This book is a must-read. It's hard to describe - hopeful sadness, resolution, sacrifice, commitment - it haunted me to the very end.
*The Sky Burial is a Tibetan practice with a sacred significance. . Unlike the Zoroastroan ritual of the 'Towers of Silence' where the body is left exposed on a 'tower', the deceased in the sky burial is smashed and left for birds of prey to feed on.
It's 7am in the morning and Teddy Bear sits dejectedly against the wall on the ground. It's raining; he's all cold and wet.
F: Hi there. Sorry to bother you but are you alright?
TB: Is this a trick question?
F: I was just wondering if you're needing any help I mean.
TB: Sorry I don't mean to be rude. But obviously its not everyday when you see someone get tossed out in the street like this. But judging from the economic conditions (ironic laugh), I'm just another contributing statistic of the unemployed.
F: I'm sorry to hear that. I can see what you mean.....You see, I'm heading off to work and the company is retrenching at the moment. So everyone at work are all sitting on pins now. TB: Tough. It's one thing to be a statistic - but believe me when you're the one staring it in the face, no one is going to care if you've got kids to feed, or a mortgage to pay or medical bills to take care of.
But do you know what's the worst of it? It's the pain of being told that you're not good enough to stay; not worthy enough to do what you're supposed to do - it's too much to bear for my polyester heart.
(Pauses a moment)
The indignity of redundancy: that's what it is ....an indignity.
F: I really don't know what to say.
But in times like these, despite not having a job, you still have other things - two eyes, a mouth, a nose...you can still walk, you can still talk, you can move , you can do things. You can do other things and not necessarily what you were doing before.
(Pause)
TB: I suppose. But let me a moment here on my own. I need time for myself.
F: I understand. Excuse me, but I have to go; am running a bit late now (looks at watch)
I saw my first copy of "The Diary of Anne Frank" among the stack of books in the backroom cupboard which my aunt left behind. Strange mementoes of her single, hazy-crazy days when she used to live with us in 16 Jln Midah Tengah in the 70's. It had a black cover and a picture of the eternally youthful Anne Frank. After a decade, she had left, married and had children of her own, but her books were left behind in the small cupboard in the backroom. Being 10, young and curious and forbidden everything, I used to dig into that backroom cupboard for memories left behind and what I found were...books. I remember 'Jaws' ...or maybe "The Exorcist"...or was it "The Pirate"...which would have driven my parents nuts if they found out I read it. Nevertheless, the Anne Frank Diary was one of the curios of my aunt's which she left behind; yellowing and feeding silverfish in that mothball-smelling cupboard.
Fast forward twenty years and I'm standing in the very house young Anne hid in. I stand before the book case showing the different publications of her diary in all its multitude of languages, colours and bindings. But yet, I don't see the publication I read twenty years back. I wondered if it is still in that backroom cupboard somewhere - hiding like Anne in the house, behind a dusty cupboard.
It's amazing how one girl's story has travelled so far and so long up till this day.
"Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all" -1870 Longfellow
The windmills stood like lonely giants in the mist. Stationery and silent; sentinels guarding the polders on the plain. This was the scene that greeted M, K and I as we ventured forth; sallying forth with our cameras and the earnest hope of capturing the essence of the Netherlands.
A land where half of the nation is below sea-level; the windmills have become the bastion of the temerity and ingenuity of the Dutch in making their land liveable for centuries despite the impossible geographical conditions.
As we walked, I asked M if the Netherlands has suffered the recession to which he replied that it was less pronounced as compared to the UK (measuring in chocolate sales as this was the industry he was in). In the international front, Mr Jan Peter Balkenende's government has also faced the dilemma of pushing through a public stimulus package aimed at the Netherlands' financial industry; it being a double-edged sword meaning deteriorating state solvency and maligning public opinion by digging into public coffers for the sake of the EU-good.
Not a sound can be heard on that silent sphere except the occasional cry of a water-fowl or the splash of the boat cruising down the canal. An ominous mist hangs curiously above the ground; the windmills cast dark shadows like grazing obedient cattle over the plain. It's hard to imagine that these gentle giants have stood here for 300 years.
Nevertheless, the Dutch have lived and triumphed over the elements (1953)throughout the centuries. I believe with the same spirit too, they will rise above the economic tide.
To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. - Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd.
DARTS MARATHON INCLUDING KNOCKOUT, KILLER AND MORE!!
"A QUESTION OF THOUGHT" QUIZ IN AID OF MUSCULAR DYSTROPHY ( winning team of four has chance to see question of sport being recorded with SUE BARKER)
PLUS MUCH MORE
PLEASE SEE MY ATTACHMENT
Got this message in the mailbox today. Look at how cute the banner is - U2, Jameson's, The Pogues...all things good and Irish.
Mr. Murphy owns the pub down the street i.e. The Horseshoe Inn. Apparently up till the 1970's, all the pubs in ireland were shut in observance of the holy saint...unheard of today. Now you can enjoy the 'craic'('crack' or 'craic' meaning the talk and banter) and 'leave on your back'....How Irish!
This clip is so cute and reminded me of my days in the CBN school choir as pianist with Angie leading the society and me being also in choral speaking and drama - We went for competitions too and it was serious business. Practicing after school hours, during school hours, holidays etc. That was the specialness of being a CBNer - we were proud of where we came from and were particular on winning. This was not the exception, it was the rule. The headmistress, teachers and all the girls knew it -whether in athletics, volleyball, in the SPM, PMR or STPM exams, cheerleading, choir, choral speaking etc.
Life in CBN was always varied with special customs and heritages - not always about exams and books (although we excelled here too). We had Literary and Drama Week, New Year's eve sing-a-long sessions, Sports Days, etc. On 16 December 2008, Pos Malaysia issued a set of four commemorative stamps and first day cover, honoring four Premier Schools of Malaysia - evidently Convent Bukit Nanas along with Victoria Institution, SMK St. Thomas in Kuching and SMK All Saints in Sabah.
Looking back, I've had nothing but fondness for my days in school and am pleased that the CBN spirit is still strong evidently in this clip. Once a CBNer, always a CBNer!
p.s. They went on to become the national choir champions for 2008 at the Malaysia Secondary School National Champion Choir 2008. Well done girls!
Yesterday at the office, Hamish mentioned about yesterday being the shortest day and the night before being the longest night (whatever that means).
After quizzing Ben and Andy about it, they mentioned that it was the winter solstice and a time to hug stones at Stonehenge which boggled me more (though they disputed H's date in that it happened two days ago i.e. December 20th) I muttered something like:
Me:' The English: quirky weird' Ben:'What was that?' Me:'Nothing!', (walking away)
Sifting around in the bubbling pot of memories, the winter solstice in Malaysia (being a hot, tropical mass) was usually celebrated by going to Mama's place for the 'guo dong' dinner. She knew I loved tang yuen and would never fail to make it. I loved that she loved me eating those coloured balls in sugary syrup as that's how a grandmother would show her care and concern for her grandchildren. No matter how full up I was from eating (and eating) I'd never say no to a bowl of coloured balls.
Fast forward to a year ago, in Sweden, it was the mark of the long, dark days in Stockholm/Umea. The sun would not show - only faint light on gray, clouded skies at 12 noon and by 3.30 it would be pitch dark. The snow was already on the ground in Umea. Whilst walking to school from Alidhem, I used to gaze up at the birch trees along the path and there'd be one or two magpies (large, black ones) in the tree. I'd wonder how these creatures could ever stand the cold..somebody must look after them. By then, I would have left for Stockholm with a peaceful mind.
Christmas is drawing near and I swear, I've celebrated it this year in London more than I did my Chinese New Years in Malaysia (CNY being the biggest celebration for Chinese). Company dinner parties, cards, drinks, holidays, eating, drinking - it's more than I can bear. New term learnt last week: 'Bah humbug' -Context: Used when you're telling people 'I don't like celebrating Christmas'
The 'Quality Street' Christmas Tree Put up a Christmas tree in the flat after Frank Caruso, the landlord, discovered it by chance in the loft when I moved in. Mirko and I put it up for the fun of it a few weeks ago but couldn't find any decorations with it. So we hung 'Quality Street' sweets all over it, which works pretty well I must say. Mirko bought lights at the 99p shop in Camden but predictably enough, they were duds.
Corporate Christmas Dinners In keeping up with the recession in the UK, the project team cancelled the company dinner. Two of my friends' company dinners also got cancelled or were self-financed. Fortunately T&T's Christmas dinner and the PCon Team Christmas Bowling carried on (my first Christmas socials in London) After agonizing over the perfect dress search, I finally returned the ones I bought at Jane Norman and went with my 8-year old black number. It was a loose at first but the flat drier fixed it: Nothing like a good old shrink from the trusty monster (it shrank my socks and pants)
Christmas Goodies Received 2 presents this year: a box of chocolates from Penny and a fantastic keyboard from Geoff(ok the latter was a loaner, but it's still great anyway) Never expected to get anything much less do anything over Christmas. Transport is at a standstill on Christmas day - not even the buses are moving. Penny gave me her family's Christmas Cake recipe (her mum bakes cakes professionally)and it turned out alright I guess. We'll have this for the Christmas eve dinner (eat) and Christmas day will be spent at church and an open house (eat again!). Expected weight gain: 1/2 a stone
Context: When someone's done something for you, you say 'Cheers' as in 'thank you'. Or when you sign off from an email you write ' Cheers' at the end
'Mate'
Context: A name to call someone you want to be on buddy-buddy terms with. 'Thanks mate''How're you doing mate?'
'You're a star'
Context: When you want to praise someone for doing a good job or when they've done something for you. 'Thanks Jo, you're a star!'
Lovely/Excellent
Context: What you say when something was done well - or as a praise for someone (but not as high a praise as 'you're a star') ' That's lovely' 'That will be excellent'
Love
Context: Used when addressing a younger person like 'Thanks love', 'It's ok love'
Are you alright?
Context: Asked to show concern...like when you're doing work and trying to concentrate there'll be someone asking you 'Are you alright?' every half hour so you can stop doing your work, start chatting and forget about it.
Did you have a good weekend?
Context: Asked usually on a Monday, in replacement of the usual 'How are you' and 'How's it going' e.g. you see your colleague in the pantry on Monday morning, instead of 'How are you?' it's more appropriate and timely to say 'Did you have a good weekend?'
Let's have a chat/Would you like a chat...?
Context: Same meaning as 'would you like to discuss this?' e.g. 'The issue has cropped up again. Let's have a chat about this over tea?'
Give me a shout
Context: Not to be confused with a cheerleading cry - it means, 'Call me' or ' Notify me' as in 'Give me a shout when you're ready'
Had a very good Sunday today. First I leapt out of bed at 10.40am and realized I was late for the book club meet. Hurriedly dressed and ran out the door. It was raining, naturally. Fortunately Southbank isn't so far and providence provided a bus 172 just as I crossed the street to the bus stop. Played hide and seek looking for the Giraffe in the South bank centre - finally found it after walking round the Royal Festival Hall twice.
The meeting had already kicked off amid the cafe-bustle, brazilian music and coffee blending machines. Reminded me of the time I had mine in La Bodega in Bangsar - can't believe it was 3 years ago. It was a little hard to hear what the group was saying while being interrupted by the 'Vegetarian salad? Large Cappucino? English Breakfast??' yelled out insistently on occasion. Otherwise, the discussion was interesting covering culture, India, politics and ethics - heavy stuff on a Sunday afternoon but the company was great too.
There were a couple of keen theatre-goers amongst us and one of them wanted to check out 'Oedipus', currently playing a hop and skip away *literally next door* in the National Theatre. The plus was that Ralph Fiennes was in the title role. I invited myself to come along and we tried our luck for the standby tickets for about half an hour when finally we had three very good seats - smack in the centre of the hall, right up front.
The play was superb - Ralph Fiennes was larger than life. He appeared through the large bronze door right in the centre of the stage - stared at the audience and uttered 'You come here weeping and crying. You, you old man get up and speak!' lifted a finger and slowly stared accusingly. It was scary. The cast was no less brilliant ....all of them terribly accomplished in their role. And I liked the stage layout - a circular conference with the large ominous bronze door in the centre almost signifying the wheel of fate with the doorway of tragedy like a gaping hole on the stage.
OK I have to be an ignoramus now and say this: there is a lot of spit emitted in plays. I saw actors spitting when talking, spitting when singing, or spit while standing and putting fingers in their mouths (look at Ralph's picture) I'm sure there's a criteria that one must be able to spit while acting to become truly an actor. I could almost spot which ones were the 'wannabe-spitters' - it had to be the guy at the end of the play - the filler delivering the bad news while Ralph had time to put on some bloody make up. The sanitary team must disinfect the stage every day I'll bet - nice job. Collect some famous spit and sell em.
I'm moving into the City....Just saw an episode of Flight of the Conchords which sheds a hilarious perspective to my situation.
Inner city life, inner city pressure The concrete world is starting to get ya The city is alive, the city is expanding, Living in the city can be demanding, You've pawned everything, everything you own, Your toothbrush, jar, and a camera phone You don't know where you're going You cross the street You don't know why you did, You walk back across the street. Standing in the sitting room, totally skint And your favorite jersey is covered in lint You want to sit down, but you sold your chair So you just stand there You just stand there You just stand there Inner Inner city Inner city pressure Inner city pressure Counting coins on the counter of the 7-11, From a quarter past six 'til a quarter to seven, The manager Bevan starts to abuse me Hey man, I just want some Muesli, Neon signs, hidden messages, Questions, answers, fetishes, You know you're not in high finance, Considering getting second hand underpants, Check your mind, how'd it get so bad? What happened to those other underpants you had, Look in your pockets, haven't found a cent yet, Landlords on your balls, have you paid your rent yet? Inner Inner city Inner city pressure Inner city pressure So you think maybe you'll be a prostitute, Just to pay for your lessons, you're learning the flute, The ladies won't pay you very much for this, Looks like you'll never be a concert flautist, You don't measure up to the expectation When you're unemployed there's no vacation No one cares, no one sympathizes You just stay home and play synthesizers. Inner Inner city Inner city pressure Inner city pressure Inner Inner city Inner city pressure Inner city pressure
He picked up the brick like it was any old thing he'd usually stoop to include in his collection of variables. A compulsive hoarder; this would go very well with the slats of plywood which he took from the construction site down the road the other day.
Have been trying to keep up some reading but it's going slow. The times that I get to snatch a few reads are either on the underground or on the weekends but somehow I never seem to get further than 5 pages at each length of time. I seem to suffer either from attention deficit disorder or a heavy workload (Can't be the latter cos I'm not earning tons)
Determined to get my bibliojo going; I picked up some graphic novels from the Southwark council library just down the road from my office. Surprisingly it works pretty well as it's light enough reading for the tube i.e. you can snatch-read while shuffling around in the tube and wallah, you've done 5 pages.
These are my reads so far:
Spiral: A horror manga mag which has an interesting concept of the 'spiral'. It appears in the spiraled-spine of a haunted jack in the box, the mosquitoes flight, snails, tornadoes -Talk about 'light' reading...it was quite ridiculous really.
Road to Perdition: I loved this one! Beautifully drawn with powerful character studies. I'm glad I read this instead of watching Tom Hanks spoil it.
The Goon: Oooo I liked this one too. At first it didn't get me but the more I read it the funnier it became. It was the zombies that led me to pick up this one
Mort: I got this as it had Terry Pratchett on it. I've never read any of his novels but this one was so-so. I didn't get parts of it though - maybe I'll get the book...hmmmm....not
Deogratias: Award-winning Belgian comic - I've just borrowed this one today and looking forward.
man tai!....screamed the chinese aunty. The literal translation of 'Problem'! Who doesn't have problems these days? Especially with the petrol price hikes and notwithstanding increasing prices on the noodles. Old chinese aunty isn't too fogey to fathom it
Just watched 'Wicked' yesterday night. After being in London for almost 2 months and coming here so many times, I never had the opportunity to catch a single musical. Well it was worth it - fantastic music, backdrop and costumes. It's a clever story based on Gregory Maguire's book Wicked:The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
Thanks to Alden though for being a good 'teman' and listening to my tirade before - sorry ah
I wonder how many hours of work the cast has to go through for each scene and little movement - it must take such amount of stamina. And they have to perform it for 8 days a week for months(years?)- nothing short of amazing. Alisha Khadime was the star in this show I think - I prefer the quality of her voice compared to the other female performers in the show.
I didn't even realize that the music was live - thought it was a recording until I saw the conductor waving about in the middle. Oh well, it's really years before Malaysia can get to this level of entertainment.
Anyway if Wicked does ever come to your shore, I'd highly recommend it.
Watched The Wonder Years today - it was hilarious. Not that i really watch the telly but there's one with Sky in my room but I haven't touched it since moving in plus its a Sunday morning after all.
Amy thinks I should write in my blog more - though have been lazy at it since no one reads it in the first place. (if you are say 'aye'....exactly my point)
In between settling down in London, my weekends have been pretty sporadic and so is my weekday schedule. I did decide on a low-maintenance hobby which I gathered would not take too much time and effort i.e. growing plants. Put in a garden plus a dash of botanical inspiration (most of the houses around East Acton have gorgeous blossoms), I popped down the local Pound stretcher and found a box of ready-potted gloxinia seeds. I watered them and waited for almost 2 weeks and realized they were duds - it cost only 20p no wonder.
So I went down to the nearby Home Base and paid a little more for a pack of Sweet William (Dianthus Barbatus - 1.75GBP for 800 seeds). I chose seeds which were supposed to be sown between July- September; apparently I'm a little late for the gardening season. Oh well I'll try anyways. I planted the little black seeds, doubtful of their worth.
And with much surprise they started sprouting after a week.
It will take a whole year before they turn into these(see below)
But it would be interesting to see how far William will grow under my green thumb.
Once upon a time, my father and mother bought the 'World's Best Fairy Tales' from the Reader's Digest magazine subscription. It was already old when I started to read it at the age of 7. It was beige in colour (not sky blue like the picture here) and had spots on the cover and dust from the silverfishes hiding in its spine. I read the book from cover to cover and looked at the beautiful watercolour illustrations for each story again and again.
One day my aunt asked me, "Which story is your favourite?"
I had thought long and hard about it and I decided that the story I liked best was 'East of the Sun and West of the Moon'.
I liked it because
a. The long title sounded sophisticated b. The heroine in the picture was the prettiest of all c. I empathised with the girl in the story who couldn't get what she wanted
My aunt asked me 'why' and so I told her.
A long, long time passed. I grew up, my parents and my aunt grew wrinkles and spots and the story from the book became another buried childhood memory. The book itself mysteriously disappears - either magicked itself away or thrown out by my mother and father or buried in the dust somewhere in the many piles of stuff in my house.
One day, another book came into my hands and told me "Read this fairy tale again: East of the Sun and West of the Moon!". Compelled to obey, I go on the internet and Google.
Lo! and behold! Knowledge and memory comes back to me like a trumpet blast. I like the story now because:
a. East of the Sun and West of the Moon is a Scandinavian fairy tale. It is Norwegian: collected by Peter Christensen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe. The Swedish version is called Prince Hat under the Ground. It is about the search for a lost husband - Aarne-Thompson type 425A - similar to the Beauty and the Beast b.The heroine was the bravest of all - she looked beyond appearances and accepted a monster (a white bear) as her husband d. I sympathised with the girl in the story
With that, so ends my fairy tale.
Snip, snap, snout, this tale's told out.
You can read the story in Surlalune Fairytales here
