Not that it makes a difference
But I’ll not be blogging a while.
My photography thing is taking off well and I need to keep it in the air if just to be sane.
Things are not well at home but it will not be this way forever. One of my favorite things I say to people in grief, is this too shall pass. And I am saying it to myself.
Whatever choices I make, I hope you will support me, my Internets. Weak and in pain and vulnerable as I may be now – imperfect to the very last drop – I am strong because I am a Tai.
A little bit like a roach but ever more resilient. I will survive this.
Blog for love and peace, y’all.
ps. before I go, here’s an oldie but a goodie.
R.I.P, Jim
There are photographers, and then, there are photographers.
Jim and his wife Lori wrote a wonderful little story about my blog and a book club I’d started and then the little preschool I helped to found just a few months after we’d moved here to our little town.
Many of you may remember this photograph that Jim took:
I found out about Jim’s passing a few days ago and he’d already been gone half a year.
I did not know much of Jim, except that he took one of the best pictures of my family (one I’ve enlarged and put on cards and passed around until now). Lori was kind enough to share with me this link to his portfolio and I am humbled.
Here was someone who had dedicated his life to a craft I’m just starting to pick up. Words fail (or maybe I just don’t know enough of them) to describe the mixture of sadness and honour I now feel to have been one of his subjects, even if it had been only a while.
Rest in peace, Jim. I hope you’re still making beautiful pictures wherever you are.
Technorati Tags: RIP, tribute, life, photography
They’re heeeEEEere
Last summer, we discovered the wonder that is Rainier cherries. We already had our first two batches – and are still hankerin’ for more. They are plump, have that crunch on the skin and are sweet and juicy inside. Yum!
Be warned though. Over-indulgence yields unpleasant results down South…
It’s weird the things you dream about
We were sitting on some kind of field, overlooking a highway. It was dusk because the street lamps were on.
We sat, not speaking, and I looked over at him. He turned and smiled at me politely, his shirt collar flapping a little in the wind.
“I hope it’s not weird for you,” I’d said to him, but not looking at him. Instead, I was staring at the horizon, beyond the highway, the orange clouds, red sun, purple sky.
“No, don’t be silly,” he’d replied, that baritone voice so familiar.
“I just wanted to know why,” I finally asked. “I need closure, you know. It’s been, what? 20 years?”
“My God, it’s been 20 years,” he chuckled.
And then he tossed an invisible speck at the speeding cars. I looked over at him, a little shy because, well, it had been 20 years since I’d talked to the guy, much less sit this close to him.
I was shy, even for a dream.
He said nothing.
I became bolder.
“Did you know? Is that why?”
He smirked, bitter, hurt, as though suddenly remembering how it had felt to be confused, guilty, lost, at 17.
“You…sort of started it, you know?” he said, looking pained, at his feet. He was wearing shiny black shoes. Must be his training.
“Started what?”
“All the…confusion. It was hard for a 17-year old me to figure out why I couldn’t…you know?”
“It was the 80s. It must’ve been hard,” I said, genuinely sympathetic.
“And it was Ipoh. And you know my parentsla,” he said, almost whispering. I nodded, and we both fell silent.
We stayed silent for a while, as the darkness creeped over the landscape. Before I could probe further, someone called from behind. Apparently, the food was ready.
Standing, he helped me up and then looked at me.
“Maybe I have you to thank,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“I live to serve,” I responded, wittier than I would’ve been in real life.
Together, hands in our pockets, we walked towards our “friends” (I don’t think we ever had “friends”).
Both a little older, a little heavier and perhaps, a little less confused.
I woke up feeling as though a weight had been lifted – a 20-year old weight. Still, it is scary that something that happened in my teenage years can stay with me for so long, coloring everything I’d believed about myself, despite telling my own daughter that those things should not matter.
They have mattered for a long, long time.
I don’t use Sprint but I can multitask
I have been busy.
Busy taking pictures because I’ve decided it’s a good way to make a living (which is a bit of a stretch but one has to keep dreaming).
Busy running a preschool.
Busy taking exams and studying and finishing papers.
Busy writing, again.
Busy reading Tom Perrotta. And trying to wade through Middlesex (third attempt, audiobook this time).
Busy planning travel plans for the summer. As you know, just got back from Memphis with the hubby. Our third trip without the kids since two years ago. I know I promised pictures but the hubs has posted them on Facebook so I’m lazy to post them again.
We have two camping trips and one big huge fancy schmancy trip to Disneyworld, Florida, just two weeks away. And a trip to Vancouver, Canada. And perhaps another weekend camping. Who knows with us crazy Malaysians.
People often ask me where I find the time.
1. My in-laws are here.
2. My kids go to bed at 7.30pm each evening.
3. I don’t sleep much. It’s almost 2am now.
4. I don’t do these things all at once. Most of the time, I am shuttling my kids to school and back, grocerying (did I just make that up?), vacuuming and cleaning the house. I have pockets of time – when Sky naps and Rae is at school, or when both of them are at the computer, and after they go to bed, and I listen to audio books in the car and at home for the reading.
Does that solve the mystery?
And oh, I have Hermione’s Time Turner ($29.95 from Sharper Image). Useful little gadget.
Technorati Tags: personal, Harry Potter, Tom Perrotta, summer, parenting
This is your brain after ten days of sick kids
I walk down the oddly familiar hallway, because I’ve never been here before. Yet, I know where I’m heading, towards the large common area between the college library and the copying room. Students mill about, leaning on lockers, chatting; sitting on steps, reading, laughing. I walk slowly to the the copying room and take a peek. There he is, all six foot three, brown hair, white shirt with sleeves folded messily, cuffs exposed and flapping, black tie loosened at the collar, blue jeans, brown Land’s End sneakers.
He is talking to a chubby guy with glasses about some textbooks he’d purchased. They both look up as I enter. He gives me a quick smile and a nod, and continues to talk to the man who is clicking a mouse on a computer.
“So I think we need to change those today, before more of these books are returned and we can’t resell them,” says the guy in the white shirt, who moves towards me slowly but his attention still on the guy with the glasses, who is looking more irate with every click. Guy with glasses nods and grunts in agreement. Guy in white shirt looks up at me, smiles his gorgeous wide smile, and pecks me on my lips.
Wow.
“Ready?” His voice is deep, instantly recognizable, boyish somehow.
I nod, smiling happily and we walk hand-in-hand into the courtyard. It is another sombre day but I feel fine. And then I look down. I see my dirty, light blue sneakers. My worn, stained sweat pants. My white tee has the morning’s peanut butter on it, and think I even smell…what is that? Yogurt?
Oh great. Where are the kids? And more importantly, where can I get a change of clothes?
Guy in white shirt looks at me, his lips set in a kind, contented smile. He doesn’t even notice my clothes, the sorry state I’m in. We head across the courtyard, chatting about something I can’t remember. He notices me looking at the old oil burn at the back of my right hand, an ugly brown scar from a kitchen fire that almost burnt the house down a few months ago, because I’d been making fried won ton.
Guy in white shirt lifts said hand up and kisses it, giving the scar a playful lick. I nudge him away, shocked. He pulls me closer, hugs me to him, and plants a kiss on the top of my head before tucking me into the crook of his neck. And in this tight embrace, we stroll to his car. Me, in my soiled, stained clothes and him, behaving as though I am the most beautiful girl in the world.
Sigh. What a guy.
Technorati Tags: The Office
Nobody likes to lose
I caught a most interesting segment today on NPR called Put Your Money Where Your Girth Is, on how two Yale professors discovered a way to help people lose weight – by taking away their money. Imagine signing a contract with a website that takes away your money if you do not meet your weight goals. Sound far-fetched?
Check Stickk out.
Apparently, a similar program was implemented in the Philippines to help smokers quit.
“Through a local bank, the smokers signed agreements to put their cigarette money into savings accounts and agreed to urine tests. At the end of six months, if the tests showed they had nicotine in their system, their savings were lost — given to charity.”
Intrigued? I am. Let’s Stickk it out 
. At the very least, the poor/needy will benefit from my lack of willpower.
Donch care, just Hammerdance
“Ma, I wanna record my dancinglah.”
“Ah recordlah.”
“Wah, Ah Seng really can dance ah.”
ROTFLMAO.
My new thang
Kertaskrafts.I am trying not to get carried away but it’s proving hard. I need to hit the books but can only think of what other cards to make.Anyway, spread the word. I specialise in making offbeat cards such as “Yes, I’d like to go out with you, but please shave that goddamn goatee off, it’s disgusting.”Also, tada! My Etsy store. Get the feed here for upcoming items.I also need better photos of my products. As you may have noticed, my photos since around summer of last year have been bollocks. That’s because my Rebel (first gen) broke. I need a new camera. Please, someone buy me a new camera (when I say camera, I mean a decent DSLR like a D20 or at the very least the latest Rebel. I already have a shitty digital, thankeeverymuch).
Gong xi fa cai (aka my first Chinese post, woohoo!)
Translation:Firstly, let me wish everyone a Happy New Year and A Thousand Blessings Upon Your Affairs. Since we’re here in Seattle, we’re missing family and friends back home as we don’t have many Malaysian Chinese friends here. There’s not much CNY atmosphere. It’s okay, as we will be having a party this weekend where we’ve invited 30 over people. Hopefully, we will have a happy celebration.I wrote okay, right?Pei Ling (my Chinese name in pin yin)Wish I had me some “smoke flowers” hehe.ps. I’ve made some revisions which some concerned friends (and relatives) have called all the way from Malaysia to make sure I address LOL. Thanks guys!
He inspires
Wow, two videos. Must be your lucky day. ps. Get tissues ready.
Scoobydoobydoobdoo!
Get your groove and your bAaaYbaAyyBaaAybaAaayBaaAayBaaaAy on and enjoy!
More about Spacifix here.
Lucy, you’re better than this!
Do you watch ABC’s latest superficial prime time serial, Cashmere Mafia? It’s like the high-flying corporate female superpower working mom version of Desperate Housewives (so you can call it the anti-DH) or the female version of Big Shots or the Lucy Liu version of Sex and the City (not even by a long shot but she tries).
What’s next? SAHD (Stay-at-home Dads) Confidential? Here’s a big and hearty hail to trite, formulaic TV dramas.
I watched a couple of episodes yesterday at ABC.com and man, was I just wincing and chuckling at the same time. Do people really follow these things? I can’t even bring myself to watch Big Shots without wanting to stab myself in the chest. With Cashmere Mafia, I was in danger of drowning in a pool of my own regurgitated blood, and I’m no TV snob. I love Pushing Daisies and Heroes and Battlestar Galactica and 30 Rock and Lost and House and Grey’s Anatomy (which has its moments, of which there are less and less of as each season goes by) but Come. On. Hollywood. The pilot started WAY before the writers’ strike so don’t even blame it on that. How did it even get through? Who were in those focus groups? Hannah-Montana fan girls and Wall Street execs with traces of Oedipal they’ve not managed to yoga or therapy out?
And what the heck kinda name is Cashmere Mafia? Half the time the women in the show don’t even wear cashmere?
Better off watching Youtube anytime.
My top ten favourite podcasts
I’m an auditory/kinesthetic person so besides listening to audio books (’reading’ John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath currently), I also listen to a lot of podcasts. This is a great way to keep oneself abreast with the news and to learn while one is working out or driving the kids around. However, there must be a zillion podcasts out there – how the heck do you know what’s good?
If you’re a parent of young children who loves to read, write/blog, have a mild interest in religion and politics, wants to learn more languages and a geek for general knowledge, then here are some of my recommendations.
Remember, you don’t need an iPod to listen to podcasts (really, a Zune works just fine )
My top ten favourite podcasts:
1. Positive Discipline by Dr Jane Nelsen (free). Great parenting techniques podcast for parents of both young and older children.
2. Mr Manners’s Quick and Dirty Tips for a More Polite Life by Adam Lowe, Inc. Just five minutes of tips to lead a more polite life.
3. The Beeb’s (BBC) 5 Live Report. Weekly investigative reports from BBC about current issues affecting the UK.
4. NPR’s Children Literature by Daniel Pinkwater.
5. NPR’s Wait Wait Don’t Tell me, an American current events quiz game show.
6. Pediacast by Dr Mike for parents.
7. Chinesepod’s Learn Chinese podcast.
8. This American Life, hands down the best American radio documentary show I’ve ever heard.
9. TED Talks (video). Of course TED has a video podcast.
10. PRI’s Selected Shorts. Story time for adults!
Random thoughts: Privacy vs Security
Here’s a hypothetical-bordering-on-scifi question for you:
Would it be easier to make all the people in the world be
1/NOT judgmental; or
2/honest,
…so we won’t mind sharing more of our personal information online?
I think 1/ is a more likely option.
Let’s say we can genetically correct a person’s sense of judgment when it comes to choices and beliefs that do not harm limb or life.
We wouldn’t care if so-and-so was, say, a transsexual school teacher who loves Keats and fishnet stockings.
We wouldn’t care if so-and-so was an ex-Nazi who now trains poodles for dog shows.
We wouldn’t care if so-and-so still has a drinking problem but is for the most part, a good mother.
If we know for sure that we will never be judged for things we can swear can never do any harm to society in general, and hence we can openly declare them to the authorities, should we still fret about our privacy (let’s just say for argument’s sake this information will never be used for profit haha)?
What if we live in a society where you are free to live however you wish to live without judgment, so long as you are as transparent as possible about it?
(without hurting anyone)
Embarassment is…
…farting uncontrollably while on the elliptical at the gym.
And you don’t know how loud you are because you have your MP3 player on.
And there are five guys behind you.
And one of them is your friend’s hubby.
Gotta lay off the onions.
Best line I’ve heard all year
I don’t watch a lot of TV these days.
Little Einsteins, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, The Good Night Show.
And if I’m lucky, I get to catch online series like House MD, CSI and Bones (David Boreanaz is kinda hot. I’m so glad he broke out of all that Buffy nonsense). That’s right, my Malaysian friends. You get to watch shows the day after they air without downloading illegally – and no waiting.
So actually it’s not even TV. It’s Internet….vision.
Anyway, so yesterday, I watched an episode of Bones called "Boy in the Time Capsule" about a corpse found in a high school time capsule buried in 1987.
Dr Jack Hodgins (played by TJ Thyne), had the best line ever:
"Wow, this is so Miami Vice I should just roll up my sleeves."
I chuckled for a full minute.
What are YOUR favourite TV (or IV) lines?
I resolve
I only have two resolutions this coming new year:
1/ Lose another 30lbs (I lost only 20lbs this year – small steps, insists Lokes. He is annoyingly right of course. Annoying because he lost 90lbs in 15 months.)
2/ Get through three quarters of college with top marks.
Okay I have a third.
3/Write a collection of short stories and publish them through Lulu.
Promise you guys will buy it when it’s out.
Here’s to you
The Thais are famous for a lot of things.
Tom Yam, kickboxing and…commercials.
When you’re done, just click on any of the other Thai ads in the "Related Videos" window.
I guarantee they will make your week go faster.
Have a great weekend, everyone.
Another day in paradise
I am in Malaysia and the girls and I are in a shopping mall. Suddenly, sirens blare. They sound like those Cold War nuclear alarms and before I know it, American policemen file into the supermarket we’re in and tell us that war has broken out and bombs are being dropped by planes, and that as American permanent residents, we are being rounded up to be brought back to the US because it’s not safe for us here.
I am at the airport, still pushing my shopping cart with the girls inside, and our luggage. The girls are crying for their father. I look around frantically, hopelessly for Lokes as torrents of people rush through the gates and onto planes (despite there being fighter jets with bombs in the air) and we are shoved and jostled out of the way. Raeven is screaming and I am crying as well because we can’t leave without Lokes as I have all our passports. I imagine the worst, that he’s already dead, gunned down or worse, shattered to pieces by a bomb.
I open my eyes. Outside, the garbage truck with its beep-beep-beep is picking up our trash. It is 6am.
Beside me, Skyler is tossing and turning. A foot hits my face. Raeven is curled into a ball next to her, unaware.
Lokes is on his way home from Vegas.
All is well.
Good evening
Living room, mid evening. Tipsy from sipping a 25.4oz bottle of Frutezia, Passion Blend. Alcohol content 6%.
Jeremy Irons is reading Vladimir Nabakov’s Lolita. Humbert Humbert is describing making love to the newly made Mrs Humbert, aka the mother of the real object of his desire, Lo. "Bathed through the undergrowth of dark, decaying forests…" Bet you’ve never heard a ‘mature’ woman described as such. If you’ve never read Lolita that is.
I wonder if Vladimir Nabokov was a pedophile. I’m sure I’m not the first.
Missing my husband. Need to pee.
Realisation: The name "Lolita" can never be used again because of its ‘literary’ significance.
Two birds
If there is one thing that’s at the forefront of my memory growing up as the daughter of two government school teachers, it is that (1)we never ever had a lot of money. Sure, my dad (2) played sports for his country but according to my mother, we saw very little of the prize monies he’d won.These little nuggets of info sort of unveiled themselves like little potholes on the road of life, as the sun began to make its way across the passage of time itself. It finally dawned upon our tiny little minds at high noon that my mom was the reason why we even ate or had clothes at all. In fact, it was a facking miracle we’d never turned to welfare, that of skim buku pinjaman (school book loan scheme) and canteen food coupons because how the heck do you support a family of two on a RM600 ($150) monthly salary (even if it was the 70s), that’s what I’d like to know.As mentioned, these were facts hidden from us until my sis and I were safely out of the house. When we could no longer be at the mercy of our father shirking his responsibilities and then giving my mom hell for it, as though we were somebody else’s kids and not his. Well, I, at least, had felt that way in my house.But despite all that, (3)I had a somewhat okay childhood. It’s not like I had to quit school and get a job. Not right away anyway. (4) I had the chance to put myself through college although I’d failed. We always had good food on the table, my mom and Aunt made sure of that. I had my share of parties and holidays, gifts and relatives who took good care of us. So despite the feckless father and borderline poverty, my sis and I turned out fine. In fact, I think if my family had been well off, with my rebellious nature, I could’ve headed to a very different, perhaps much nastier, future.I truly believe that. That you sort of know when you’re about four or five, just what sort of person you’ll turn out to be, no matter what your parents do or don’t do. If my parents had tried – or perhaps just my mom – to really give me the best of everything, would things have turned out differently? Sure.But do I regret things like the neglect, poverty, which resulted in their inability to give me everything I’d wanted, things most of my friends had?The tearful fights they had in front of my sis and me?The unfair treatment because I was the ‘guinea pig’ first child?The lack of understanding and acceptance for his own daughter because he realised very early on that she was EXACTLY like him?I would like to say I do, but sensibly so, since regret never does do anyone any good, I don’t. Because that’s life. Choices, meet consequences. Now shake hands.At the Parent Bloggers Network this week, the Blog Blast topic is “How Far Would You Go For Your Kids?“. Well, I came from a family where it was split right down the middle for my parents. My mom went as far as she could, and my dad not at all.And yet, I turned out okay.Not fantastic. Not perfect. But I made it here, in one piece. Flawed, but happy that I made it at all.You see, kids that grow up into adults like me, well, we grow up a lot faster – and that’s not such a bad thing (not everyone turns out like Michael Jackson, y’all). We learn that when parents are unable – or unwilling – to go far for you, all you can do is to make the best with what you have.(5) If I had perfect parents who had the money to hire a chauffeur or the luxury of time, would I have learnt to ask my headmistress for permission to get out of class and sit beside my crying five-year-old kindergarten sister and wait with her for the school bus because she was always last to be picked up?(6) If I had a big allowance, would I have been called to the headmistress’ office and gotten a shelling, for selling crappy ‘art’ for 20 cents to my sister’s stupid seven-year-old friends because I’d really wanted to eat food from the canteen instead of the Planta and sugar sandwich in my Tupperware?(7) If I had a perfect dad, would I have ended up with a perfect husband?How far would I go for my kids?I have learnt that excess is bad, discipline is good. That laughter is crucial and love means saying yes AND no.I have also learnt that patience and positive words do help instead of constantly screaming at my kids and wanting so bad to give them a whack or two on the bottom for misbehaving that the resisting almost gives me a seizure.I will go as far as what I think will help them develop into USEFUL, RESPONSIBLE human beings. I will leave them no inheritance beyond my nonsensical sense of humour and perhaps – perhaps – my collection of Calvin and Hobbes comics.I will give them stories about how Mommy had to work two jobs to put myself through three years of law school. How I failed even then to get my degree. How I managed to still learn to write and make a living. How I found a man who loved me in spite of my flaws and insecurities. How learning to cope is just as important as learning to live (and how some of the most difficult choices in life comes down to choosing between these two).I will give them stories about how Daddy worked his ass off to get into a multinational company which gave us the opportunity to come to the US. How hard he works so we can have good food, nice clothes and the latest Barbies, and most importantly, so that Mommy can stay home to be with them. And how Mommy fell in love with Daddy because he’d play the 1-2-3 FREEZE!! game that Mommy invented even though it made him wonder if I did not perhaps need to be in an institution.Would I break the law to keep my kids alive? Yes.Would I lie to protect my child from harm? Yes.Would I wake up my children to return a toy that accidentally fell into the back of my stroller?Are you kidding me?Here’s an example of how far I’d go for my kids.Rae went for her first day of kindy and came home sniffling. As per Lokes’ instructions I gave her some Airborne, the powder tube kind you know, she likes that. FYI, Lokes is a stickler when it comes to warding off illnesses although the recent stomach bug episode has done a good job of teaching him that Airborne is NOT a miracle remedy.Anyway, of course, Sky started SCREAMING for some, but the packaging said kids five and over only or something. As Sky kicked and writhed on the floor from my decreasingly calm No’s, I stood in my kitchen, wondering if I closed my eyes and threw salt over my shoulders three times chanting “this too shall pass”, a cigarette would magically appear on my lips, lit.And then it came to me.I took a new tube of Airborne, poured out half the powder, and then topped it off – with salt.Sky took one swig, spat it all out with a resounding YUCK! and never hankered for the stuff again.(8) Would I go as far as to cheat and connive to protect my child from harm?Yes.ps. The numbers you see scattered throughout my post is because the lovely Adrienne from Babytoolkit tagged me. I fudged on the rules a bit because…well, I am fudgy like that. Here they are (them rules):Meme Rules:
1) Post these rules before you give your facts2) List 8 random facts about yourself3) At the end of your post, choose (tag) 8 people and list their names, linking to them4) Leave a comment on their blog, letting them know they’ve been tagged
I tag: Simmie and her sister Alynappies, Erna Banana, Purplewabbit, Mamabok, Punditmom, Su3 and Chwann (well because you recently came through your links and I’m curious )
Wise guys
The one in the middle had been causing me quite some grief the last few months. A little more ignorance is truly bliss.
Happy Birthday Baby!
This is Lokes.
Today is Jenn’s birthday and she’s going to go have a painful wisdom tooth extraction. Please join me in wishing her Happy Birthday! I’m sure it’ll warm her heart and help her through the ordeal.
Thanks!
p.s.
Jenn’s password isn’t hard to figure out