Of Titty & A Shower of 'Babies'

Took an early morning drive to KLIA today to send daughter Ann, who was leaving for Tokyo after being summoned to appear as a witness in a Japanese court case. The occupational hazard of a reporter, as always. She'll be back Friday. Hello Titty visiting the land of Hello Kitty? Ahak!

As luck would have it, ran into Ana, the fourth of my five sisters, at the airport. She was bound for Johore Baru to attend a function. Ana, the sole academician among us siblings, is attached to UiTM Shah Alam, where she lectures business and entrepreneurship.

Also met her daughter Amirah who drove her to the airport. Glad to note Mira is looking better than the last time we saw her. The 24 year-old college grad is currently undergoing chemotherapy for cancer, having lost a leg to the accursed disease four years ago.

This little bundle is Kayden Riley Stewart, the latest addition to my sister Idah's family. Born to Idah's daughter Amilda and hubby Sabran Gary Stewart in Cleveland, Ohio, two weeks ago, Kayden's their firstborn. So Grandma Idah lost no time in flying to Ohio, to be with her new (and second) cucu.

And this is MY own baby, a spanking new laptop, a birthday present from Pak Abu. Thank you, Pa. I promise to be a bit more rajin in updating my blog.. hehehe..

Here's another new 'baby', from me to me, purchased at the Pahang Art Exhibition on the last day of the event Friday. Thank you Mamasita for taking the trouble to reserve it for me (it could have travelled to Washington DC in Ambassador Datuk JJ's consignment otherwise).

"Rambutan" is a beauty to behold. With the forthcoming Kelantan Art Exhibition, I am hoping to expand my visual fruit orchard to include more varieties of buah-buahan..

And last but not least, here's the fifty-something "Golden Girls" as well as those not-quite-golden-yet girls lineup. From left: Mamasita, NanaDJ, Kama, Zendra, Desert Rose, Ezza and cutiepie Kay_Leeda. Thank you ladies for the pleasant birthday surprise. Blogger Edelweiss had left by this time; tak sempat bergambar together..

Baby, Baby Don't Get Hooked On Me....

The other day I had a go at Carpenters' timeless classic "For All We Know", the first time I had sung that song in over 30 years. I was pleasantly surprised to find I could still recall the lyrics with ease.

Way back in the late 60s and early 70s, that song, along with a few other hits by Carpenters and Anne Murray, was a staple in my meagre repertoire as a teenage vocalist in a small-town band in Dungun.

We sang a lot of Malay numbers then, only because our most frequent gigs were weddings. It was only when we had the occasional opportunity to perform on stage in public, usually as a prelude to some government-sponsored concerts, that English numbers, mostly those by The Beatles and Bee Gees, saw the light of day.

I remember only too well why I quit singing "For All We Know"; it was the ex's "theme song" with his Aussie girlfriend, the one he had harboured hopes of marrying. Circumstances saw that hope dashed, and he returned home alone upon completing his studies.

He came clean about it, but only when I found her photograph with the lyrics scribbled behind it, while sorting out his piles of books and things. Long after we parted ways, I still balked at singing that song, until last week. Perhaps it was a closure of some sort.

I am pretty sure we all share similar experiences when we were young and carefree and madly in love. Many of us would have had our own special songs, usually those saccharine-sweet, sentimental love ballads that had the innate ability to turn the best of us into blathering fools.

And then, when for some reasons the relationship came to grief, we found that we just couldn't bear to hear that special 'our song' anymore without feeling like strangling the erstwhile suitor or the singer, or both.

All through my colourful life, only two songs had affected me so, and for markedly different reasons. Besides "For All We Know", there was a pointed reminder in the form of Mac Davis' somewhat selfish "Baby, Baby Don't Get Hooked On Me."

Here's an interesting take on that second tune; I met the one-time steady again two years ago after a lapse of 36 years (we dated briefly at the tail end of 1973). It was a chance meeting at a golf club; I was attending the wedding of a niece and he was checking out the club membership with a view of becoming one.

A recently-retired army general, the Datuk, now with grandkids, looked as spiffy as ever. We had a good laugh over our brief and completely innocent courtship. He was then my eldest brother's best buddy, thus toed the line religiously (or risk bodily harm, I'd think!)

Come to think of it, maybe that was why he finally called it quit; that friendship with the brother had left him with no room for 'creative maneuverings' with the sister! Dumped me he did, for "Miss Chinatown" no less (and I kid you not).

Months before giving me the boot, however, he started playing "Baby, Baby, Don't Get Hooked On Me" each time we got together. A good strategist he was; at 21, he was preparing my 19 year-old heart for the inevitable breakup.

This may sound laughable by today's standard, but our courtship was conducted almost entirely under the watchful eyes of his parents and two sisters. They were extremely nice people for sure, and I guess they wanted only the best for their only son and brother.

We would sit together and play his records on the turntable, and I would join them for meals before he sent me home to my aunt's at the prescribed hours, and not a minute longer. That was how chaste the whole courtship was; small wonder he felt so stifled.

Being dumped was not a pleasant thing to happen to anyone and at any age, more so if the 'dumper' was your brother's best friend. But losing out to a pliable beauty queen proved to be a lot less painful than I had imagined; perhaps because I wasn't ready to be a 'big girl' any time soon....

The Week That Was

Mom and the boys at Red Box Monday. Pak Abu's behind the camera...

My very able Wonderwoman executive, Zira, manning the fort at the Federation dinner Wednesday.

Birthday girl Ann, new hairstyle all, flanked by colleague Fuzzie (left) and sister Awwa (right) at her birthday do Saturday.

FIRST of all, an apology is due for the slack in updating my blog. Believe me, it wasn't intentional. I had wanted to write and write, and there were so many things to scribble about, to comment upon.

Unfortunately, the mind was preoccupied with work and by the time Saturday approached, migraine conveniently took over. Suffice to say it effectively and spectacularly screwed up my weekend.

Yours truly's wargamas landmark which fell on Sunday last week was celebrated with a simple dinner with fellow senior citizen, Pak Abu, at our favourite Italian joint, La Risatta, in Medan Damansara. Monday night saw the family giving Mom a karaoke treat at Red Box, Mid-Valley.

Tuesday was packed to the brim with last-minute preparations for a gala dinner to be held the following day. The event, organised by the Federation of Public Listed Companies, Malaysia, was to honour the media. As FPLC's public relations "achi", I had to take the lead in organising.

The heavens opened on Wednesday afternoon, giving me the shivers about attendance. Knowing city folks as it were, I was afraid invitees would be deterred by the possibility of massive traffic crawls that they would decide not to come at all.

Thank God turn up they all did - we had a full house - but (there's always a "but" lurking in there somewhere...) the performers arrived at 6 pm instead of 3 pm as earlier planned. As such, the dry run flew out the window, pissing me off no end for I was deprived of an opportunity to give the whole event, including my emceeing, a run-through.

At times like this I thank my 20 years of experience in this line; scribbling notes at the last minute, ad-libbing my way to suit the occasion. I so much dislike unpreparedness for it offers too many opportunities to screw up.

Thankfully, everything went well (err, there was a slight glitch in the final dance performance when the music inadvertently stopped halfway, leaving the dancers flapping like lost chicken looking for their mother hen, but who's complaining?)

Somehow I felt those dancers scored points with that faux pas. I think the girls' outlandish (and skimpy) 'samba' attire with multi-coloured feathers, heavily-sequined boleros and God knows some other fancy stuffs they had up the ropol-ropol sleeves (they could have hidden a ferret or two in there and I wouldn't have been any wiser), were enough entertainment for guests.

Thankfully too, the Tan Sri president didn't chew my head off about the slip-up. And that he accepted the speech that I had prepared for him, verbatim. I guess he was being a good sport. Perhaps he too found the whole ridiculous scenario entertaining enough.

I thought I could take it easy Thursday; then I remembered my team had scheduled a meeting with PESENI (Association of Kelantan Artists) member Pak Zawi, to brief him about the forthcoming art exhibition that we are planning for PESENI.

Pak Zawi was returning to Kelantan after spending two weeks nannying his grandson in KL, so it made sense to brief him of the preliminary development so he could inform his fellow members upon his return. My team and I will be going to Kelantan soon to make a proper presentation to the association.

Thankfully, Friday was rather quiet. With my nose out of joint, all I wanted to do was sleep (which was what I did, incidentally, with Lillie curled at my feet). Blogging was out; much like Bukit Besi's decrepit iron-ore wagon train (keretapi lipang), the mind had stalled. It simply refused to regurgitate words.

A slight headache greeted Saturday; I instinctively knew it was going to be a bad day. But there was another meeting to attend, in Putrajaya this time. So off we went, praying hard it wouldn't be a convoluted one (it was short and sweet, thank God for His little mercies).

By noon my nagging headache had turned into a full-blown migraine. My migraine episodes, just like pyrotechnic shows, have always been spectacular - the endless throbbing and continuous puke sessions, the hot-cold-hot again-cold again sensation, the neck pain, the blurry vision...

Half the time I would sit up with arms encircling a pail, for hours sometimes, just so I could empty my gut. At times like these, all I prayed for was to pass out cold and wake up a day later with a clearer head.

That night the entire family celebrated Ann's birthday at Italiannis in One Utama without me. While they were merrily feasting on zuppe, spaghetti, gnocchi, lasagna, tiramisu and whatever else they had there, I was holed up in semi-darkness in the bedroom, wallowing in self-pity.

To conclude a sorely imperfect evening, Pak Abu got home on foot. The car wouldn't start! Luckily One Utama is just 15 minutes away (a brisk walk) from home. He forgot there were jumper cables in the boot...

Anyway, the car's back home. Everything's fine and dandy once again. For now. Let's see what this week brings. The way things go, I can bet my bottom ringgit there will be more hilarity in store for my good readers (at our expense, of course...sighhh)


PS: Caught Kak Teh 'live' on TV1 Sunday morning in the "Apa Kata Wanita" (What Women Say) programme. She was interviewed via skype in this week's segment about "Women In Journalism." Looked like she could use some sleep, the poor dear...

On Turning 55...

OVER THE YEARS.....

Age 6: The pre-schooler and her first official portrait.

(Bukit Besi, Terengganu 1960)

Age 16: The schoolgirl in her Girl Guide ensemble.

(Dungun, Terengganu 1970)

Age 20: The newspaper reporter on her wedding day.

(Kuala Lumpur, 1974)

Age 38: The PR consultant-cum-single mom with 4 kids in tow.

(Bangkok, Thailand 1992 - serving Thai Tourism Board)

Age 47: Another shot at matrimony, after 14 years...

(Ipoh, Perak 2001)

Blissfully happy: Kama & Pak Abu

(Medina, Saudi Arabia - Hajj of 2008).

(This entry is unashamedly self-indulgent, so please forgive me. Give it a miss if it doesn't quite agree with you; I am just so happy to be where I am today that I could burst from the sheer joy of it).

A wargamas - freshly minted, legally certified and absolutely thrilled - was born today. Signed, sealed, delivered; that's me, rushing headlong into 55. How wonderful, to be able to proudly claim senior citizenship!

I had waited for this day ever since I turned 40. Frankly, it has very little to do with the promised bounty, enticing as that may be. It's just that the 40s somehow never really fit into my scheme of things. I couldn't relate to the old standby "life begins at 40" because for me it didn't.

If I were to assign some recognition to it, I'd call my 40s "the age of wilderness and confusion." You see, when you hit 40, you are neither here nor there. While you are definitely not young (being young at heart doesn't count), you are not old either.

The age of youth ends with 39. But old age doesn't really hit you in the face until 50 and beyond, so where does that leave the 40s? Granted, it may be just numbers to some but those numbers troubled me enough to give my 40s a wide mental berth.

Time stood still from the time I bid 39 goodbye until I leapfrogged into 50. The missing decade was spent in "age hibernation', emerging only on the treshhold of 50 to take my rightful place amongst the half-centurians.

Alas, what I had conveniently seek to forget, my bones never ceased to remind. The creaks amplified with every move. Not that I minded much really, because being 50 was a prelude to better things to come - turning 55 and joining the illustrious "Senior Citizens Brigade".

So here I am, turning 55 today - still alive and kicking - creaking bones, protruding guts, wobbly knees, greying hair, the occasional memory lapses, impaired vision and 'audio trouble' notwithstanding. All the same, Thank You God, for all Your blessings....

Feast for the Eye

Guest-of-honour YB Senator Dato Maznah Mazlan, Deputy Minister of Human Resource, flanked by event organiser Datin Huda a.k.a Mamasita Mamamia (left) and Pn Farisha Pawanteh (right), COO of Media Prima's Primeworks. Standing behind are some of the Pahang artists participating in the exhibition.

An eerie rendition, featuring a big tree entwined with vines; look at it a moment too long and it gives you goosepimples.

The two paintings that had me bowled over. I assure you they truly seduce in real life; it's my amateurish photography that doesn't do them justice here.

A typical scene in the East Coast; elderly makciks hawking their meagre wares. They look so despondent... :(

Jantung Pisang & Ikan Emas, batik-style. There are a few truly exquisite batik drawings in the collection; a quirky rendition of a monkey pitcher plant is one..

Fishing boats moored at a river estuary. Melancholy sets in just by looking at this piece of realism.

Absolutely stunning; an undersea vision of a turtle swimming among bright corals. My hunch tells me this piece will appreciate in no time..

Ah, these two boys have just undergone circumcision. Gently does it, boys! Look at the folds meticulously drawn, and the batik patterns, bright and cheerful...

One can never go wrong with the humble heliconia, upright and strong in all its red glory.

This Ayam Serama series gave blogger Jaflam a sudden adrenalin rush; besides collecting art pieces, he also used to keep these highly-prized chicks.

Kampung house in the moonlight. According to the organiser, this traditional abode is located in Pekan.

Drenched in sweat, a fisherman and three friends prepare to push a boat out to sea.

Simply Captivating

These art pieces speak for themselves. That each and every single one of the paintings is special is without a doubt. Mamasita's ceaseless efforts have borne fruit. Congratulations Datin; you did fine with this commendable endeavour.

Those Pahang artists are definitely a talented lot. Just look at the fruits of their labour, now up for both public viewing and sale at TV3's Seri Pentas. I am not a connoisseur and I do not know much about art appreciation, but I know beauty when I see one.

And speaking of fruits, I am once again smitten. Fruit renditions make me go weak at the knees. Once upon a time it was Mazeri's mangosteens, now occupying a place of honour in my living room. Yesterday, it was the rambutans (pix above).

Those humble rambutans are slowly working their charm on me. And they are VERY affordable too (darn!) I really can't afford to fall in love at first sight too often.. but we'll see about this one :)

I am calling on fellow readers to spread the word around. If you happen to live in the Klang Valley, do come visit the exhibition. I understand it will be on for two weeks (until the end of the month). It's truly a feast for the eye....

PS: Another art show from the East Coast - from the talents of Kelantan this time - is in the works. We'll inform when all details are finalised.

When He Whispers....

It's a marvel how Evil works. Half the time you didn't even realise it was his doing - the sly whisperings and nudges, the gentle proddings, the promises - until much later when sensibility returned. By the time you did it was too late; you had been duped.

For years I was the unhappy recipient of numerous "gangguans"; those weird, sometimes unexplainable happenings that would prickle the hairs on your nape or send a chill up your spine. Being at the receiving end of such creepy experiences was emotionally taxing; I have never really understood this ability to sense and occasionally see 'things'.

I have, however, taken it in my stride over the years, even if I am still as anxious as always, worrying about all things natural and supernatural, humans and hantus (especially humans behaving like hantus!). I know all I need to do is fortify my faith in God, and keep close to Ayatul Qursi as an added measure.

Truth be told, I found peace and tranquility after the Hajj. God has been so kind and I am humbled in more ways than one. Syukur Alhamdulillah, ya Allah. My life used to be so messed up with such nonsensical things that I couldn't see the woods for the trees sometimes.

Now, there's this issue about Isya' prayers (for the uninitiated, it's the late evening prayer, the last of five for the day) that had been bugging me for a while. While one school of thought says one should never delay one's solat, the other says one should preferably do the Isya' just before turning in so that one goes to bed with one's ablution intact.

While I do not see the merit of praying just before bedtime (praying on the heels of azan is still the best, I think), I sometimes do it because it is convenient. Therein lies this problem.. the seductive whispers of Satan...

There had been occasions when I would do my Isya' just before bed. That would mean way past midnight because I learned a long time ago that ideas came easy at the closing of day, so I would write away until sleepiness overtook me.

Half of me always felt guilty for delaying solat, yet the other half would say soothingly... "Alaah, if you are sleepy, go to sleep first lah and then wake up in the middle of the night and pray. What's the issue?"

Now, that's the whisper of that damnable Satan for you. He's hoping you'll be knocked out till dawn, and so will miss your Isya' and hopefully, your Subuh too! I knew it, yet I still fell prey to it sometimes especially when the bed beckoned ever so invitingly.

Last night, however, I was punished for refusing to succumb to his words. As I stood my ground, I knew he went away disgruntled, planning his next move.

It was past midnight and I had just finished some work at the computer when sleepiness closed in. The Despicable One, somehow, had me tuned to "sleep first, pray later" mode. I was already contemplating slipping under the duvet in the cool comfort of my bedroom when I was 'physically' jolted that I nearly fell off my chair.

I fully believe a kind spirit had a hand in giving me this 'wake-up call', literally. Chastened, I quickly took my ablution, completed Isya' and went to bed. Pak Abu was still finishing some work on his computer at the dining table, and watching TV at the same time.

I was nodding off to sleep when I heard a tremendous roar on the yet-unoccupied side of the bed. The duvet seemed to move in a wavy motion, and a hazy outline of a hand seemed to appear from nowhere, hitting the duvet continuously while the roaring continued.

I found my body completely immobilised but I could move my pupils sideways, only to see the duvet moving on its own. I tried calling out to Pak Abu, but no voice came out. I searched my mind for Ayatul Qursi but couldn't find it. All I could utter was "A'uzubillahi minasyaitanirrajim".

I kept repeating the verse until I could feel my body relaxing ... and then all was quiet once again. Immediately I grabbed the Surah Yasin & Ayatul Qursi booklet on my bedside table and started reading. Moments later Pak Abu walked in.

I wasn't scared, just very annoyed that The Damned One tried to intimidate me for not sleeping first and praying later. I think that was it. He had expected me to just go to bed and hopefully 'terlepas' Isya' altogether. Such dugaan...

Not Again, Lillie!

The "abang-abang bomba" assessing the situation, while Pak Abu (left) and Zaid (right), our condo's technician, wait patiently.

The wet kitchen of the unoccupied unit where Lillie got herself trapped in.

Up goes bomba's retractable steps, to reach the 3rd floor.

A rescuer on the way up to retrieve the stuck feline.

... another caper came to an embarrassingly eventful end...

By any yardstick, this morning's event, a briefing by the Labuan IBFC (International Business and Financial Centre) for members of the Federation of Public Listed Companies, Malaysia (FPLC) for whom I consult, was a successful public relations outing.

Press attendance was decent, with both the print and electronic media well represented. That alone took care of fifty per cent of all my worries when organising this sort of function; a PR practitioner's nightmare has always been media coverage (the lack thereof, that is).

I had agonised over the possibility of a media no-show, firstly because there was no final confirmation and secondly because of the venue, the rather secluded Sime Darby Convention Centre in Bukit Kiara. PR-wise, I have always been in favour of high-traffic locations (hotels and such) due to accessibility.

Happy with the turnout, I left the function around noon with a jaunt in my step and headed straight for home. There I was, bubbling with excitement over yet another job done to client's satisfaction, when I saw Pak Abu's grim face as I stepped into the house.

"Lillie has disappeared. I don't know where she is and I didn't realise when she slipped past the door. I have paced the entire 16 floors but there is no sight of her."

My bubble burst. Oh Lillie, not again!

I never had a cat that gave me so much heart palpitations like Lillie; high-spirited and keenly adventurous but with a mean streak of possessiveness and jealousy, not to mention intensely territorial. Occasionally, she also gave me the creeps when her eyes brightened up and followed 'things' we didn't see.

The next hour or so were spent going up and down the lift, exploring every nook and cranny of the building trying to figure out where she could possibly be. About the only place I didn't poke my nose into was the swimming pool.

The security personnel said he saw Lillie batting the cleaner's broom as the latter swept the 3rd or 4th floor. He said he was positive the cat was still on either floor as all the firedoors of the exit staircase were kept closed.

Up to both floors trudged I once again, calling out her name, all the time thinking how ridiculous I must have looked to fellow condo dwellers; tudung askew, poking my head into other people's doorway softly cooing "Lillie, Lillie.."

Then I heard her! The meowing, although distant and weak, was unmistakably hers. The meowing led me to the wet kitchen area of an unoccupied unit. There, sitting next to a broken down washing machine was a terrified-looking Lillie.

She must have jumped one floor down and landed on the wet kitchen ledge. A foolhardy move if ever there was one, for she could have slipped and fall to her death.

Lillie has a weakness for birds (she paws the air each time she sees a bird wing past our balcony). She likes watching a bird in flight. One had apparently built its nest in the empty kitchen, and this could have prompted Lillie to go check it out.

There were only two ways to retrieve her; break open the door of the unoccupied unit in order to reach the wet kitchen, or call the fire brigade.

The management wasn't keen to pick the lock on the unit's door for fear of being sued for breaking and entering. On top of that, the unit, although unoccupied, was full of household stuff belonging to a tenant.

And so it came to be that the fire brigade was summoned to dislodge the rascal, who by now had managed to create a spectacle for herself by squeezing behind some boxes and bottles, leaving only a paw visible.

Each time her name was called, she would move her paw a twitch, providing comic relief to curious onlookers. I honestly didn't know where to put my face with all her antics, but those bomba guys were really cool. Part of the job, said they.

Apart from a dirty, dusty coat and blackened paws, Lillie was okay, if a bit shaken. Thanking the rescuers profusely, I beat a hasty retreat, whisking the scamp up to our unit and giving her ear a mighty twack along the way to show my displeasure, before proceeding to bathe her.

Thankfully, she didn't protest much but allowed herself to be scrubbed under a jet of warm water. She then perched herself contemplatively on the armrest of the sofa, still uncharacteristically quiet. Soon enough, she nodded off to sleep.

I think she could sense I was mighty annoyed with her. "Boy oboy, the old woman's mad, mad, mad as a hatter! I'd better be on my best behaviour for a day or two.." Then again, seems to me being grounded doesn't mean much to this recalcitrant....

Lillie oh Lillie.. what am I to do with you..!