, either. For one thing, I am one whom you would regret taking to a fine dining restaurant:

My colleague and I once booked for a meal at the fine dining restaurant run by the culinary students in college. Although it was not a full-fledged fine dining venue, I was very confused when I first sat down to inspect the cutlery on the table one by one. Which pieces were we supposed to use first? What was that advice I once heard long ago: work my way in or work my way out? Oh, working certainly takes the joy out of eating!

So I did what any thick-skinned lecturer would do: stop a student (who was on waitressing duty) to ask which fork I should use for the appetizer. Yeah, I may be marking your essays and correcting your enunciation, but I jolly well know that I am no expert when it comes to fine-dining.

Being the typical uncouth Chinese guests, my lunch partner and I further embarrassed ourselves when the food arrived and we instinctively exclaimed, "Huh, that's all ar? Must have Maggi mee after this." The other drawback of eating in a fine-dining restaurant is the lack of surrounding noise. That means, almost everyone around you will be able to hear most of your conversation unless you keep whispering at a decibel that is only audible to canines. Of course, others got to hear our comments about the portion. To be fair, the serving was actually very filling. We were completely stuffed at the end of the meal. The chef had just decided to use a plate that left too much empty space for our greedy eyes. Also, it was a good thing that the main dish was fish, because if it had been chicken instead, it would have taken a whole lot of effort to prevent me from eating with my fingers. How else do you do justice to a tasty piece of fried chicken? 

Eating like a glutton

Dessert failed to transform me into a refined guest. After eating the slices of mooncakes (with the correct fork, mind you), I started scraping the bottom of the plate because I thought we were meant to eat the chocolate which was deliberately smeared over the plate as part of the decoration. After a while, I gave up. 

Even if I eventually master the arts of fine-dining in future, there are still other areas to remind me that I have a looonnngg way to go before I become a princess.

People who know me well would not dare to let me entertain important guests because they know that I have an unstoppable tongue. As much as I want to appear professional and formal even for a short moment, I will usually dissolve into my loud, boisterous, unpretentious self within 15 minutes. And that is when all hell breaks loose. I will forget that I am supposed to create a good impression, or that I should be careful with my words and ensure that I do not offend the other party. There is no point showing me the family tree or the flowchart of an organization. My tongue goes on an autopilot mode and I conveniently forget all hierarchical boundaries.

Okay, even if I were to develop excellent table manners and tame my tongue, there is still another area which will disqualify me as a princess.

I am generally quite sloppy, but I think I am sloppiest when it comes to dressing. Because my figure has always been less than desirable, it has never been easy for me to get clothes that fit, let alone any that actually looks smart. Consequently, I have developed the habit of wearing only t-shirt and jeans or even stretchable slacks (since my jeans keep shrinking, if you know what I mean) everywhere I go.

Brands have never appealed to me. While I may be loyal to certain detergent brands, I do not pay attention when it comes to apparels. If something fits, it can be Gucci, Pucci, Mucci ... I don't care. The only thing I cannot tolerate is, imitation or fake goods. I would much rather wear a pair of original Asadi slippers as opposed to fake Adidas sneakers.

The best slippers on earth, in my opinion. My cousin says there should be a pair of these in every house.

For all these reasons, I have decided that perhaps I do not want to be a princess, after all. There is too much at stake and too much for me to change. It is much better to remain as a commoner. So what if the Devil wears Prada? Even if I had married a Prince, I would have been the Princess who still wears BATA.