The Ugly Duckling

Who am I to assume that as an adult I already have all the answers. What if I start asking questions again, like I did when I was 4.

Why is the sky blue?
Why do I close my eyes whenever I sneeze?
Why do we have two ears and one mouth?
Why is there a lightning before a thunder?
Why does my nose run when I have a cold?
Why does my skin burn in the sun?
Why does a crab walk sideways?
Why do dogs and cats have whiskers?
Why can a cat climb trees and a dog can’t?
Why do we cry when we are sad?
Why is there day and night?
Why can’t I float?
Why do boys’ voices change during puberty?
Why do people hunt for sports?
Why is the moon sometimes a crescent and sometimes round?
Why do people have different skin colour?
Why is chilli hot?
Why does ice cream melt in the sun?
Why do people gossip?
Why do we believe in rumours?
Why is there war?
Why do people get cancer?
Why do we age?
Why was there a Holocaust?
Why do we have prejudices?
Why are there traffic jams?
Why are there road bullies?
Why do people rush from place to place?
Why am I lonely?
Why am I born?
Why do we suffer?
Why do I get butterflies in my tummy?
Why are there tooth fairies?
Why do some countries practise apartheid?
Why are the keys on a piano black and white?
Why are there geniuses?
Why are some people born blind?
Why are some people born deaf?
Why are some people born mute?
Why are there more right handed people than left handed?
Why do I laugh till I cry?
Why are some people born rich and some poor?
Why are ducklings able to swim immediately?
Why am I shorter than my sister?
Why do people have different emotions?
Why do I need to go to school?
Why are there four seasons?
Why do I need to have a sense of belonging?
Why am I easily dissatisfied?
Why am I a shopaholic?
Why is there addiction?

My husband and I had a reunion dinner with his friends who just returned from Australia. After the dinner we returned to the couple’s apartment (their second home) and the talk drifted to living there. The friend, Joe related about his brother and how he is bringing up his teenage daughter. The daughter is attending an international school in Kuala Lumpur. Joe’s brother said, “I feel so sorry for my daughter. She tells me that her friends have their personal driver and updates me on all the latest gadgets that they bought. Since I can’t afford a chauffeur or the latest iphone, I’ve decided to indulge her in anything that she wants.” According to Joe, his brother paid RM 500 for his daughter to attend a rock concert and gave her extra pocket money to spend. Joe’s wife Sophie injected about her friend’s son who hung up abrubtly on his mother’s phone call when she called him at school. The teenager’s mother called him back and asked, “Why are you so curt?” The teenager replied, “You gave me this old mobile phone. I have to hide it from my friends so that they won’t laugh at me. Good thing, they didn’t see me just now. Don’t call me anymore at school.” Sophie told us further of another friend’s son who refused to allow his parents to host a birthday party for him in their house. The boy said, “Are you kidding me mum? You’ll shame me to hell! Our whole house fits into my friends kitchen!”

I recalled the stories my father used to tell me of his childhood, when things were scarce.

My father loved to tell us stories of his childhood, after the Second World War. Prior to the war, my grandfather had a thriving business in coal from Burma and Thailand. But when the war came, his ships returning to Malaya with a cargo of charcoal, were lost at sea. This caused him to become a bankrupt. One day, my grandfather went to Penang to buy condense milk to feed his children. He was at Weld Quay when the Japanese bombers started to drop bombs on that street. The bombers mistook the parked rickshaws as canons pointing up towards the sky. My grandfather was injured during the bombing. He became incapacitated from abdominal injury which never healed and suffered for the next five years of his life.

My grandmother became a widow in her early 40’s and had to bring up seven young children. My father who was the eldest son, at age 13 became the ‘man’ of the house. He showed me the calluses on his hands and said, “Those are from years of chopping firewood.” One of my aunties had to stop school because of poverty and also to carry out the household chores. Priority for education was given only to the boys. My grandmother became the sole breadwinner and fed my uncles and aunties and my grandfather’s sister and her four children through the meager earnings she made, from selling ‘nyonya kuih’. Occasionally, they could afford to buy meat. Otherwise their staple diet consisted of tapioca roots, potato shoots, vegetables and white rice. When the days were bad, they were grateful enough to feed on watery white broth. Whoever that was late for dinner, had to go without it. My grandmother sewed all the children’s uniforms from thick white cotton fabric, so that they would last. They could not afford to buy black leather school shoes, so my father wore wooden clogs to school. He was very careful to keep his uniforms clean, as if he came home with a soiled shirt, my grandmother would punish him. Alas, this was a challenge, as there was a school bully who enjoyed wrestling and pinning him down, rubbing his clean shirt with dirt.

My father said that things became easier when he started working. He just turned 19 and right after he graduated from the teacher’s college, he was offered a position to teach at his former alma mate. My grandmother sewed him the shirts and baggy, trousers which he wore to work. He was so proud when he received his first pay check and treated his two younger brother and sister who were 3 and 4 then. He bought them a tricycle which they both fought to have their turn to ride on. His first salary was only RM 200 of which RM 180 was given to my grandmother for the family expenses. He kept the rest for himself and to take my uncle and aunty out to a ‘kopitiam’ for ‘char ho fun’ (thick rice noodles with seafood and pork) and satay (barbecued pork on skewers). He pampered my uncle and aunty as they had never known of any other father figure. When my father got married and moved to the teacher’s quarters, he brought my uncle to live with him. Ironically, he married the school bully's younger sister.

My thoughts were interrupted with Joe’s loud sigh. Joe said, “Perhaps it’s better not to have children these days. We seem to have plenty yet there isn’t enough to go around. With our diminishing values, what are to become of our children?”

I know that parenting isn't easy and we all do whatever that we believe is right. But, is indulging and giving in freely to our children's demands of any good to them at all? Would they even value whatever that they receive when it's given so simply, without a need to earn it.

Dear Milo,

How did you know that we wanted you when we walked into the shelter? You were the only one who sat quietly with your back against the fence while all the others clamoured, called out and tugged at me for my attention. I reached out with my finger through the fence to poke you, but you did not respond. I asked the caretaker to remove you from the fenced up compound to have a closer look at you. You stood quietly as I studied you. My friend said “Do you notice how large his ears are?” . Anyhow, I brought you home because you stood out without even trying. Do you remember in your early days that I promised you a happy and loving home?

It was a gamble which I took as you are going to be Papa’s dog, not mine. I was very nervous when Papa saw you for the first time two years ago. What if he didn’t like you and I don’t have the space to own a dog. Papa told me that this was the first time that he looked forward to returning to Kuala Lumpur and he was eager to meet you. As I drove both Mama and Papa home from Penang, the car was loaded to the brim with suitcases and food to bring to Jin’s house. We collected you at my friend’s place and you had to sit on the floor at the passenger front seat with Papa. Instinctively, you climbed and embraced Pa’s thighs. Papa smiled and stroked your head.

I’ve never told you earlier but you are so right for all of us. We did not know that you are hypoallergenic as Jin is allergic to dogs. Somehow, he did not react to you. Papa and Jin like your behavior because you are the only dog that does not clamor and lick which both of them find annoying. Since the first day that you came, you have never peed nor pooped in the house, on car tyres and within the house compound. I can’t figure out where you learned this as we have never trained you before. You are an excellent guard dog, with your loud bark, yet you knew not to attack any of our guests. You respect the living room area and Jin’s shaggy carpet and carefully walk around it. You walk in tempo with Papa and never struggled or dragged him along. You somehow knew when Papa was not well to walk slower.

I want to thank you for teaching me to respect your space. Like an old English gentleman, you do not like to be smothered. I find you simply irresistible and adorable like a toy with your big round eyes and shaggy hair falling over them, your shiny black button nose, pink tongue and oversized ears – you’re a package made to cuddle. I’ll respect and know where my boundaries are, especially when you want your afternoon naps. I will not disturb you. You protests when the brush gets entangled in your fur, so I know to be more careful and gentle. I want to thank you for not creating a mess in the house when you were ill with stomach flu. You knew without our telling you, to poop in the toilet. You’re not greedy and eat whenever you are fed. Although you are shy in expressing your affection with licks and jumps, we know you like the occasional strokes as you shuffle backwards and rest with your back against our legs. How did you instinctively know that Papa was not well and stood by his bedside? Were you as worried as I was?

You don’t take crap from anyone, thus we learn that you are an individual, a family member and not a dog or a pet. You’ve made coming home a joy with your wagging tail and wide smile. Thank you for loving us in your subtle ways.

Friday, 18th March – Consulted Professor BK Lim, Hospital University Specialist Center
Diagnosed Mama with Primary Peritoneal Cancer. He is the second doctor to say so. We went to two hospitals and after numerous tests and scans, (period of 2 months) doctors could not conclude anything.
Dr. Lim scheduled Mama for surgery on Tuesday, 22 March.

Tuesday, 22 March: Mama’s operation was delayed from 10.30am to 7.30pm. 11.00pm came out from Operating Teatre. Papa, Jin Boy and I were beside her. Papa was feverish with UTI.

Wednesday, 23 March: Jin Boy spent the whole day to take care of Mama. She was quite alert. Unable to drink. On drips, sodium, antibiotics. Two tubes from her lower abdomen to drain off blood and other fluids. Third tube attached to a urine bag. At night, I came and slept at the hospital.
She woke up about 5 times with gagging coughs and plenty of phlegm. Very cold in the ward. She was thirsty but can’t drink.

Thursday, 24 March: Doctor said can start drinking water in little sips. Required bendable straws and they are so hard to come by! More phlegm and coughing throughout the day. She woke up about 4 times in the night to cough. Very thick urine, hardly any.

Friday, 25 March: Can drink Milo. Bought her apple juice for lunch. She enjoyed. Fed her formula drink but too thick for her. She could not digest and felt full.

Kindness: Nurse Dona came and taught Ma how to sit up on her own by reaching out to bed rest and pulling her body while shuffling her buttocks to the edge whether the mattress folds. She also taught me how to pat Mama when she coughs to get the phlegm out. She showed Mama some leg stretches to exercise herself and to sit up in tadasana.

Milestone: First walk, 20 meters to the passenger lift and back to her bed with urine bag and bottles on toll! “Take a deep breath whenever you exert”. “Inhale, exhale.” Nurses helped her to the bathroom to bathe.

Humiliation: Nurses prepared Mama for bath and she was sitting in front of the toilet half naked. When suddenly the ward door opened and in came 4 men and 3 women. One young man was a hospital attendant and I requested that he ask the new patient to wait as I covered my mother, but no, they all came in. I ran to grab a sarung to cover her up. My mother was so shamed.

Parenting: The new patient was a woman in her 40’s with 1st stage pelvic cancer. She has two children, girl is 14, boy is 16. They waited from 8.30 till 7.00pm without any food nor drinks as their mother went into surgery. Their aunty brought them food at 7.30pm. I made them chocolate drink and gave them a packet of biscuits. The 16 year old boy, stood by his mother’s bedside the whole night through. She woke up with a loud gasp about 3.00am. I heard him whispering and comforting her, as he held her hand throughout the night. He dozed off, with his head on the bedpost. Her husband was absent.

Saturday, 26 March: It is Papa’s birthday today. He isn’t well with recurring UTI. He is very weak. He text me” I feel so miserable unable to see Ma”. Dr BK came in today. Mama asked on how long she can live. BK “Honestly, I don’t know. You’re hanging on a thread.” “No solids, just water. You teachers are the most difficult patient. You don’t listen. My mother in-law is a teacher.” “ You just want to instruct, I have another 51 year-old patient who is a teacher too!” Mama “See you again tomorrow.” “Burrggh! I hope not” and off he went. She walked twice a day today.

Peace: Mama’s snores. It means that she is not suffering and is sleeping deeply. Rest, heal.

Vanity: “How does my hair look?” “I’m losing so much hair” (a clump fell on the floor). “Ask Jin to bring my hair brush tomorrow.” “Apply some moisturizer on my face, my skin must be so wrinkled.”
Sunday, 27 March: Mama may drink cereals and formula drink. Jin had to return home to bring back the protein formula.

Balm for the soul: Since taking care of Ma, I’ve been giving her chest and back rubs with Vicks balm. The smell and vapor sooths her. She sleeps better. I’ve also progressed to massaging both her legs and feet. Her feet and hands become swollen from poor circulation.

Love: My father came for the first time since my mother’s surgery to see her. He came to her bedside and started to cry. This was the first time that he cried since finding out that my mother has cancer two months earlier. He was very calm throughout. He said something about my mother’s cancer- that disease happens because of our mental state of mind and the emotions that we harbor inside of us. He said we should learn to detach ourselves from things that are less important – like a perfect house.

Relief: Mama could defecate for the first time today. The doctors gave her oral laxative to induce it. This means that her intestines are functioning, after the surgery as 1 1/2 foot of her large intestine was removed.

Monday, 28 March: 10.30am Jin Boy called. Mama had to be transferred to the ICU for shortness of breath. She started to gag at 9.20am and had cold sweat. 12.30pm, during my lunch break my hubby came and drove me to the hospital. My brother was in the hospital the whole day till at night. The doctors performed a CT scan to determine the course. She had blood clots on both lungs and from her right thigh to her waist. The doctors prescribed Hesparin, a blood thinner via IV.

Despair: Fear. It chokes you. I am bewildered. How come? she appeared well the night before.

The Longest ride: I sobbed and wept like a child all the way to the hospital.

Tardiness: The doctors at the ICU had to book a time for the scan. My mother entered the ICU at 3.30pm and the doctors told the scan team that they need an hour to prepare her for the scan. But the people at the scan heard wrongly and booked her time 4.00pm. She was not ready. They could only fit her in at 7.00pm.

Vulnerability: Every room in the ICU was taken. There was a patient with H1N. My mother was put on a respirator. There are no doors, all are open wards.

Tuesday, 29 March: Mama’s condition appeared stable. She can be transferred out of ICU as the doctors are concerned that she may contract an infectious virus. There are no rooms in available in the wards.
Wednesday, 30 March: Mama was awake by 4.30am and asked the nurses to clean her. She was transferred into a special ward by 9.00am. A bed beside the door, right beneath the air condition vent. I slept beside her that night. It was very cold.

Strange request: A ski cap.

Thursday, 31 March: The patient diagonally opposite her was discharged. She has been eyeing at that bed. Every time a nurse passed, she would ask if she may have that bed. They removed the stitches from her abdomen.

Desire: The bed by the window.

Faith: “Where’s my prayer book?”

Pleasure: “The nurses applied powder on me after wiping my body. They didn’t do that at UMC”. Mama.

Trust: “Don’t worry, the Chinese trainee nurse is very good to me. She prepared my formula drink for me this morning, so you don’t have to come anymore.”

Sunday, 3rd April: Mama may eat anything she wants. She had her first bite of honey dew and asked from the patient opposite if she may have hers as well.

Fulfillment: “The honey dew taste so refreshing!”

Tuesday, 4th April: Mama ate her first bowl of rice. I bought it from a vegetarian restaurant. It’s tofu in brown sauce with fake mince meat. She shared the rice with the patient opposite her whose honey dew she ‘stole’ a day before.

Neighbourly: “What are you eating?” “ Can I have some?” the old lady opposite Mama who had her uterus removed asked.

Satisfaction: “This is so delicious.’ “Can I have the same dish tomorrow?” Both my mother and the patient opposite her asked me to buy them the same tofu rice.

Wednesday, 5th April: Mama and the patient opposite her shared the same food. The doctor came to fix a tube in Mama to for the chemotherapy drugs to be administered the next day.

Thursday, 6th April: Chemotherapy drug administered at 11.00am. Two types of drugs commonly used to treat ovary cancer. Carboplatin and Anzatax. She still had a strong appetite during dinner. She had the tofu rice with minced meat, apple/celery juice and 3 pieces of plum.

Gratitude: The patient opposite Mama offered to pay me for the food. I declined. She said “You and your brother are such good people.”

Family: My brother cooking dinner for Mama, Papa, Ike and me. My brother holding me and crying with me when Mama was in the ICU. Ike running errands and packing food for my mother.

I bathed my father for the first time three weeks ago. He had a serious UTI after a prostrate biopsy. He became bedridden and did not recover from the infection for 3 weeks. It took to a serious turn and he had to be hospitalized.

I realized at that moment that the roles have changed. I used to take my parents for granted. My partner says that I behave like a woman in her 30's although I am approaching middle age. Probably, because I want to enjoy my prime time for as long as I could or I wanted to remain daddy's little girl.

I am clumsy and usually approach everything in a hurried manner. My partner says I am like Goldie Hawn, clumsy, a natural comic. I see myself as a cartoon character from Merry Melodies crossed with Goldie Hawn. Imagine my father in my care. He was quite worried and nervous.

He had a tube inserted via his urethra to his bladder for the urine bag. It was team work and tricky business removing his boxers. I actually thought of doing it the ER way, simply cutting it off! He kept exclaiming and fussing about watching out for his tube and the catheter on the back of his hand. I almost tripped over the urine tube as he stood between the bed and the wall and I had to walk between the narrow space to keep his things. I don't know if I am a good nurse but I think my dad appeared more stressed at my attention and his blood pressure probably shot up!
My father is a difficult and notorious patient. When he is ill he refuses to eat entirely. You can tell that he is getting better when he makes strange requests for food items like ketchup, soya sauce and pickled lettuce to eat with the hospital food. He even asked for instant coffee!
My father was discharged from the hospital 2 days ago and requested for Jawa noodles. My brother drove him to a hawker stall straightaway.

About the same period that my father became ill, my father in-law was hospitalized for food intolerance. So right after caring for my father, my partner would return from work and we drove to the hospital to see my father in-law. My father in-law despite being partially paralised from stroke, is very alert and has a ravenous appetite. We were at the hospital at 10.30pm and he asked for food. He usually cannot recognize me but surprisingly that night he remembered my feeding him the night before. He praised me and told my husband’s cousin (who stood beside him), “Your daughter is a nice girl, she took care of me. “ My husband’s cousin who was hard of hearing replied, “Yes the doctors are nice.” My mother in-law in her 80’s seems to be the only communication channel and replied loudly, “She’s not Annie’s daughter!” Of which my father in-law replied apologetically, “I’m sorry I get confused these days.” My consolation for my effort was to be mistaken as a teenager! I had to collect him from the hospital during his discharge. It was a struggle to fit him in the passenger's front seat because he is a tall man and the two petite nurses were of little help.

We also discovered that my mother may have a rare case of cancer. Thus, in the past month my life has been visits to different hospitals.


When we first heard of my mother's disease, I think all of us were devastated. I saw the tension etched on my father and brother’s faces. My brother started to scout around for hospitals and doctors for second opinions. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack as the initial diagnosis by the first hospital which we went to, was not definite. In fact, it was a mis-diagnosis of ovarian tumour as the symptoms which my mother has is very similar to ovarian cancer. After that, my brother and father started to discuss on how to generate the money to pay for a private hospital. My brother was ready to cash out his life savings from an insurance company and to mortgage his house. He suggested that my father sell our family home as well. My father was not for treatment at a private hospital because the cost would be exorbitant.

I was filled with regret and self blame at not being more attentive or sensitive to my mother’s needs and health condition. I was initially very emotional but I have come to accept my mother’s illness. Acceptance of her condition, made me calmer.

It was an ordeal for us as after two months and undergoing numerous tests and scans: none were conclusive. Finally, via my partner’s recommendation, we went to University Specialist Centre. The professor studied my mother’s medical reports and confirmed that she has Primary Peritoneal Cancer. This is a rare form of cancer and is usually discovered by a gynaecologist as the symptoms are so similar to ovarian cancer. He assured my mother that he is able to operate on her.


My mother has always been a healthy, robust and health conscious person. One of her pleasures in life is food. She enjoys buffet and can go for five rounds! Taking her out to buffets is money well spent. My brother usually indulges her on her birthdays and treat the whole family to a buffet spread.

I started to take up the role of a dietician to my mom after her diagnosis. Then again I thought, why should I deny her from eating which is one of her pleasures in life. This will be inevitable after her surgery and during chemotherapy. Why not let her eat whatever that she pleases now.

We lead our life governed by time and we are always in a flurry and rush. We seem to have this urgency and need to get to wherever that we are going or get things done so much so that we become impatient and forget to make time for what is really important. Lately with my parents aging and their health, I realize that I have to slow down. Now, I have to make time for my family, my father and my mother. We assume different roles as we go through the chapters in our lives – as a child, a daughter, a friend, a wife and a mother. It is my turn to grow up and to give, love and nurture. My hope is for more buffet dinners.

My article was published on Star newspaper, Star magazine Heart & Soul on 10th April 2011
http://thestar.com.my/lifestyle/story.asp?file=/2011/4/10/lifefocus/8318000&sec=lifefocus

At the age of two to eight, playing freely with my brother
Naked bodies, two in a tin tub taking baths, so much glee
Chest as flat as a runaway, ignorant but free
My unclothed body, running across fields, as light as the wind.

At nine, all I wanted was a bikini
As my sister had one
And I wanted to be pretty
As lovely as she.
But mama said, “No dear, you won’t look pretty cos’ you’re too skinny”.

At twelve puberty came
And with that my obsession with breasts
Putting on an off shoulder dress
Secretly trying on
My sister's lacy bras
Stuffing the hollow space with handkerchiefs
Smiling at my fake mounds
Pleased with my new profile.

Vanity took over, and I stood hours a day in front of the mirror
Studying my surfer board figure
Plucking and pulling at my nipples
Hoping they would grow
Overnight, to be proud round buns
So that I can be the flower
To draw bees over
To our front porch
As my sister had been
The rose.

Where are all the boys who waited patiently?
To take a glimpse at my sister
As I am now a teenager
Hormones asunder
Yet this strange body
Remained like a willow, and to the boys I was a nobody.

Then at 26, suddenly this shy bud
Which had taken a long hybernation
Started to bloom and I became a beauty queen.
I wore a crown on my head, an arrogant young woman
Who received too many male attention
Especially from bosses who were overly attentive.

After thirty,
You can no longer stuff like a boar
And expect to stay skinny.
As I pluck and tuck at overnight bulges,
My mind abuzz with questions, “What have I ate?”

In my mid thirtys,
I wanted so much to be
A mother
To nurture
A precious life in my womb
And watch it grow
Round and full
Glowing with love and contentment
As most expecting mothers do.

Now in my forties
I never cease to be amaze
As look at my own reflection
Curves that have become fuller
Like the paintings of a Hindu goddess
The mounds and the valleys
And yet I'm still discovering the hidden alleys
Of my female body
But with every new discovery
It brings a smile
Of acceptance and pleasure
At last I've become a woman.

A prayer by a 12 year old to God

Dear God, turn me into a television
So that I can have the central place in the house and be treated like a lord.
My family living room.

Where everyone in the house will congregate
Anytime of the day, from dawn until way past late
Mom and sister crying over a soap opera
Pa and my brother yelling and cheering over a football match.
For God, the television gets all the tears, laughter and hoorah!

My brother and sister would fight over the remote control
While Pa, despite being tired at the end of the day, still wants to watch the TV
As for Ma when I’m naughty, prefers the TV and simply ignores me.

God, I’m beginning to feel like an imbecile
As it’s just been quite a while
That I last spoke to my father and mother
Or see my family sitting together
To talk during dinner.

I’m beginning to think
Is it because, I’m repulsive
With my akward growing pains and pimply face
I am not as interesting or attractive
Like our 52 inches plasma TV
So God, if I do wake up tomorrow
And become a TV
Make me intelligent, funny and witty
So that I can make everyone happy.

“I have been on my feet the whole day”. from a young woman in stilettos
“All kenyans run.” From a Kenyan who won the KL marathon
“The buffaloes needed extra coaxing today.” From a farmer in Indonesia


Feet how delightful you are,
Giving me wheels to run like a car.
And as I listen to the beat of rhythmic drums,
I find my feet tapping a thump thump.


When the first young grass of spring grows
I would eagerly skip over the grass like a deer, hops of highs and lows.
And in summer as I go to the beach
What pleasure to walk bare feet
To leave my imprints on the sandy beach
And watched as the waves washed them away.

I could think of different ways to make my feet look pretty,
Like painting my toe nails ,
Or wearing a pair of Jimmy Choo’s then walking silly.

At five, it didn’t make any sense when mum bought me sensible canvas shoes
When what I wanted to wear were fancy court shoes.
Ironically now as an adult I get to choose
Boots, court shoes, platforms or stilettos
Yet, all I long for were my comfortable sensible canvas shoes.

I used to day dream to be 6 footer model
Until the day I saw a footless man.
Then I sunk on knees in gratitude
For being an average five footer.

What I would like to be remembered on my grave
This woman has travelled far
This woman has climbed mountains and braved
Many a storm
Although, this woman has fallen many times,
Yet, “She always got back on her feet.”

I just got a new job, very different from what I've done before. I'm excited, exhilarated at being given the opportunity to do this job.

I was given an assignment by my manager a few days ago. My colleague is a young man of 26. We had a little brainstorming session. After that I had to record and type a proposal for this project. I sent it to my colleague and manager. He then sat down and started to re-write and added so much more ideas and material to my simple proposal. I am pleasantly surprise at his wealth of experience and knowledge which I lack despite my age. He has been in the field. I discovered, in Learning, you can never tell from who you will receive your next lesson. Even someone who is a decade younger than you. So for now, just bite my humble pie, and be open enough to accept and absorb.

Your Guru can come in any form or shape. You can learn from a baby, a child, an animal, a beggar, a drunkard when he is sober, even an ant. Be curious!

In examining ads as historical documents, we also should look at what the ad seems to take for granted. Inferring social conditions from advertisements is not straightforward. Ads are highly selective in their depiction of the world. Notably, historical and contemporary studies abound showing that advertising’s depiction of American society has been highly skewed in its portrayal of race, class, and gender.

An exerpt from History Matters, the US Survey Course on the Web. Title What do Ads Reveal or Conceal about an Era?

Below are two different advertisements.
The one on the right was taken in 1943, when the role of a woman was very much dedicated to her family. However, during WWII, most American men were recruited to fight the war. Therefore, women had to come out to work and assuming the jobs which their husbands/sons have left behind. And yet, return home to be a daughter/wife/mother.

Note the picture on the left. This 1977 ad was aimed at garment manufacturers rather than at consumers directly. It refers visually to the emerging social acceptance of fluid and open gender identities and sexual practices that marked the 1970s (symbolized by the fashion trend of androgyny) to urge manufacturers to label correctly the fabric they use in their clothing. This ad contrasts starkly to the message about gender roles conveyed by the 1943 hand lotion advertisement.

A lot of the recipes in Penang Nyonya food uses turmeric or 'kunyit' in Malay. There was an article in our local daily a few months ago which spoke on the benefits of turmeric. I took this from a Malay site and am translating it into English.

Turmeric reduces gas in your stomach.
It aids in the digestion of food.
It increases red blood cells.
It helps to ease discomfort during menstruation.
When turmeric is mixed into a paste with water, it helps in treating eczema, skin allergies, muscular aches, heat rash.








Source:http://petua-untuk-anda.blogspot.com/2008/06/khasiat-kunyit.html

If you have leftover rice, don't throw it away. Use it to make Nasi Ulam. The Malays take plenty of ulam in their diet. Translated it means salad.
This dish is a mixture of a variety of herbs (ulam) and spices with rice. The kunyit and pepper relives stomach gas.

Ingredients:

Rice about 400gm (to feed 5 persons)
One thumb size salted fish pre toasted in the oven or deep fried till crispy.
Then pound the salted fish till fine.
You can substitute (cheat) salted fish with a fistful of anchovies. Deep fry and then pound finely.
One tbsp of pepper or according to taste
Kerisik (coconut shavings fried till brown/fragrant on low fire)

a) Turmeric or kunyit (one thumb size)
b) Ginger flower leaves (2 pieces)/Daun Kunyit
c) One Ginger flower / Bunga kantan
d) Daun kaduk (about 15 large leaves) sold at market one bunch RM 1. Or you can harvest at shady parks or swampy areas or drains.
e) One Onion (large pink ones )
f) Kaffir lime leaves (8 pieces)
g) Long beans (6 strands)
You can add other types of leaves as well.
All the above (a-g) thinly sliced

Then mix them through the rice. Salt might not be necessary as the salted fish is salty enough. This was one of the dish which I sold at my stall.

Then dig in.

What makes your heart chuckle, or beat a 'cantabile' tune?




Starting the day with a yoga asana
My mat placed in a park
Breathing in the fresh morning air
At present, just the asana, the wet grass, no other cares.

Cradling a kitten in my hand,
Rubbing its little tummy
Watching as it falls into slumber, I was its mummy
Like Thumbelina on a lily pad.

Bathing my dog Milo
Scrubbing and covering him in soap suds
Being splattered and covered with droplets
Then he tangles furiously with the towel

Sitting beside my father
Listening to his endless preaching
About life, my father the philospher
My encyclopaedia, full of wisdom and wit, always teaching
Oh how I love this man.

Having family dinner
A table laid out by my mother
Everyone digging in enthusiastically
My mum's cooking, that brought our family together.

Digging my hand into soil
Burying a seed
Watching it turn into a little plant
A flower for beauty or a herb which feeds.

Checking out long lost classmates
In Facebook
Seeing old school photos
From then and now, how beautiful each one of them look.

After work, watching some children
Playing with a fountain
Hand and feet stepping on the water pipes
Splashing, drenched, yet you hear squeals of delight.

Seeping lavender tea
At the end of the day
Listening to gregorian chants
Just doing nothing, except seeping tea

Before I go to sleep
Silencing my mind
In meditation
Listening to the sounds of the Universe
Reaching out to God.

A potter’s hands are made to create
Pots out of clay to contain water or rice
As she steadily knead and mix
Soil collected from mother earth.

A carpenter’s hands are made to build
Shelter out of bamboo, wood or steel
Shielding people from rain, sun, wind, snow.

An artist’s hands brings us beauty
Capturing images through time and history
An interplay of colors expressed through the heart.

A physician’s hands can only heal
A gift from God for the very few
Diagnosing and removing pain and illness.

A mother’s hands will naturally nurture
Be it feeding a baby his first mouthful or
Changing dirty diapers
Mothers hands comfort the human soul.

A farmer’s hands work the land
Sowing seeds that turn into seedlings
Engaging mother earth’s help
Growing food to feed the hungry


In friendship we extend a handshake
Through that handshake we silently say
“you are my friend, and I will trust you.”

Hands can speak when lips fail
For the mute and the deaf
In their silent world, hands communicate.

Hands clasped together in prayer
Speaking words of praise to God
Stilling the mind,
uniting with the higher consciousness


If you were given a knife
What would you do with it?
To carve or shape a block of wood
Into a statue or piece of art
To remove a cancerous tumor
From a patient’s womb
To gut a fish
To open a tin can
To shave your beard
To dig a hole
To puncture a tyre
To scratch a car
To hunt
To stab and kill a life.

What have your hands done lately?

I’ve survived for the past 7 months as a rookie hawker after leaving my comfortable job in the corporate world. Working in the corporate world somehow seemed so unreal now. I feel like I have broken out of a glass bubble and was dealt with reality.

I admitted that physically it was hard for the first 3 months. There were days when my unconditioned body was totally fatigued from the physical labour and heat. The midday sun turned my little stall into a furnace not mentioning facing the hot wok. At the end of the day, all I could think of was to lie down. There were days when I had a “Cooks” block and could not think of what dishes to prepare. Some days, the dishes that I dished out were affected by my emotions. In the early days, I occasionally threw a childish tantrum in my kitchen.
After the third month, my body became stronger and I was fit and muscular. I used to struggle with pushing up the roller shutter (as it was partially damaged), but lately, I did not break a sweat. I could finish preparing all 6 dishes plus cleaning up the kitchen within 2 hours. I have also garnered followers for my food. Unfortunately, despite all my efforts to promote my stall, my sales have not increased. This is the main worry for every entrepreneur, no sales. I found my savings depleting to pay for the cost of running the stall and daily wastage from leftover food. I started to donate my food to Homes and fed beggars. In deciding to become a hawker, I made some lifestyle changes as well. I could not afford to rent an apartment and shifted to a room. I forego yoga classes. I stopped shopping for clothes, shoes, handbags, cosmetics and accessories. I stopped eating at air conditioned restaurants. The last tipping point was when my parents had to pay for my rent. It broke my heart to see the worry in their faces, I knew I had to do something. That was when I started writing in to companies for a job. I proudly wrote in my resume of my current occupation as a Hawker. In all my naivety, I see no shame in being a Hawker as I was earning an honest living. I was offered a job within 2 weeks of serious job search.
Let me share with you a day in a life of a Hawker and the people who I have had the honor of meeting.
I woke up every day at 5.30am to pray and meditate. I leave my house at 7.00am and head for the wet market. My sense of smell is assaulted daily with different odors from the market and the large garbage bins next to the Food Court. The vegetable seller and the fish mongers greet me with a loud “Ah Moi” which means “young lass” or “Aunty”. I chose only to reply to the former. Then I would return to my stall, greet the stray cats, open my stall and feed the cats. After that, I would prepare the freshly bought vegetables and fish. My day ends at 4pm, after the busy lunch hour, I would start to clean up at about 3pm.
Since losing my job, I stopped yoga classes and returned after an 8 months lapsed. My guru approached me and asked about my absence. I explained my current financial situation. He then offered me free classes and not only that trained me to become a yoga teacher. I wept with gratitude. The word “guru” in Sanskrit denotes, gu means darkness & ru means light. Therefore, a guru is someone who enlightens you. In every way, throughout my yoga training, I have learned to be more aware of myself through the love and guidance of my guru.
I started befriending the hawkers, the janitors, the grocers. Previously, being a yuppy I have hardly noticed or exchanged words with these people. Now, since I am working amongst them, I have become like one of them. In the past, a hawker would just serve me food, I paid and that was it. My close friend, mentor, was aunty Linda, who runs a drink stall. She was constantly on a look out for me and keeping the things which I accidentally left outside my stall. I learned some silent code of conduct or house rules in the Food Court. She taught me how to fold the large parasol, which to me was like a tango with a rebellious Spanish dancer. I have yet to master the many folds of my “Spanish dancer’s” skirt. She warned me on days where there were fewer patrons such as long weekends or the 1st and 15th of every lunar calendar where the Chinese will go on vegetarian diet.
Aunty Linda is in her 60’s and leads a hard life. She comes from a family of 11 siblings. She speaks good English and was previously working with a corporate company, as a production supervisor. She took over the drink stall from her father. She has an elderly sister who is mentally ill and has diabetes. Aunty Linda’s sister became ill in her late 20’s and the family believed she was possessed by a spirit. Aunty Linda takes care of her sister in addition to running the stall. Aunty Linda reminds me of Florence Nightingale. She goes from stall to stall to help out in cutting vegetables or peeling prawns. She brings comfort and friendship throughout the Foodcourt.
I bought most of my groceries from this couple who are in their 60’s. Despite being only in their 60’s they somehow appear older, I think due to the physical toll of such a lifestyle. The uncle who is helping his wife was formerly an engineer but almost had an emotional breakdown due to the work pressure in the corporate world. The couple was in their early forties then with 3 young children. They decided to turn to a new leaf, left the northern state and headed for Kuala Lumpur with whatever savings they had. They had run their little grocery stall for about 15 years. It is hard to compete with the large retailers these days. The aunty’s face is permanently etched with deep frowns, worry lines.
Now, right beside the dumpsite is a little room. I used to think that the room was a store for the janitors. I found out later that it was the janitor, his wife and their little baby girl, Rahmah’s home. I have never found out their names as I’ve always addressed them as “Kakak” or “Bapak” to be respectful. The room is pitch black. In the last 6 months, I’ve watched Rahmah grew from an infant to a toddler. Her mother would tie her baby walker to a post outside my stall as she went about mopping the floor. Rahmah is sociable and enjoys the sights and sounds around her. She has adapted well to all the eager aunties who want to carry, pinch and poke her.
One morning I found the janitor’s wife squatting at the entrance of the stall. I approached her and found out that she was nursing 4 tiny new born kittens with a feeding bottle. Someone separated the kittens from their mother and abandoned them to die. The janitor’s wife bought a feeding bottle and cat’s milk to nurse them. Unfortunately they were too young to live.
I am inspired by my meeting with this young family of 3 persons. They tried my food in my first month of opening my stall. My rice was half cooked and the wife discretely informed me. This couple has a daughter age 9. The father suffers from diabetes and has lost both legs to this disease. Part of his left hand appeared hoof like because the disease has led to deformity. The wife shared with me excitedly on their vacation plans to Penang. Her husband will be driving them from Kuala Lumpur to Penang for a four day vacation. They wanted to know of all good places to eat. Incidentally I was in Penang as well and we met. The husband greeted me excitedly at the Little Penang Bazaar where I had a stand. They came specially to support me. The husband then asked me for directions to Batu Ferringhi beach as he wanted his daughter to run on a beach for the first time. Before they left me, he clasped both my hands and said “be strong, god bless you”.
One of my customers became like a mother to me. She is Aunty Julie. Aunty Julie and her sister Aunty Lily supplied me with fresh herbs, pickings from their garden. Aunty Julie was formerly a banker. I confided in her about my worries of my financial status. She actively started to find employers and job opportunities for me. When my mother thanked her, she replied “It’s alright. I am a mother too.”
One evening I was cleaning up and had some leftovers. I approached a beggar and asked if he was hungry. He pointed to the plate of vegetables and I heated them up and offered him. After he finished his meal, he offered me RM1.00. I declined and he clasped his hands together in a prayer and started to nod and pray profusely.
I don’t consider myself a failure. As Benjamin Franklin said “I haven’t failed, I had 10000 ideas that didn’t work.” Had I not had the courage to start my little business, even in its humble beginnings, I would have kept on wondering how it would be like. I know now that it is tough and the location of my stall is important to attract the right patrons. I know that my food is good as I was credited by two sous chefs from a large franchise restaurant. I realized that I can live without all the extra perks in life. I don’t need more than 1 pair of shoes. I dislike wasting food and take only as much as I need. I cannot help but watch disapprovingly at the 8 course dinner that my mother serves daily. We could feed 15 people and there are only 5 of us at home. I cry easily these days, most of the time out of gratitude at my good fortune, other times when I see people’s hardship or an animal in pain. I met my ex partner and he told me this, “there is no such thing as lack or destitute. You have 3 full meals a day. Isn’t that abundance?”

I returned last weekend to clean up my stall and gave away some food. I had for the past 2 months adopted a mother cat and her kitten (which died). I have not returned to my stall for the past 2 weeks. The janitor's wife told me that the mother cat (Mummy) has been coming every morning to my stall and sits patiently waiting for me. (reminded me of the movie Hachiko) I went to look for her and found her asleep in a shaded area of the Food Court. She recognised me but appeared thinner and is pregnant again. She refused to eat other food but the cat food which I used to feed her with. I fed her again and she ate greedily. I squatted beside her and watched her eat and I cried. The janitor's wife came to console me and said "don't worry, I will feed her."

I have never liked cats. I was suspicious of them and thought cats as mysterious animals. They have a mind of their own. They do not possess the loyalty and simple mindedness of dogs. That was, until Girlie came along. Girlie was a stray orange tabby which “selected” me to be her mistress. Two weeks after I opened my food stall in a Food Court, Girlie started to visit my stall. She greeted me first thing in the morning as I opened the roller shutter. She stayed and kept me company as I cooked, seated right beside me and watched. Frequently, I have trampled on her or kicked her like a football accidentally as I reached out for sauces or ingredients. Girlie was a delightful cat, so intelligent and responded to my calls. She behaved like a puppy and followed me around the food court, or walked with me to my car. When she jumped on a table and I raised my voice to chide her, she seemed to understand and quickly jumped down to a chair. Then she sat beside me as I read. Once, her paws reached out to my book and she flipped the pages of my book and purred as if asking “what are you reading?” I had Girlie spayed 4 weeks ago, as I wanted to prevent unwanted stray kittens. Shortly after being spayed she was taken away from the Food Court. I hope she was adopted by a kind owner.

At the food court are a group of 3 stray kittens (A, B and C) probably a few weeks old. C is a gray scrawny looking tabby. She was the smallest of the lot. She had a very lost look. One morning when I came to my stall, I saw C suckling on A’s nipples. It appeared that A took over the role of being a mother cat for C. There is an orange large female tabby which was so round with pregnancy. Big Mama (the pregnant cat) kept entering my stall but as long as Girlie was in the stall, she guarded my stall from all other cats. I took a pity to the strays and started buying cat food and feeding them.

It has been two weeks since Girlie was taken away. Last week, Big Mama came into my stall. I did not want another cat since losing Girlie. However, Big Mama was persistent. After entering my stall, she started to survey my stall and looked into a large wooden crate where I kept the woks. A few minutes later, she returned with a tiny white round “cotton” bob in her mouth. Then she climbed on the wooden crate and dropped the little white fluff into the crate. I was curious and went to pick up the white fluff and held for the first time a tiny baby kitten in my palm. I gazed into this Lilliput cat, and a pair of large sapphire eyes stared back at me. Then, this fragile little kitten gave out a very loud “meow”, compared to its tiny form, it was a roar! My heart melted.
Since that day, every other day seems like a documentary from National Geography but better, it’s life.

Mother Nature’s Exemplar of Motherhood

Big Mama is a role model for motherhood. Baby Fairy (I christened her that yesterday) is one handful of a “toddler”. She is curious and crawls all over my stall and outside of the stall. Whenever she crosses the boundary (which is outside my stall), Big Mama would purr loudly and when the toddler does not return she would pick up the naughty kitten and carry her into a carton box. The carton box became Baby Fairy’s crib and play pen. Three days ago, I placed a small basket in the box to serve as a bed for Baby Fairy. Big Mama grooms Baby Fairy and like a human mother who changes her baby’s diaper, Big Mama cleans Baby Fairy’s bottom thoroughly. Every few hours, Big Mama would nurse Baby Fairy.

The adoption

Three days ago, the gray kitten C started to enter my stall. She timidly approached Big Mama as if, asking for permission to enter. Then she rubbed her body against Big Mama to show affection. Big Mama responded by licking C’s body. Two days ago, as Baby Fairy slept in her crib, C came and sat for a while beside the crib and watched Baby Fairy. Then she very carefully stepped into the crib, one leg over the basket to avoid stepping on Baby Fairy. After that, she curled around the basket and slept beside Baby Fairy, her head rested on the edge of the basket against Baby’s head and a paw rested on Baby’s chest, to cuddle Baby Fairy.

Yesterday, C behaved like an older sibling and playfully wrestled with Baby Fairy as Big Mama kept a watchful eye. I noticed Big Mama stood up when she thought that the play was too rough.

Sibling rivalry

This afternoon, Big Mama laid on her back and C came first to snuggle against Big Mama and then started to suckle on Big Mama’s nipples. Baby Fairy was discovering my stall. When Baby noticed C suckling the mother cat’s nipples she hastily crawled towards Big Mama and then with all her might and tiny paws, pushed C’s head aside. Then she tried to squeeze her little head in between, to suck the same nipple. I gently pulled C away to a lower nipple. Then Baby noticed C sucking the other nipple and immediately decided that the new nipple would taste better. So, again that little rascal started to push her “older sister’s” head aside. All this while Big Mama laid back patiently and contentedly as two hungry kittens greedily suckled on her.

I could not help but be filled with amazement at the greatness of nature and the animal kingdom. This stray cat has shown so much motherly love not only for her own kitten but her heart is so big and generous that she could extend her love by accepting another stray kitten.

When I look around me at what is happening in society these days, the gruesome stories of child abuse and new born babies being abandoned, I am filled with sadness and hopelessness.

What is happening to the human race? Despite all the evolution that we have gone through, are we actually evolved? Can we say that we are sophisticated beings when we can be so cruel to our own kind.
Open your eyes people.

"That is one no good dog, boy I am so relief after dropping him off". (a text message from my ex-boyfriend after giving Happy away). That was the last that I heard of Happy, my beagle. I adopted Happy last August, when a friend rescued him on a highway in Kajang. He had a long heavy chain soldered to his thick collar and he stunk!
I fell in love to him 3 days later and told my friend I will keep him. Throughout his stay with my ex-boyfriend and I he has run away about 8 times. The first time that I lost him for 4 hours, he returned with a very large bloated tummy and a limp, swollen hind leg. I had to give him tummy rubs and his stomach was belching. I named him Happy because of his easy going, cheerful personality. The first time that he ran away, it caused me so much pain and anxiety. Eventually I got used to it. As I reflect I wonder if Happy's lesson to me, is that attachment to anything or anyone causes pain. That eventually I may have to learn to let go. I was not able to take care of Happy anymore, after breaking up with my boyfriend and renting a room. It saddens me not to be able to afford him the life that I've initially promised, a happy and secure one.
I pray that his new owner is able to give him a good home.

I opened a little stall
Cooking food from my Mama's secret recipes
Trying to live up to my mother's legacy
Of cooking with love and pride
Such sumptious food, which brought our whole family
Cousins, aunties, uncles and friends gather
Seated around our marble dining table, together
We look forward to my mother's food.

Mama was in New York
She worriedly asked that I delay
Opening my little stall
Wait until the day
She returns to contribute some of her dishes
And give me advice, love and even labour.

Upon Mama's homecoming, she could not wait to visit my little kitchen
On the first day and she said it was lovely
Subsequently her eyes scan the space around her
Like a health inspector
Then she pointed out all the specks of dirt
Scrub them off, your kitchen should be spotless.
The next day, she bought me 2 large bowls
There are not enough containers to display my food.
Then, came 2 additional ladles, each bowl should have its own ladle;
A stainless steel hook organizer to hang all my ladles.
Of which Ma religiously remind me to look for a carpenter, to get it hung.
The next week, I received, an expensive wire sieve.
And lo, a set of 9 knives of different shapes and sizes
Which came with a sharpening tool.
Shall we get another chopping board?

One day, I was cooking curry
Stirring the chicken in my hot wok,
Mama stood behind me,
Then she said this, "You are indecently dress, I can see through your pants".
Let me take over the wok, go and buy a new pair of pants, do HURRY!"

She tells me that my skin is no longer flawless
My hands are rough to the touch
They resemble the hands of a hawker
She hovers beside me as I cook
Turning the gas to lower the heat
You are burning your food!

After I cook, she starts to scrub
My kitchen counter
And with swifts strokes she sweeps
My kitchen floor
Quickly clean up before
Your customers, start pouring in.

Oh Mama, please don't be angry
When I return some of the things which you buy
For it is after all a little kitchen
And I just don't have enough space
To store too many things, it brings me to a daze!
Allow me to have my own work space
To decide what I need
Sometimes when I am busy
I do become a little crabby
And it makes me uneasy
Having you hover inches beside me
I do listen
And I do appreciate
The food that you cook for me and my stall
After all,
It is your legacy that I'm trying to live up to.

Farewell my love,
I shall set you free,
Fly away my little white dove
To a land of new beginning, if it makes you happy.

I can not ask you to stay
When your heart is restless
Your eyes no longer spark
With joy, nor do you laugh like a lark
At my jokes, or greet me when I come home,
Instead, sometimes you bark.

No longer shall I hear the familiar voice
The bedtime talks, or as you read out loud, the lullaby that put me to sleep.
The comfort of your body, your chest to rest my head upon, your hand stroking my hair.
The spontaneous play or how well we dance without a care
The adventure and the places we explored.
You have stopped talking about tomorrow,
Instead you gently remind me, soon you will have to go.

I will hold dearly the lessons you have taught
To follow my heart bravely
To be responsible for the choices that I make
To give and love generously
To embrace life and the people around me.

We shall walk our separate ways
For now, I'll have to look the other way
In time, if we should meet again,
Perhaps, I can smile and say hello.
But not just yet, let me lie low.

Since starting out on my little business, I find that I have to be more prudent with my expenses. I've given up on shopping sprees during sales. I have to forget about dining in restaurants and impulsive food indulgence. I've moved into a rented room and have to part with some material possessions.


Selling food, have brought me face to face with so many other little miracles. I find that I no longer live in a corporate glass bubble. I've become more down to earth because of the people I meet and the daily simple things that greet me each day.

I appreciate the abundance of mother nature, that each morning, I can pluck leaves for the food I cook (like daun kaduk, pandan, kaffir lime leaves) in the wild around my house.

I have met strangers who have been so kind, encouraging and helpful. My customer plucked herbs from her garden to give me for my food!

There's the cleaner and his wife who just had a 3 month old baby girl. And as they go about their work cleaning the compound, the pram is placed in front of my shop. I hear the sweet sounds of a baby's gargle and coos.

Nothing beats a parents love and devotion for their child. Throughout my 'probationary period', my parents came relentlessly every day to work for me. My dad texted me every other day with words of hope. I had a lunch box from mum. What did I do to receive this much love?

I befriended an old lady, my customer. She extended so much kindness, warmth and praise for me. Strangely I met her daughter. I wanted to put all the plates food on a tray and serve them. But the daughter said, "Don't help her, let her take her food herself. She must work hard." I can't explain this encounter. Nor will I judge the daughter.


There's a family of 3. The father has no legs and he has lost some fingers on both hands. Yet, he affords his family a normal life. They appeared happy. He is still able to drive from state to state to take his entire family for a vacation.

My guru who gave me free yoga classes because I am financially too tight to pay for classes.

I realised I can do with far fewer possessions in my life. I feel lighter and there's less attachment to material.


I believe that life has given me so much abundance through love, friendship, kindness (of friends, family and strangers) and my harvest from Mother Nature. I appreciate people more and I don't immediately judge others anymore. I think that being wealthy isn't about how much you own, but how much you have lived and allowed others to touch and enter your life.

Being wealthy is about how much you have given and shared yourself with others.