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.