Minding the Mother(-in-law)
Age has caught up with you, Mak,
You are eighty years young;
young as in your second childhood comes
rolling round.
Helpless, incapable of the simplest task;
like a child just learning to live
while yours is reaching its end.
You need me to hold your hands
as you totter out of the bath;
the way I held Iman and Imran's hands
as they toddled on the stony path.
You fear the dark, need me there next to you in bed.
The same way the twins are scared of robots and dinosaurs beneath their bed,
and they want all the lights on,
blinding me,
like you blind me, with the lights on.
You pick at your food,
because your appetite is gone,
The twins refused theirs
because they have to run and scream and play or see if the tv's on.
Minding you is like minding the babies, Mak,
You are both the same, but how different.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
A Comeback Comment!!!
Maybe I should, for the moment, deal with my business of being a grandmother.
Well..it's not that very late to welcome UMAR IRSYAD to this page!!!! Yes, dear followers, the twins have a baby brother now, and sadly, he's not so `baby' anymore because Irsyad has just turned 10 months old and already standing and creeping all over the place. He was born on 1st September 2011, making me a granny all over again. Being a `single' baby (as opposed to his brothers' `double' babies) and fully breast-fed makes Irsyad extremely close to his mother and although will open up his fat little arms to me, does not bond as well to anyone else.
Meanwhile, The Twins have turned 4 last 16th June, and God, how they have grown! Already in kindergarten since they were 3, Iman and Imran have learnt so much: it's so amazing to see them scrawl their first letters and I have saved every single childish scribble. It's so wonderful to see Iman form his first `A'..! Always the one to be in a flurry and a scurry, Imran jumped straight on to `H' and instead of Iman's slow and careful impressions of `ball' (for circles) or `balloon', Imran ran ahead to draw a robot, antenna and all. Iman speaks so well but Imran lisps and does that deter him? Not my Imran! He'd go full steam ahead and say whatever crosses his mind. I took them to Nursery this morning and my aged mother-in-law was in the car too when the following conversation took place:
Iman: Papa nak beli ais kerim nanti.
Nenek: Ais kerim untuk Nyang ada? (`Nyang' is their great-grandmother)
Imran: Nyang tak `leh matan (makan) ai`tim (ais kerim).
Nenek: Kenapa?
Imran: Nyang matan..toteyat (cokelat!)
Iman: A-ah..Nyang makan cokelat.
And at the doorstep of their Nursery cum Kindergarten, they both turned to give me the biggest hugs their arms could do.
I drove away with tears in my eyes. I wondered: how long will the hugging last? Will they one day be too embarrassed to be seen hugging or kissing me, or even to be holding my hand? How quickly they become four years old, and they will be fourteen just as fast. And when Imran is able to talk correctly without that adorable lisp, will he be arguing with me and criticising me instead? They slept over at my place last night and both insisted on sleeping on either side of my arm, so much so that I awoke this morning with aching arms. But the pain was nothing compared to the pain I feel at thinking how fast they seem to grow. Right now they still literally jump into my arms when they see me; what can I do so that they remain just as warm and loving and eager to meet their Nenek?
Maybe I will not think too far ahead; I will enjoy their childhood more than they themselves do!
After all, that's what neneks are for...
(This is just a midnight thought and a come-back jottings. Photos will be inserted soon)
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
The Twins
play on, Imran.. ...before Life puzzled you further...
Imran and Iman and Cat...
If a picture paints a thousand words,
Then why can't I paint you..
Words will never show
The you I've come to know..
(from the song `If' by Bread)
and the both of you
are worth a thousand pictures
yet I am left
speechless.
Without a word
to say
what you both mean to me.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Orphanage & Ronald McDonald
This is a subject that I have long mulled over, and only now have got a reason to proceed with. Orphanages. And I restrict the subject to those run by Islamic bodies.
Two weeks ago I was approached by an Islamic-based society for a donation for a Maulidur Rasul celebration here in Johor Bahru, and the caller reiterated over and over again, in a very persuasive manner, that the makan-makan is for "anak-anak yatim, ye, Puan..". I did not want to argue or ask too many questions: where will the `anak-anak yatim' come from? Orphanages in the State?
Because I know that in times like this, the Maulid, Hari Raya, or any religious calendar, the orphans are treated well and abundantly. They will be invited to almost daily `makan' by various charitable organizations or even local artistes eager to serve and appear in the news for doing `good'.
And at other times...where do these unfortunate children eat? At their orphanages, of course.
Are they remembered during the International Children's Day in October? I wonder...do they celebrate their birthdays? If there is a circus in town, does anyone take them there? Have they been entertained by magicians or even the A&W Bear or Ronald McDonald? Have they ever been allowed to run around in Malls where there are men who twist balloons into funny animal shapes? What about Baskin Robbins or Tutti Frutti or Pizza Hut? Do they have Facebooks or Twitter like our children do? Do they know about iPhones or iPads? Twiddle with them? Are they allowed to do so, by the managers? In brief, are they allowed to grow up normal?
When my husband and I were in the districts, my husband became a committee member of the local orphanage. One night they had a meeting in my house, and my husband was to chair it so he sat there, and a moment later walked into the room and came out again with a `kopiah haji' on his head, and sheepishly whispered to me, "Forgot..this is Lembaga Anak Yatim meeting."
I peeked and saw a table of about 12 men, old or middle-aged, with the kopiah or songkok and looking very, very sober indeed.
Then it was Hari Raya and I had a `feast' at home and invited the Lembaga as well. Fine. Except that the children and their supervisors arrived in uniforms of dull blue batik...children as young as 6 or 7, in blue batik...the girls in baggy baju kurung and wore black tudungs and the little boys in similar batik shirts that cuffed at the wrists. And songkok. And they lined up in proper rows for their food and laughed in well-mannered giggles. All the while I thought of Oliver Twist...how accurately Charles Dickens described the scene in his book, and that was in the 19th century. I was talking about 2006.
It is commendable that they are brought up as perfect Muslims, as long as they do not become misfits in their own society. These children go to school in school vans, with the name of their Home emblazoned on the sides - Rumah Kebajikan Anak-Anak Yatim So-And-So, and in smaller inscriptions, `Kenderaan ini diderma oleh...'. And they troop down as the whole school watch them. So what? So...they might as well have all these labels tied around their necks. Let the whole world know where they come from, who they are, that they are CHARITY. KEBAJIKAN. That's what. How they keep themselves cheered, I do not know.
Would the 12 elderly men know what these children want, after knowing what they need? I observe this more keenly when Ali grows into a young teenager, with teenage demands: "Ma, can I have iPad for my birthday?" then change his mind and asked for an iPhone4. And yet changed his mind again and again, and each time with some novelty or other. He wears Bermuda shorts and strut around in Ipenama slippers, self-assured and confident as he sometimes mind my Internet Cafe. He is able to work out a schedule for my staff there so that everyone gets a day off. Of course, I have to scream and shout daily for him to get his homework done or to perform his solat, but that's part of discipline without being overbearing. At 15, he smiles impishly and not even his Abah can resist it when he says, "Abah..nak Netbook..."
Do the young men at the Orphanages smile just as mischievously, and if they do, would anyone there notice it and get swayed? Or would they be lectured on the vices of modern technology? Would they go to school and watch with envy at their friends' Converse schoolbag or Nike shoes, while they wore the Bata shoes donated by a Yang Berhormat somewhere? Luxury..no no. I can almost hear the 12 elders, with much sadness in their voice, telling these little parentless children, that they are poor...they cannot demand...be thankful for what they have...
The real world is out there, changing at an accelerating rate. You buy an iPhone4 today and next month iPhone5 is out. You learn on WindowsVista, and now its Windows7.. kids are gregarious, confident, they know what they want..they are taught to be heard, not merely seen.
Teachers can no longer bully them if they are late for school because school children are taught to stand for their right: "Sir, I was late because there was a massive traffic jam. Can you do anything about that?" We teach children to be bold and brave, not shrink back in fear or inferiority.
So..come on, all those with money and name..give these unfortunate children a taste of the real world. They do not want to eat good food, they also want popular foods...part with your money on their birthdays with quality merchandise or technological crazes. Let them be brave and confident. Let them be normal. Get Ronald McDonald to come round to the Homes with burgers and fries...and please, all the 12 wise men, it is not really necessary to paint the school van in such big bold letters to announce where these children come from, is it? And let them work part-time outside. At Internet Cafes. Or Boutiques. And let them laugh with real mirth, with genuine joy.
Two weeks ago I was approached by an Islamic-based society for a donation for a Maulidur Rasul celebration here in Johor Bahru, and the caller reiterated over and over again, in a very persuasive manner, that the makan-makan is for "anak-anak yatim, ye, Puan..". I did not want to argue or ask too many questions: where will the `anak-anak yatim' come from? Orphanages in the State?
Because I know that in times like this, the Maulid, Hari Raya, or any religious calendar, the orphans are treated well and abundantly. They will be invited to almost daily `makan' by various charitable organizations or even local artistes eager to serve and appear in the news for doing `good'.
And at other times...where do these unfortunate children eat? At their orphanages, of course.
Are they remembered during the International Children's Day in October? I wonder...do they celebrate their birthdays? If there is a circus in town, does anyone take them there? Have they been entertained by magicians or even the A&W Bear or Ronald McDonald? Have they ever been allowed to run around in Malls where there are men who twist balloons into funny animal shapes? What about Baskin Robbins or Tutti Frutti or Pizza Hut? Do they have Facebooks or Twitter like our children do? Do they know about iPhones or iPads? Twiddle with them? Are they allowed to do so, by the managers? In brief, are they allowed to grow up normal?
When my husband and I were in the districts, my husband became a committee member of the local orphanage. One night they had a meeting in my house, and my husband was to chair it so he sat there, and a moment later walked into the room and came out again with a `kopiah haji' on his head, and sheepishly whispered to me, "Forgot..this is Lembaga Anak Yatim meeting."
I peeked and saw a table of about 12 men, old or middle-aged, with the kopiah or songkok and looking very, very sober indeed.
Then it was Hari Raya and I had a `feast' at home and invited the Lembaga as well. Fine. Except that the children and their supervisors arrived in uniforms of dull blue batik...children as young as 6 or 7, in blue batik...the girls in baggy baju kurung and wore black tudungs and the little boys in similar batik shirts that cuffed at the wrists. And songkok. And they lined up in proper rows for their food and laughed in well-mannered giggles. All the while I thought of Oliver Twist...how accurately Charles Dickens described the scene in his book, and that was in the 19th century. I was talking about 2006.
It is commendable that they are brought up as perfect Muslims, as long as they do not become misfits in their own society. These children go to school in school vans, with the name of their Home emblazoned on the sides - Rumah Kebajikan Anak-Anak Yatim So-And-So, and in smaller inscriptions, `Kenderaan ini diderma oleh...'. And they troop down as the whole school watch them. So what? So...they might as well have all these labels tied around their necks. Let the whole world know where they come from, who they are, that they are CHARITY. KEBAJIKAN. That's what. How they keep themselves cheered, I do not know.
Would the 12 elderly men know what these children want, after knowing what they need? I observe this more keenly when Ali grows into a young teenager, with teenage demands: "Ma, can I have iPad for my birthday?" then change his mind and asked for an iPhone4. And yet changed his mind again and again, and each time with some novelty or other. He wears Bermuda shorts and strut around in Ipenama slippers, self-assured and confident as he sometimes mind my Internet Cafe. He is able to work out a schedule for my staff there so that everyone gets a day off. Of course, I have to scream and shout daily for him to get his homework done or to perform his solat, but that's part of discipline without being overbearing. At 15, he smiles impishly and not even his Abah can resist it when he says, "Abah..nak Netbook..."
Do the young men at the Orphanages smile just as mischievously, and if they do, would anyone there notice it and get swayed? Or would they be lectured on the vices of modern technology? Would they go to school and watch with envy at their friends' Converse schoolbag or Nike shoes, while they wore the Bata shoes donated by a Yang Berhormat somewhere? Luxury..no no. I can almost hear the 12 elders, with much sadness in their voice, telling these little parentless children, that they are poor...they cannot demand...be thankful for what they have...
The real world is out there, changing at an accelerating rate. You buy an iPhone4 today and next month iPhone5 is out. You learn on WindowsVista, and now its Windows7.. kids are gregarious, confident, they know what they want..they are taught to be heard, not merely seen.
Teachers can no longer bully them if they are late for school because school children are taught to stand for their right: "Sir, I was late because there was a massive traffic jam. Can you do anything about that?" We teach children to be bold and brave, not shrink back in fear or inferiority.
So..come on, all those with money and name..give these unfortunate children a taste of the real world. They do not want to eat good food, they also want popular foods...part with your money on their birthdays with quality merchandise or technological crazes. Let them be brave and confident. Let them be normal. Get Ronald McDonald to come round to the Homes with burgers and fries...and please, all the 12 wise men, it is not really necessary to paint the school van in such big bold letters to announce where these children come from, is it? And let them work part-time outside. At Internet Cafes. Or Boutiques. And let them laugh with real mirth, with genuine joy.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
To be or not to be...
"UM students angry over English stress".
Prime News, Straits Times today the 12th of March, 2011.
Prof. Datuk Dr Ghauth Jasmon, do not, do NOT ever apologise to those students: narrow-minded, emotional, blind university students.
Tell them, those people from the Academy of Malay Studies, that you do not become less a Malay for knowing more of English. I AM INDIGNANT!!
I was a graduate from UM majoring in English Studies and went on to do my second degree at U of Nottingham, UK, majoring in English Literature. Am I less a Malay because I know more about Shakespeare than Hang Tuah? I would like to tell about my own experiences with these folks from the Malay Dept of UM because their gall against English had been just as intense in those days.
A Malay reading English, to them, is unpatriotic. And they looked upon me, a slip of a girl from Kota Bharu, Kelantan, as both unpatriotic and arrogant so they tried to invade into my life. Students from the English Dept had forever been wearing jeans and t-shirts. So one smart aleck from the MS (my friend Fatimah Hashim and I called them 'MS' for Malay Studies) sent a message via another to please tell Rohani not to wear jeans. The messenger also told me not to go out with that boy from Johor. So to protest, I wore jeans even on Fridays whereas I had always worn baju kurung on that day of the week, and I rode with `that boy from Johor' on his Yamaha BAJ 9612 even to lectures. I took my tray of food and sat with him in the dining hall. The MS always practised `group eating' and `group dressing', like, they went down for meals in a large group and occupied a whole long table. They wore baju kurung everyday, and if anyone decided to be in something slightly different, then the entire gang of girls would wear the same. They called the phenomenon `solidarity'. I called it `insecurity'. The girls would walk with such sway and grace. The girls from my Dept stomped and skipped. They giggled with their hands covering their mouth. We guffawed.
Then, after graduation and everyone finally became the citizens of the country responsible for its development and progress, the irony set in. How?
I met a girl from the MS who already had a baby then. What did the baby call her? "Mummy". And the father ? "Daddy." My kids call me Mama and their father (the boy from Johor) "Abah."
Then I become a grandmother and met another ex-student of UM from the MS, after so many years, she too, with a grandson. Good Heavens...you know what she asked the little chap to call her? "GRANNY" !!! And my own grandsons call me NENEK!!!
Another graduate of the MS started a business and a huge signboard went up that said "Beauty SALOON and Spa". Hey, guna Bahasa Melayu lah...`Kedai Kecantikan' is so Melayu, kan? And did she know the difference between `saloon' and `salon'? Or, how many signages have you seen around town that said `Ayu Butik' (or some other name)..did these people learn grammar in school? Oops...of course not. Grammar is for English and we must not stress English, right? Because, dear entrepreneur, it should be Butik Ayu or Ayu Boutique. Forgot what your `teacher' or `sir' taught you about placement of adjectives? Why must all businesses be in English? Why try so hard if you do not know a word of that invaders' language? Let me tell you - it's stylish.
Now they pass statements like "...the call (to give importance to English) was seen by students of the Academy of Malay Studies as a move to sideline Bahasa Malaysia"..wait til they get out there, to reality. Then the first thing that will happen to them is to name their first son 'Isaac' and their daughter `Eva'. Mummy and Daddy. Wear green contact lenses. Dye hair light blonde. Go eat at fancy restaurants and all they order is `chicken chop' because what the hell should they say if they ordered steak (`stik') and the waiter asked "How would you like it done, madam?" ...UNdone?
Wait a minute. How about the names of those Nasyid groups: `In-Team' and `Nowseeheart'...are they supposed to be 'Intim' and `Nasihat'? I just wonder why the need for those spellings...if they intend to go International, why make things eady for the foreigners to pronounce? `Raihan' or `Rabbani' don't seem to have any problems. Which brings to mind what my friend in England had asked the moment I got there, eyes still blurry with jet-lag: "So...what English name have you chosen for yourself?" Huh? "Well, I'm Salbiah, but they can never say my name, so I let them call me Sally." I nearly puked.
And dear protestors...you are well aware of how the Malay Language itself has evolved. Surf the Net. Go to anyone's (who's Malay) Facebook, and read their language...example: 'aku g jap jerk, bole? ' I have received SMS which I could not decipher, and they are supposed to be in Malay.
Do you remember the Malay proverb that says, the more knowledge you have, the humbler you should be? So, the more you know of the English Language, the lesser you would want to assimilate into their culture. When my grandsons were born, the first warning I gave my son is, no English/Western-sounding names for the twins. No Danish. No Daniel. No Ryan. Or Isaac. Or Alexander. So I have now my adorable Umar Iman and Umar Imran. Hair and skin so light in colour they could pass as, er, Orang Putih.
Let us not be hypocrites, lah, ok? Let's not display our insecurities and low self-esteem to the world. Because that is what it is: INFERIORITY COMPLEX.
Prime News, Straits Times today the 12th of March, 2011.
Prof. Datuk Dr Ghauth Jasmon, do not, do NOT ever apologise to those students: narrow-minded, emotional, blind university students.
Tell them, those people from the Academy of Malay Studies, that you do not become less a Malay for knowing more of English. I AM INDIGNANT!!
I was a graduate from UM majoring in English Studies and went on to do my second degree at U of Nottingham, UK, majoring in English Literature. Am I less a Malay because I know more about Shakespeare than Hang Tuah? I would like to tell about my own experiences with these folks from the Malay Dept of UM because their gall against English had been just as intense in those days.
A Malay reading English, to them, is unpatriotic. And they looked upon me, a slip of a girl from Kota Bharu, Kelantan, as both unpatriotic and arrogant so they tried to invade into my life. Students from the English Dept had forever been wearing jeans and t-shirts. So one smart aleck from the MS (my friend Fatimah Hashim and I called them 'MS' for Malay Studies) sent a message via another to please tell Rohani not to wear jeans. The messenger also told me not to go out with that boy from Johor. So to protest, I wore jeans even on Fridays whereas I had always worn baju kurung on that day of the week, and I rode with `that boy from Johor' on his Yamaha BAJ 9612 even to lectures. I took my tray of food and sat with him in the dining hall. The MS always practised `group eating' and `group dressing', like, they went down for meals in a large group and occupied a whole long table. They wore baju kurung everyday, and if anyone decided to be in something slightly different, then the entire gang of girls would wear the same. They called the phenomenon `solidarity'. I called it `insecurity'. The girls would walk with such sway and grace. The girls from my Dept stomped and skipped. They giggled with their hands covering their mouth. We guffawed.
Then, after graduation and everyone finally became the citizens of the country responsible for its development and progress, the irony set in. How?
I met a girl from the MS who already had a baby then. What did the baby call her? "Mummy". And the father ? "Daddy." My kids call me Mama and their father (the boy from Johor) "Abah."
Then I become a grandmother and met another ex-student of UM from the MS, after so many years, she too, with a grandson. Good Heavens...you know what she asked the little chap to call her? "GRANNY" !!! And my own grandsons call me NENEK!!!
Another graduate of the MS started a business and a huge signboard went up that said "Beauty SALOON and Spa". Hey, guna Bahasa Melayu lah...`Kedai Kecantikan' is so Melayu, kan? And did she know the difference between `saloon' and `salon'? Or, how many signages have you seen around town that said `Ayu Butik' (or some other name)..did these people learn grammar in school? Oops...of course not. Grammar is for English and we must not stress English, right? Because, dear entrepreneur, it should be Butik Ayu or Ayu Boutique. Forgot what your `teacher' or `sir' taught you about placement of adjectives? Why must all businesses be in English? Why try so hard if you do not know a word of that invaders' language? Let me tell you - it's stylish.
Now they pass statements like "...the call (to give importance to English) was seen by students of the Academy of Malay Studies as a move to sideline Bahasa Malaysia"..wait til they get out there, to reality. Then the first thing that will happen to them is to name their first son 'Isaac' and their daughter `Eva'. Mummy and Daddy. Wear green contact lenses. Dye hair light blonde. Go eat at fancy restaurants and all they order is `chicken chop' because what the hell should they say if they ordered steak (`stik') and the waiter asked "How would you like it done, madam?" ...UNdone?
Wait a minute. How about the names of those Nasyid groups: `In-Team' and `Nowseeheart'...are they supposed to be 'Intim' and `Nasihat'? I just wonder why the need for those spellings...if they intend to go International, why make things eady for the foreigners to pronounce? `Raihan' or `Rabbani' don't seem to have any problems. Which brings to mind what my friend in England had asked the moment I got there, eyes still blurry with jet-lag: "So...what English name have you chosen for yourself?" Huh? "Well, I'm Salbiah, but they can never say my name, so I let them call me Sally." I nearly puked.
And dear protestors...you are well aware of how the Malay Language itself has evolved. Surf the Net. Go to anyone's (who's Malay) Facebook, and read their language...example: 'aku g jap jerk, bole? ' I have received SMS which I could not decipher, and they are supposed to be in Malay.
Do you remember the Malay proverb that says, the more knowledge you have, the humbler you should be? So, the more you know of the English Language, the lesser you would want to assimilate into their culture. When my grandsons were born, the first warning I gave my son is, no English/Western-sounding names for the twins. No Danish. No Daniel. No Ryan. Or Isaac. Or Alexander. So I have now my adorable Umar Iman and Umar Imran. Hair and skin so light in colour they could pass as, er, Orang Putih.
Let us not be hypocrites, lah, ok? Let's not display our insecurities and low self-esteem to the world. Because that is what it is: INFERIORITY COMPLEX.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Old Folks' Home or Retirement Home?
Read many times about these `evil' children who sent their parents to a Home. Society frowns and wag their fingers, "No no no". They bore you, raised you, had sleepless nights, and now, you are sending them off to a Home? How cruel could you be?
But let me ask the parents out there: would you rather stay in an empty house, if you're lucky, there would be the both of you, otherwise, no spouse to keep you company? Or would you opt for a Home where you would meet other people your age and make new acquaintances?
When I was in Kluang, I visited one such place, but this one was so different that I cannot forget it. It's a day care centre for the elderly, and I thought the idea was really good. The residents were not really old, but they went there because their children were busy with their own lives and they were alone anyway. There were plots of land where they could plant, otherwise, they appeared contented enough to just read and chat.
I suppose what makes a Home notorious is the picture we get of neglect and loneliness. But what if a Home is one that is open, airy, cheerful and bustling? Where the residents are neat and tidy and smiling? What if there are enough activities to keep them occupied? Is there any motivational talks given to them? Or, does society look upon these elders as useless old folks who have to be fed and cleaned?
It is SAD, is it not, to suddenly be deemed a liability once your services to society is over? The dignity is robbed off them...
I have an uncle who used to say that he would like his children to put him in a Home if he became a nuisance, and I remember everyone being shocked at this suggestion. And his children dutifully shook their heads and said No, Papa, no. We will look after you, til death do we part.
Let's be honest. Let's be real. Let's put ourselves in our parents' shoes. Let's create a scenario, shall we..
We have one parent left. A mother in her late 70's, and she's just beginning to forget, so sometimes she repeats herself. Years of cooking and cleaning for the family tires her and so she often takes her naps now or these jobs bore her. We are busy with our own professions. Our children, too, are grown and working. There is one school-going child left at home, and we expect our mother to look after this one. Cook, clean the house, do the laundry, be a `jaga', in short, to `earn' her keep in the house. Or, if there is a baby, she looks after it. At night, we go out for dinners, and Mak locks the door after us. Baby would fret and not sleep. We come back past midnight, and Baby would still be up and active. "Kejap, Mak..nak tukar baju.." and we fell flop on the bed and "ter-tidur". Mak takes the baby to bed with her. Mak overslept the next morning and does not make drinks for spouse and us and we ...frown. Mak's day begins all over again.
Do we remember her birthday? Mother's Day? Oh the annual piece of material for Hari Raya suffices..old women do not need much.
I wonder how Mak feels all day long. Do not worry about what she DOES, think about what she FEELS and THINKS. Her heart and her mind, two elements that keep her going long after our father did.
Compare this to another scene.
At 8 in the morning we take our baby AND our mother to a day care centre. There, she would mingle with other old women. They chat, they read the Quran or newspapers (like my own Che would...and she would tell us later that Erra Fazira is still married to Engku Emran..), they rub each other's back or leg or arthritis-ridden joints; they share stories or gossips about this daughter-in-law and that son-in-law; they chatchatchat all day long. They eat lunch and drink tea and perhaps dig a bit of garden there and sew a bit if their eyesight still permits. At 6pm, we take our baby and our mother home. Have dinner, and share pieces of news.
I just wonder, for saying so much, if THIS is what I would want for myself.
Perhaps I would.
But the Home would have to be...my OWN. I would manage it, have Nurses to help look after the ladies. I would organise activities or call in volunteers. Day trips to places they had never been to before. It need not be their Bucket List, but a pailful of wishes would not hurt. Celebrate birthdays...have our own in-house Quran-reading competition..fashion shows even! Yes, a `Ladies' Night', why not? Grand-daughters to help with make-up, grandsons to do the decor.
Golly, this excites me...
So, sons and daughters, if sending your parent/s to a Home is a good, KIND option, I would say..why not? But do not abandon them there. Because all elders love to come back and look you in the face and to know that you are safe and happy. And most of all, like me, they love to embrace a grandchild and to be rewarded with a huge wet kiss on our cheek..and to be asked in lisping voice, "Apa Nenek 'oing?" ("Apa Nenek doing?").
Think. While you and I still can.
Feel. So that we know.
But let me ask the parents out there: would you rather stay in an empty house, if you're lucky, there would be the both of you, otherwise, no spouse to keep you company? Or would you opt for a Home where you would meet other people your age and make new acquaintances?
When I was in Kluang, I visited one such place, but this one was so different that I cannot forget it. It's a day care centre for the elderly, and I thought the idea was really good. The residents were not really old, but they went there because their children were busy with their own lives and they were alone anyway. There were plots of land where they could plant, otherwise, they appeared contented enough to just read and chat.
I suppose what makes a Home notorious is the picture we get of neglect and loneliness. But what if a Home is one that is open, airy, cheerful and bustling? Where the residents are neat and tidy and smiling? What if there are enough activities to keep them occupied? Is there any motivational talks given to them? Or, does society look upon these elders as useless old folks who have to be fed and cleaned?
It is SAD, is it not, to suddenly be deemed a liability once your services to society is over? The dignity is robbed off them...
I have an uncle who used to say that he would like his children to put him in a Home if he became a nuisance, and I remember everyone being shocked at this suggestion. And his children dutifully shook their heads and said No, Papa, no. We will look after you, til death do we part.
Let's be honest. Let's be real. Let's put ourselves in our parents' shoes. Let's create a scenario, shall we..
We have one parent left. A mother in her late 70's, and she's just beginning to forget, so sometimes she repeats herself. Years of cooking and cleaning for the family tires her and so she often takes her naps now or these jobs bore her. We are busy with our own professions. Our children, too, are grown and working. There is one school-going child left at home, and we expect our mother to look after this one. Cook, clean the house, do the laundry, be a `jaga', in short, to `earn' her keep in the house. Or, if there is a baby, she looks after it. At night, we go out for dinners, and Mak locks the door after us. Baby would fret and not sleep. We come back past midnight, and Baby would still be up and active. "Kejap, Mak..nak tukar baju.." and we fell flop on the bed and "ter-tidur". Mak takes the baby to bed with her. Mak overslept the next morning and does not make drinks for spouse and us and we ...frown. Mak's day begins all over again.
Do we remember her birthday? Mother's Day? Oh the annual piece of material for Hari Raya suffices..old women do not need much.
I wonder how Mak feels all day long. Do not worry about what she DOES, think about what she FEELS and THINKS. Her heart and her mind, two elements that keep her going long after our father did.
Compare this to another scene.
At 8 in the morning we take our baby AND our mother to a day care centre. There, she would mingle with other old women. They chat, they read the Quran or newspapers (like my own Che would...and she would tell us later that Erra Fazira is still married to Engku Emran..), they rub each other's back or leg or arthritis-ridden joints; they share stories or gossips about this daughter-in-law and that son-in-law; they chatchatchat all day long. They eat lunch and drink tea and perhaps dig a bit of garden there and sew a bit if their eyesight still permits. At 6pm, we take our baby and our mother home. Have dinner, and share pieces of news.
I just wonder, for saying so much, if THIS is what I would want for myself.
Perhaps I would.
But the Home would have to be...my OWN. I would manage it, have Nurses to help look after the ladies. I would organise activities or call in volunteers. Day trips to places they had never been to before. It need not be their Bucket List, but a pailful of wishes would not hurt. Celebrate birthdays...have our own in-house Quran-reading competition..fashion shows even! Yes, a `Ladies' Night', why not? Grand-daughters to help with make-up, grandsons to do the decor.
Golly, this excites me...
So, sons and daughters, if sending your parent/s to a Home is a good, KIND option, I would say..why not? But do not abandon them there. Because all elders love to come back and look you in the face and to know that you are safe and happy. And most of all, like me, they love to embrace a grandchild and to be rewarded with a huge wet kiss on our cheek..and to be asked in lisping voice, "Apa Nenek 'oing?" ("Apa Nenek doing?").
Think. While you and I still can.
Feel. So that we know.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Of Cows and Chicken
I was at a Chinese New year tea just the other day, with members of the Johor Bahru Speakers' Club. Topics of conversation took a natural swerve to what we are doing now, how we keep ourselves occupied, and so on. After hearing what I do daily, the very nice Doctor next to me asked, "How do you find the time to do all that?" and she literally shouted to the ladies at the next table, "She has a blog!"
I asked myself the same question, sometimes.
Do not think I am unique, because there are abundance of similar ladies out there, many many, much busier than me. I guess what made folks wonder at me is why I left a plush, comfy job to plunge into a strange and maddening one. But I'm enjoying myself, at nobody's expense.
Last week a lady approached me for proposals for English courses and programmes. I had left that `world' for almost two years now after a consultancy company I partnered with a friend, collapsed. It thrilled me a little bit to think I may again face a class of hopefuls. As I wrote and planned the course outlines, the adrenalin flowed again. And I remembered a language course that I had taught about 9 years ago...
The group was from the SUK (State Secretariate), some held positions of importance, and guess who was in the class? My own husband. He was then the Private Secretary to the Chief Minister of Johor but had to undergo the 3-month English course. The incident I remembered so well and which amused me greatly was when I did an ice-breaker. The question had been: If you were parts of a house, which part would you be? And why? So the lovely men were a roof (`To protect my family, madam' ) or the steps (`People cannot go into the house if there are no steps, madam') but my spouse chose the kitchen. Why, sir? I asked. "Because my wife is there all the time to cook." and without batting an eyelid, I commented, "Your wife must be a very good cook.." and some of the more junior officers looked at us with wonder at the third person references.
Our evening oral presentation was a bomb. It was a debate and the topic was so stupid but the seriousness with which the officers participated was amazing. Two groups had to agree or disagree that `Cows should wear bras.' They actually asked university students what would happen to the milk if cows' teats are covered! But I loved most the proposition team who said that yes, all cows in this country MUST do so because it is good for the tourism industry. Imagine, they said, tourists in buses looking out of the windows at cows on our fields, all wearing brassieres of all shapes, sizes, and colours. It is also good for the clothing industry as more jobs are created to manufacture the pieces of underclothing with not two, but five cups! Naturally, they won the debate not only hands down, but the judges were also down on the floor, rolling about crying with laughter.
Yes, I guess I DO miss the classroom, after all.
Oh, and I recall an assignment I gave to the B.Ed. students in the teachers' training college. It was after we did a poem about the hawk and they did not know what `down' meant, which part of the feather it was. So, for their mid-semester holiday, I assigned them to get a LIVE chicken, get it killed/slaughtered, immerse it in hot water, and clean the feathers. No cheating. Every step had to be photographed and compiled in a scrapbook. The result? The kids had so much fun! Many of them experienced for the first time a chicken with feathers on it, and not one that came clean from a supermarket. They googled for names of different types of feather. And one girl even wrote a foreword that said she was not going to eat a chicken ever again.
Yes, I miss teaching.
I asked myself the same question, sometimes.
Do not think I am unique, because there are abundance of similar ladies out there, many many, much busier than me. I guess what made folks wonder at me is why I left a plush, comfy job to plunge into a strange and maddening one. But I'm enjoying myself, at nobody's expense.
Last week a lady approached me for proposals for English courses and programmes. I had left that `world' for almost two years now after a consultancy company I partnered with a friend, collapsed. It thrilled me a little bit to think I may again face a class of hopefuls. As I wrote and planned the course outlines, the adrenalin flowed again. And I remembered a language course that I had taught about 9 years ago...
The group was from the SUK (State Secretariate), some held positions of importance, and guess who was in the class? My own husband. He was then the Private Secretary to the Chief Minister of Johor but had to undergo the 3-month English course. The incident I remembered so well and which amused me greatly was when I did an ice-breaker. The question had been: If you were parts of a house, which part would you be? And why? So the lovely men were a roof (`To protect my family, madam' ) or the steps (`People cannot go into the house if there are no steps, madam') but my spouse chose the kitchen. Why, sir? I asked. "Because my wife is there all the time to cook." and without batting an eyelid, I commented, "Your wife must be a very good cook.." and some of the more junior officers looked at us with wonder at the third person references.
Our evening oral presentation was a bomb. It was a debate and the topic was so stupid but the seriousness with which the officers participated was amazing. Two groups had to agree or disagree that `Cows should wear bras.' They actually asked university students what would happen to the milk if cows' teats are covered! But I loved most the proposition team who said that yes, all cows in this country MUST do so because it is good for the tourism industry. Imagine, they said, tourists in buses looking out of the windows at cows on our fields, all wearing brassieres of all shapes, sizes, and colours. It is also good for the clothing industry as more jobs are created to manufacture the pieces of underclothing with not two, but five cups! Naturally, they won the debate not only hands down, but the judges were also down on the floor, rolling about crying with laughter.
Yes, I guess I DO miss the classroom, after all.
Oh, and I recall an assignment I gave to the B.Ed. students in the teachers' training college. It was after we did a poem about the hawk and they did not know what `down' meant, which part of the feather it was. So, for their mid-semester holiday, I assigned them to get a LIVE chicken, get it killed/slaughtered, immerse it in hot water, and clean the feathers. No cheating. Every step had to be photographed and compiled in a scrapbook. The result? The kids had so much fun! Many of them experienced for the first time a chicken with feathers on it, and not one that came clean from a supermarket. They googled for names of different types of feather. And one girl even wrote a foreword that said she was not going to eat a chicken ever again.
Yes, I miss teaching.
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