DEAR FOLLOWERS OF NENEK'S NICHE:

PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT AFTER READING MY POSTS SO THAT I KNOW WHAT RUNS THROUGH YOUR MIND!! ...just like a grandmother...
THANK YOU!!!

The Twins

The love of a 2-year-old is pure and unconditional..

Iman ...from baby to boy..

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Tales of the Twins

Back with tales of the duo, who are now big enough to be even more adorable with their childish and innocent antics and speeches. And to show how they have grown, just two days ago Iman, who now importantly calls himself "Abang", said something that pierced right through Nenek's heart: "Abang nak besar." And I wanted to just hug him and tell him oh no, please, not so fast! That I still want to carry him on one hip and his brother on another and I still want to swing them and hear them giggle and laugh with that sheer joy and innocence. Imran is one-minute behind with speech, but nevertheless is also composing his words, and he calls his brother "Umar Iman", for instance, last weekend they slept over and one of them spilled his morning milk and he lisped out: "Umar Iman buat, nenek..". and Nenek wanted to say, go, spill all the milk you want. If the cat does not lick it all, Nenek will just mop it clean. (Oops. Nenek does not have a cat.) One evening they came over for dinner, and upon hearing Adam's car, I hid behind a chair. The twins burst in and as usual, screamed for me but when they saw me lying prostrate on the floor, asked: "Eh, pe nenek meow?" (Translate: "Eh, kenapa Nenek jadi kucing?") and they jumped on this "meow" and dinner? what dinner? Physically, they are still rather smallish in frame, but have taken on very definite features, looking more and more identical each time I see them. Eyebrows are darker now, and their parents allow their hair to grow a little bit longer so that the lightness is more obvious. Their noses are little button replica of their Atuk's...but I love most of all, their bright, intelligent eyes that are perpetually inquisitive and wanting to know and to learn. A little chip of my wooden chair broke and Iman saw it and at once knew where it came from. And Imran is the vain one: he once changed his shoes FOUR times before going to Nursery! and it was not like choosing from a row of shoes; he went in and out of the car four times before deciding that the pair of yellow Adidas was just right to go with his orange Tigger pyjamas. Ah. The joys of Nenekhood. Recommended to all ladies who wish to be rejuvenated, at least in spirit.

Go Green...

How difficult is it to change the ways of one community's life?

I'm writing about one extremely simple issue: the green bag. And in Johor it is a very big deal, to make people bring their own shopping bags. I watched with much amusement on Saturdays when shoppers have to pay for plastic carriers if they don't bring their own..oh, the grumbles, the complaints, the sarcasm, the annoyance..makes you think it is not a bag they are asked to bring, but their own shopping trolleys.

I have experienced instances when the Pakcik Guard (the uniformed bodies they put at the entrance of shopping malls) stopped me and with that much arrogance, told me I could not bring my own bag in. And my bags from Tesco are those big, strong ones which I absolutely love. Why? I asked. "Mana boleh? Cik tak boleh bawak masuk beg ni. Tinggal kat luar." I had to call the supervisor in. That was at a smaller but popular shopping place. Then at a bigger, more international outlet, I did the same, but this time the Pakcik Guard actually followed me from a distance and made sure I saw him talking on his walkie-talkie, his vigilant eyes on me all the time, like a snake about to swallow a frog. If, IF, he had done more than that, I would have retaliated and God knows I would embarrass the whole International Outlet for their blatant ignorance.
At another time, I was queueing to pay at the check-out counter and the customer in front saw me pulling out my bags from my trolley and as she paid, in a voice loud enough for half the mall to hear her, asked the cashier: "Kalau saya bawak saya punya beg sendiri, awak ada kasi saya duit ka?" I have that feeling that she avoids shopping for her groceries on Saturdays now.

My children, from their stint in the UK when we were there back in the 90's, have learnt long ago about going green.
They saw the OAPs (Old Age Pensioners), hunched and frail, pull out used plastic bags from their coat pockets to fill in their stuffs.
They helped their father look for cartons or boxes to put in our stuffs. Or, if none available, we would just push the trolley out and dump everything into the boot of the car and drove off, cans and bottles happily rolling about and intimately knocking against each other in there.

The same goes for recycling bottles and glass and paper and cans. People look down their noses here if they are asked to separate these things. Oh no, that's the job for garbage collectors.
At home, I have four rubbish bins in different colours, and it's not damaging my reputation to just throw the disposables in their respective bins. The twins are learning this now as they inspect the contents everytime they come to Nenek's house, and dutifully tell me, should one bin be filled, "Nenek, dah tak muat."

And to date, because it was only yesterday that I shopped for groceries, this go green campaign does not seem to catch on yet. I was still the only one who brought my own bags. And the sweet young thing at the counter smiled and said, "Thank you, kak, sebab bawak beg."

It's been raining for the past 24 hours now and waters have risen in several parts of the state. It's cold and wet and when you don't really want to sleep (because that's what people are wont to do in this sluggish weather), and today being Sunday too, you make excuses and delve into your favourite hobbies.

Up and about as usual by 7.30am, I picked up my sewing again! I've never disclosed this side of me here, but I've been sewing cross-stitch since I was 7 when Mrs. Yeoh made all the girls in Std. 1B sew on pieces of cloths with huge red checks. It had been rows upon rows of simple X's back then. Now I sew more intricate designs, preferring sceneries with birds in them. Birds, or ducks. I do not know why. They add elegance and life to the stillness of a background. If the duck sits on the water, the half cross-stitches beneath it are the shimmering shadows in delicate hues.

I am currently sewing a picture of waterfalls against a background of cool intriguing rainforest, in emerald green, and vines toiling around dark trunks. There is no bird in this one but there are tiny yellow flowers strewn across the cotton forest. There are still 3 panels for me to do before the picture is done, and I cannot sew fast enough. I am simultaneously reading `The God of Small Things' by the Indian writer Ayadh .......It is a `bestseller' but I find it crawling with over-abundance of similes. The writer compares everything with something! Of course it's a very clever thing to do but sometimes the reader just wants to hurry on to the plot and the story.

So how do I juggle between so many things to do?

Time. I time whatever I do...like, ok, today, I will sew for one hour from 08.30 to 09.30, then vacuum the house for like 10 minutes, and mop the floors for 8 minutes (because the twins were coming today and they'd mess it up in seconds again anyway); then have my cuppa hot Milo while I read `The God of Small Things', for 45 minutes. Lunched out with the twins and my kids at a Mall because of the pouring rain, mingling with Chinese New Year shoppers and Iman and Imran saw their first Lion Dance! They were enthralled and how delightful to witness their excitement at the loud drums and cymbals and the graceful leaps and sways of the `lions'. And they have learned to be appreciative because they clapped and laughed with the crowd! Iman has begun to address himself as `Abang' now..so adorable to hear him say in his high young voice, "Abang nak..." ..and Nenek wondered WHEN he had become so `big' whereas she watches him every single day?

Ah. A hodge-podge of ideas in my writing today. I am sitting at my Internet Cafe. There are not that many users tonight because of the rain. I cannot decide whether to listen to Laura Fygi or the Beatles but I think I will start with Marc Anthony. You-tube...you wonderful creation.

picked-the-pen...

Greetings Earthlings! (TQ Deq)

Am back from Everywhereland and realised with a huge bumpety-bump that I've lost all touch with the literary side of me for the past 3 or so months. Oh, not exactly, because I did read the original 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Buttons' by Fitzgerald and it truly is a brilliant piece of creative writing. And I received 3 copies of classic novels, all leather-bound, from Fadinha, for that annual `Family Night' so I guess that justified my literariness.

What had occupied me so much?

Well, my Regal Tea Room Boutique was launched on the 14th of November 2010 by the YAM Tunku Shahariah, President of the JB Speakers' Club. Nothing fancy..the Club members came for the 'Launch & Lunch' and we had a casual little gathering. No balloons, no fanfare, just good old friendship. Then family came and we caught up on news and stuff.

Then immediately after that, we moved into our new house at Taman Ponderosa and believe me, it was not just MOVING INTO, it was a massive upheaval from one residence of 17 years to another one which has a totally new concept. My better half (why do they say this?) thought it was cool to buy a house one third the size of the present one, all ready for that `retirement' when he thought retirement is all about wake up in the morning for coffee and toast and golf and tea and dinner at the club and sleep...so cosy. Just the two of us. So unreal.

I'm not complaining because like a chameleon, I change easily to suit what surrounds me. Versatile and adaptable. And thankful for the shelter above my aging head. The new house has an open studio kitchen made for one cook. More than one, and our bumps bump. Not meant for the deep-fried sambal ikan kering and petai and other oily Malay dishes. For laughing out loud, imagine me wearing a frilly floral Laura Ashley apron and delicately balancing a wooden spatula while stirring soup with one finger. hehe.

Have not written about the famous Twins. They are all grown at Two-And-A-Half, they are at that Terrible Two age group. and when they come to our ,er, retirement house, they more than fill it up. They drag their blue wagons laden with half a ton of toys from hall to kitchen and back again, in 3 minutes. They come into Nenek's kitchen built for one and open the sizeable fridge and drank half a tiny bottle of Vitagen and spilled the other half just for the sake of doing so. Then they chase and scare the droppings out of the poor little sparrows in the yard, screaming "'Uyung! 'Uyung!" (boo-hoo, they lisp! they disfigure all the beauty of language! they say things so adorably!)...

And to date, I have not yet actually moved all our things from the old house. It will take me the next seventeen years to do so completely. How could I leave behind Fadinha's collection of Bookworm series, or Adam's box of broken bicycle gadgets, or Kak Lin's collection of cassette tapes, or Ali's kiddy clothes? Memories. All memories.

And I'm the weak one for memories.

Be writing again, now that I've picked up the pen once more.

By the by, it's still January, so a belated Happy New Year, a good Twenty-Eleven to everyone.