Come Sit By Me

I am leaving. One foot is already out the door... and into a new home. I will say a proper Goodbye a little later. But for now...come sit by me here.

Swing My Way

One thing I like about Wordpress is how simple it is for someone who doesn't know much about html codes to change blog header pictures - compared to Blogger (Blogspot). Hence you see I have been playing with it... changing the header pictures as often as I like.

Today it features the verandah teak swing we had at the corner closest to the swimming pool. Used to be my retreat swing - with a good book or this netbook - on rainy afternoon. I was going to get some padding custom-made for it had we stayed in Malaysia a bit longer (or at one point, I thought I was going to stay there indefinitely!) This swing is now sitting and not swinging in our garage in Pokrovsky. Hmmm...

My life had taken a different swing towards a direction I did not believe possible when I bought this swing at Gotic Jalan Ampang. I still do not know what could swing my way, but I have faith I can anytime do the Buble's Sway and won't stray. For now, I just let the Marimba play.

Gua Hantu

Did I tell you that whoever is responsible for translating the title of English movies to Bahasa Malaysia has chosen this for the latest Ron Howard's work 'Angels and Demons': Malaikat dan Jin.

Hwwaaattt?

Yes! That was exactly my reaction. Where on the middle earth did that jin come from? Jin Mata Satu dari Gua Hantu, hai meh? I foresaw something like Malaikat dan Roh Jahat or Malaikat dan Syaitan, even. But jin is a very specific being.

I am not actually remotely questioning the language side of the translation, but rather the simple homework somebody simply did not do. How challenging is it really for a translator to Google for a definition of demon?

Here's what I found on my basic dictionary (WordBook):

Word Links
djinny: (Islam) an invisible spirit mentioned in the Koran and believed by Muslims to inhabit the earth and influence mankind by appearing in the form of humans or animals

Synonym
genie, jinni, jinnee, djinni

Hypernym
disembodied
spirit, spirit

Domain Of Category
Islam, Islamism, Mohammedanism, Muhammadanism, Muslimism

Hyponym
eblis, shaitan, shaytan

I did specify that jin is a very specific being, did I not?

I'm pretty sure Dan Brown did not have any jin or djinn in mind when he wrote Angels and Demons. A translator does not have to read the book, nor watch the movie to be able to tell that much. Am I stating the obvious that the translator did not do his homework? Or was there a member of Illuminati putting a burning satay skewer to his neck ready to stamp him with this word had he not used the word JIN?

IC: Identity Crisis

It is never a short answer to “Where are you from, Enida?” Never. Neither is it a short story. Now, how do you summarize this:

I was born in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah – hence the XXXXXX-12-XXXX in my MyKad. A few years after I was born, my parents were transferred to Taiping, where I started school and finished Form Three (Grade 9). Much to my and KaCher’s resentment, we were sent to Temerloh, Pahang, to complete the two remaining years of our high school. KaCher and I were both born in KK, raised in Taiping and sent to Temerloh. Two years later, together, KaCher and I got a place in the TESL Program at PPP/ITM Shah Alam – and that was where we were asked a lot about our origin.

Am I a Sabahan? Apparently Sabahans do not think so. If your parents were not born and bred in Sabah – no matter how much your blood spilled on the land below the wind and how fluent YOU are in Kadazan-Dusun – you are as outside as an outsider, bah! So, no go. Can’t claim I am a Sabahan, can I?

Am I from Taiping? Well, I am basically not from there. Wasn’t born there, wasn’t from there. I just lived there for 15 years or so. So, not good enough to keep on kami-hang, kami-hang with the Taiping-ites no matter how smooth my kami-hang, kami-hang still is. My MyKad could not be converted to XXXXXX-08-XXXX just because I lived in the metal state for 15 years either.

Do I claim myself Orang Pahang? Muahahaha. Hmmm… no offence to Orang Pahang, but no thanks. I did mention the word resentment that I was sent to Pahang, didn’t I? I kicked, screamed and cried the Sungai Pahang crocodile tears back then for two years, hating my own inability to adjust to its koi-awaok, koi-awaok. But I must admit it is a source of amusement mocking the leweh dialect ever since we left the sleepy town.

I mean, really… where am I from? Which do you think shall be my preference, if I can have a preference?

Off Her Chest

There is something nice about me that is nice for you to know. Hopefully I can get around to fessing it up nicely within the next sentence or two, or within the next paragraph. But when I tell you this nice thing about me, my niceness will probably not seem as nice anymore to you. I am a bit torn here to tell or not to tell. Ahhh well!

I am, by virtue, a very thoughtful person. I think about others - the people I carry in my heart - when I travel. My thoughtfulness will exceed the speed limit or passengers seating capacity especially when I go to souvenir shops. Everything I see will have a name on it: KaCher, LilSis, Mom & Dad, Blaire & Meagan, Cik Nan, Bibik, Cik Rome, Neil, Lish, Chin, Nor, Kanaga, Sia Peng, Anne George, Yanie (not in alphabetical order). Everyone!

And then everywhere I go, every little place I visit… I imagine who would like it. And I’d start looking for postcards to send to the people who would ‘miss’ what I just see. Like that butterfly postcard I sent to Lindt from the Butterfly Park tucked somewhere in Florida I visited in 2003. I knew she would appreciate it the most as I could not think of anyone else who loved butterflies more than I did.

But that’s just one nice story to hide the so many not so nice stories about my nice-but-not-so-nice thoughtfulness. I am thoughtful when I travel. I think about everyone and I buy souvenirs for (almost) everyone. But… I never give the souvenirs away! (Oh no!) I still keep them. (Oh noooo!) And I have no intentions of giving them away now though I have made my confession! (Oh noooooooooooo!)

Maybe I should go hide behind my souvenir chests!

Cinta Beralih Arah

I have changed.

These days I enjoy sipping on coffee more than I have... tea. There's nothing wrong with tea. Don't get me wrong. I am not talking about anything wrong anywhere or somewhere anyway. I am just a changed woman. Like any changes themselves... they are neither good nor bad. They are just inevitable. Tea has served me well.

Tea = Blogspot
Coffee = Wordpress

Come sip on Coffee with me. Shall we?

Just About

What happened recently did not make me strong. I am still angry. I am still sad. I am still resentful. I am still human. And I let me be. At some point when I stop thinking from my own point of view, I am ready to tell Enida to not waste her time trusting. 'He who has, gets.' Nothing just happens. One doesn't just suddenly have something without getting it. And I don't just feel angry, sad and resentful just because I just do or just am. I am reacting.

But I am done reacting just now.

What happened recently did not make me strong. Or stronger. It made me brave. It made me realize that I do have choices and I can choose. And I am courageous to say that I am keeping my options open. I am brave enough to choose to say it now... if you choose me, try not to lose me.

We'll see.

Got A Big Mouthed Woman

Beyond any relativity theory, and for no apparent reason at all, I was looking at my hubby tonight and was reminded of Stevie Smith's poem I first read in 1991, never forgot but never remembered to write about. Until tonight.

Beware the man whose mouth is small;
For he'll give nothing and take all.

I just looked at my hubby again. Uh... he does have a rather small mouth. I shouldn't say I had not been warned, eh? But hey, for all we know, Stevie Smith was probably not saying the opposite. Not saying the obvious!

Well, Enida would say:

Beware the woman whose mouth is big;
For when she gets none, oh she'll dig.

_______________________________________________________

Postlude:
I know you are reminded of that catchy old Santana's song 'Black Magic Woman' now, aren't ya?

Quiet Mom

I posted my last entry while watching my little duckling somersaulting in the pool late yesterday afternoon. Yes, somersaulting in the pool. Not into. But here's another post about her. With this little duckling of mine, the updates of what comes from her mouth would be every ten minutes - beats the BBC 'Breaking News'. And this one, I really have to blog blab about or it would break my heart.

We were walking hand in hand from the pool to our Mumberrr Firrtee-One home, Kitreena and I. And Kitreena was really pleased with how she has now mastered this one tough act in the pool she had been trying to do since Thistle (next post). As we entered the house I nicely commented how she talks a bit too much sometimes.

She just smiled and said, "That's how I use my voice Mom. You sing. I talk."

I went quiet. And my mind went quieter.

Quiet Mind

I almost had it enough with my daughter today! Boy did I ever! If Elizabeth Gilbert's words about quiet mind had not come in time to save me, I would have turned blue from holding my breath. I mean, really! There I go again with my 'I mean really'. Is there something about this tropical wonderland that is extremely corrosive to my patience?

Thing is... I see Elizabeth Gilbert in Kitreena the more I read that woman and the more I read my girl. And they both belong to the other end of the spectrum from yours truly... they both do not have a quiet mind. Kitreena has to be doing something every hour down to the very minute in her waking hours. And when she is not doing something, she has to be saying something. She has an excessive need to uncage her thoughts in words. She has to talk.

Now, I am not saying a 'noisy' mind is no good. Especially for a person Kitreena's age, it is almost perfectly normal. Perfectly called for. It is a sign of an active mind in a child. But for a mother with a quiet mind like mine, words uttered can be a clutter. I am not saying that my mind is always quiet either. I can have thoughts of different thoughts spinning like a Blue Ray disc. But the only noise you hear is the words I write. And you - mind you - have a choice to read or not to read!

But when Kitreena speaks, she turns into a little Pharaoh! I am only thankful I am a little Pharaoh's mother! She can speak all she wants, I just have to say, "Silent! Pharaoh's mom speaks now!" She says everything that crosses her mind. I mean EVERYTHING! Here's an example of her response to my "Kitreena, if you want to go swimming, please go get changed."

"Okay Mom. Uh... but where did you put my swimming gear? Oh I know, it must be in the bag we took to the beach the other day. But maybe Dad has taken the bag downstairs. Dad, did you take my swimming suit out of the bag that we took the beach the other day? Oh yeah! I found it Dad. But Mom, I think I don't need my goggles here. The chlorine is not so bad in our swimming pool compared to the hotel one. But I'm still going to take the goggles and everything in the bag to the pool just in case I need them. And even if I don't need them, they just stay in the bag because that's where they belong. So if I don't put them on this time, I know where to find them when I go swimming next time. Okay Mom? Mom? Mom? Are you listening to me Mom?"

To which I answered... "I wish I didn't have to."

So, you see what I mean by noisy mind now? That paragraph above was exactly what was said by Kitreena without ANY interruption from me or her Dad. And that paragraph above is a true example of what she said within the ten-minute commotion of her wanting to go swimming because she was bored and could not stand doing nothing at home after an early supper! She had to go swimming, she had to be doing something on a rainy afternoon. And she had to make commentary of every movement she made, as though she had a visually-impaired audience watching!

But then again, I am making my noise now, am I not? These words I write.

Please Mr. McGee

I mean, really! (I don't start my sentence with "I mean" very often. In fact, I very seldom use the phrase 'I mean'. You won't like me when I start my sentence with 'I mean' though. Really! And if my 'I mean' is followed by the word 'really'... oh boy! You won't like me when I say 'really' after saying 'I mean' either. And I really mean it!)

Like how many Customer Service Assistants or Careline Assistants at Celcom do you have to speak to before they treat you like they care? (Oh, I don't usually start my sentence with the word 'like' either! I think you know me by now and you can tell how incredible Celcom can be. And I don't mean incredible here in a good way. So please lah Mr. McGee!)

My Celcom Mobile Broadband refused to get me connected to the networld yesterday. Now, don't start it by asking if I had paid April or May's bills or not because I did even when I wasn't using it, and even when I was in Moscow. I was prepared. But I was really not prepared to be tossed around like I don't know my numbers. Not on the phone, not at the end of a frustrating day, not ever!

It took me FOUR Celcom Careline Assistants to be understood that I could not get connected! The 1st Careline Assistant bounced me back to the main menu to press number 3 for assistance regarding the Mobile Broadband. But that was exactly what I had done! I had pressed number 3 to have spoken to the 1st Assistant in the first place. Strange! But ah well, I did as instructed nevertheless.

When I spoke to the 2nd Assistant, she wired up a new story saying that oh, Celcom had updated the IVR Menu and Broadband was no longer number 3, it was number 2. So I was instructed to press number 2 and was bounced back to the main menu. I trusted her. I did press number 2 this time even though I knew for sure number 2 option was for 3G, GPRS and MMS. And guess what? It was an option for 3G, GPRS and MMS. No broadband. Uh, hello?

So I spoke to the 3rd Assistant who assisted me by telling the same story the 1st Assistant told me. Press number 3. But this time she said she wasn't going to send me back to the main menu, she was going to be very caring and very helpful and connect me directly to number 3. And voila! I spoke to the 4th Assistant, to whom I had to tell the whole story again. Yes, the whole story, nothing but the whole!

Glory to Celcom! What a wonderful service!

The 4th Assistant gave me what the 1st and the 3rd Assistants did. But I had gotten smarter and pissedoff-er by then and told him nope! I wasn't going to let him show me a siaran ulangan. I would take no re-run from no assistants. He either helped me or admitted that he was as smart as donkeys all three of his colleagues who had crossed my path before him.

So he tried to be helpful, this Mr. 4th Assistant. When all his suggestions proved to be unsuccessful, he was even willing to wait for me to turn the netbook off, unplug my Huawei, plug it back, turn the netbook back on... yeah, the whole nine yards and a quarter! I said, forget it. As it was, all his 'help' was rather incredible to me.

He actually asked me to go to 'Choose Connection Type' and instead of 'GPRS Preferred', opt for '3G Only'. After that, change the 'Choose Network' to 'Manual' instead of 'Auto'. And then, he asked me to try everything else. When that didn't work, he asked me to change everything back to the original setting. Huh? Hello bellow? Adeke?

Of course nothing happened!

I was smiling all throughout the phone conversation last night and with all FOUR Celcom Careline Assistants. Careline? Careline? Care? Please lah Mr. McGee. Or Ghee Blend or whoever you care to claim you are. Care? I mean, really?

Bear Ark

I find it funny what people type on the Google search and be sent to my blog. Today, just about an hour and a half ago, someone in Singapore typed "food that makes the cheeks chubby" and was brought to this entry. I hope if this person was looking for food that would make her cheeks chubby, she wasn't disappointed to see that I am no fat donor to her probable Botox plan. Although... I would be more than happy to donate some if the procedure was as simple as my Daily Output Mumberrr Two.

On Me It Dawned

Totally did not anticipate that it could hit me this hard, this jetlag. After all, it is only a 4-hour difference between Pokrovsky Boulevard and Jalan Duta. I have been having troubles waking up before noon. And it has taken this nyonya 8 good days to bangun pagi siram pokok bunga! Only today that my air pasang pagi surut pukul 0545 when Edrick came to our room with his bugil bottom. Apparently he had gone to the bafwoom himself and wasn't successful with the attempt to put the pants back on. Oh tedah!

When I went back to bed just a little before 0600, I was actually glad that I was wide awake. My mind, for one reason or the other, immediately went wandering to Jalan Ampang where I had been earlier. It's very easy for me to blame Dr Ananda for being the agenda of the day, but it wasn't him. It was his assisstant, Nurul, who had her self-portrait up on the clinic's reception wall. It all reminded me of my talented dear friend Nikki in Toronto. How's that?

I have been thinking about Nikki. I have been thinking of what not to say to her and what best ways to swallow the condolences like one would the bitterest painkillers. And I have been thinking of how to apologize to her for my not facing her sorrow of losing someone so dear... as dear as a little sister. I still do not know what to say, but I have run out of excuses for not calling Nikki to at least say that nothingness.

To say that I am not good with words would be setting my own pants on fire, I know. So, I am not going to say I am not good with words. Not to Nikki, not to the sweet little angel singing in heaven for her early return to The Maker. Words have been good to me. But this time, the profound understanding that I have for the weight of losing a sister has failed me through and through. And this profoundness of my understanding comes with no words.

So as the sun is rising at my end and setting at yours, forgive me Nikki as I pray yet again... wordlessly.

Over Easy

It is not overly easy for me to get over with how much easier it is getting now mommy-ing me monchies. I was scared to move away and move on without Bibik, for she has not only been my (wo)man Friday... she has been my confidante, my best friend, my other me. I was even more scared coming back to our House Mumber Firrtee-One to find it is now all up to me and on me - to man and to maid. It was an overly emotional homecoming. For me.

Everything reminds me of Bibik. The kids' pyjamas ironed and folded neatly in the drawers. The Sunlight dish soap bottle standing upside down by the kitchen sink for its last 10 drops. The Brabantia ironing board she liked so much. The broken hangers she saved for rainy days (when the laundry's aplenty). The last grocery list she handwrote spelling diapers as daipes. Even the mop and her favorite Apple-scent Daia floor freshner remind me ever so dearly of Bibik.

Me monchies, on the other hand, have gracefully moved on and are getting used to not having Bibik already. They had their induction month in Moscow. I did too. But coming back to House Mumber Firrtee-One seems to have sent me back to square one - phase two. Not only it is a much bigger place than that of my Bukit Pokrovsky, I feel like I am missing out on my ME time now that house chores are back on my KL-Menjerit list. (Jeritan batin di Moscow tak siapa mendengar, no worries!)

Aaannnyways, I am not complaining. It is - no matter how much I kick, scream and yell about it - getting a lot easier with Kitreena and Edrick. We had fun today at Kizsports, the three of us - The Three Monchketeers. We had fun on Saturday at Untoo Ween's house and later at the hospital visiting with Grandma. It was fun despite Edrick's teething episode and Kitreena's constant needs to be physically active - daily swimming, or running, or catching frisbee or Billy... our poor neighbor's cat.

It is getting so much easier that I could actually start this entry while me monchies were playing at Kizsports! No more stroller, no more daipes, no more milk rations, bottles or bottle-brush, no more car seats even! Yeah we will not leave home without the wet wipes yet. But that is because of my mild OCD mind. Poor kids! I mean, really. Who doesn't have wet wipes in her handbag? I have long thought that it is the best invention second only to lightbulbs!

I did let my mind go wander there for a bit. I just saw Bibik's favorite toast-spread in the pantry. Her nutella.

Heartfelt

Since I am back in my element, kena cakap bahasa tempatan lah eh? Well, let's see if my brain can now deny what bleach Mr. Santa Singh from Ben-tong washed me with back in 1990. (Holy guacomole! That was almost 20 years ago? He convinced me that to be able to speak in a language other than your mother tongue, you have to THINK in that language. He guaranteed me that in merely two weeks I was going to have my dreams and nightmares in English... which, uh, I did! How could I not believe him.)

Anyway... let's just get back to what I have been feeling and having heart (failure) to say.

Kalau ikut rasa, tak ada rasa dah buat masa ni. Patah hati. Tak tau lah kalau boleh hati yang patah ni balik merasa besok lusa. Dan kalau ikut hati, memang berbesar hati nak buat press conference sidang akhbar mengumumkan apa yang tak boleh diumumkan di blog dan Facebook. Tangan dah pegang pen dan kertas nak buat speech text teks ucapan dah ni.

Yang payahnya untuk orang yang banyak berfikir macam saya ni ialah... selalu tak menang merasa, dan selalu tak sampai di hati. Jauh sudah perginya hati saya. Di Moscow tidak, di sini pun tidak. Di tengah-tengah lah mungkin hati saya tertinggal. Atau mungkin jauh lagi.

Dan di tengah-tengah tak merasa begini... mungkin ada baiknya saya naik mandi, siap-siap untuk pergi mengadap Angels & Demons dengan buah hati. Manalah tau kalau-kalau ada yang datang pulangkan hati saya yang tertinggal jauh di Kota Asmara.

Auntynational

The other day, just like many days since we arrived in Moscow… Edrick and I were doing the so-called role call of all the immediate women in our life – his aunties. He must have been wondering a lot about these wonder women that this time, the other day, he initiated the role call. Many times before, it was me wondering a lot and wondering aloud about those wonder women that I could not help but asking: "Edrick, where's Aunty _____?"

Edrick came up with all sorts of answers just for the sake of answering his wonder-full Mommy. Like, Aunty Mas is in the bafwoom upstairs. Or Aunty Pet went to get some food. Aunty Reen went to the hospital with Grandma. Aunty Lisa, Aunty Chin, and even Aunty Yati (the helper of Uncle Jordan, our beloved neighbor in Country Heights) made it to his list of this so-called role call. I am blessed with children who are blessed with good memory. They remember. They make me remember at times when I don't even forget. They recall. Hence the role-call, I guess.

Well, the other day, doing the role call, unlike the many times we did before… Edrick asked me:

Mommy, where's Untoo Mas? (That's how he pronounces the word aunty: 'untoo'.)
Ohh she's in Amsterdam today. Eh, no that was yesterday. Aunty Mas is probably on her way to Venice now from Munchen.
Munchen?
Yeah, Munchen. Munich.
Monique?
Hmmm… no, wait. Was that last week? Ohhh she's probably in Rome already. I am not sure.
You're not shorrrrr? Where's Untoo Pet?
She's with Aunty Mas.
Wherrrre? In Wome?
I suppose. They could be out gallivanting-ing in Paris. I don't know. Let me text her later ok?
Ok.

Mommy.
Hmmm.
Mommeee…
Yes.
Where's Untoo Ween?
Aunty Reen is in Malaysia.
Mewayyzhaa?
Yes.
With Untoo Weesa?
Yes, with Aunty Lisa.

Mommy.
Iyyyerrrr.
Where's Untoo Nana?
Huh, Aunty Nana is in Singapore Zoo!
No Mom! She's nawt! She's just in Singaporrr. Nawt the zooooo.
Who's in the zoo then?
It's for animals in twubble Mom. Untoo Nana is not in twubble.
Too much Wonder Pets betul lah ko ni!

Mommy.
Mmmm.
Mommy!
Yesss.
Where's Untoo Chin?
Aunty Chin is in Hong Kong?
Ongkong?
Haiii hieuong kong.

Mommy.
Mmmm.
Mommy!
Iyyyyyerrrrrr!
Where's Bibik?
Bibik's in Indonesia.
Bibik's not in Mewayyzhaa? In the house mumberr fffirrtee-one?
No, Bibik's not in Malaysia. Bibik's in her house in Indramayu.
Demaiiyouu?
Ye. Indramayu. She's with her family.
Her fammewee is in the house mumberr fffirrtee-one?
No monch. There's nobody in the house number thirty-one.
No bahddee?
Nope.

Edrick went silent for a few good seconds and I could see how rapid his eye movement was. If it were in complete rotations, his eye movement would be at the speed of all the way to 900 rpm, I could count and guarantee you.

Mommy.
Mmm.
Mommeeee…
Mmm.
Mommeeeeeeee!
Iyyyyerrrr! (Edrick will not say what he wants to say if you don't say 'yes' or 'iyer' to his calling your name.'Hmmm' and 'Mmmm' are not acceptable.)
I wanna go home to house mumberr fffirrtee-one. Bibik's waiting for meee.
No monch, there's no one in house number thirty-one now. This is our home…number nine. In Russia.
No, my home is mumber fffirrtee-one. Evewee one is waiting for meee in Mewayyzhaa! Not Washa Mommm!

I don't think the reality has quite sunk in with Edrick yet. After all, this reality – of not having Bibik around after five years of being spoiled rotten – has qualified me a place in the zoo – I am an animal in trouble!

To all the Mewayyzhian Untoo's in my son's life… here's a toast to your being international! I can take my boy out of Mewayyzhaa, but I can't take Mewayyzhaa out of my boy. We'll be back for a few days at house mumberr fffirrtee-one soon.

Aunty Mas
Aunty Pet
Aunty Reen
Aunty Lisa
Aunty Chin
Aunty Lailey
Aunty Nor
Aunty Yanie
Aunty Yatie
(Aunty) Kakak Tri
Aunty Sherina
Aunty Karen
Aunty Sia Peng
Aunty Yuhana
Aunty Lindt
Aunty Gee
Aunty Salbiah
Aunty Jamila
Aunty Petra
Aunty Lirang
Aunty Marilyn
Aunty Dawn
Aunty Carolyn
Aunty Bibik! Hhhuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I am trying not to remember.

(Menulis catatan ini dalam perjalanan pulang ke nombor tiga-puluh-satu, terbang bersama Sutera Diraja Siam melalui Bang Makok. Kitreena tidak dapat menerima hakikat kami tidak meneruskan penerbangan langsung ke Bandung dan menaiki bas ke Indramayu bertemu Bibik. Aunty Mas masih di Kota Asmara. Aunty Reen masuk minggu ke limabelas menanti monchy ketiga. Aunty Lisa… kopitiam time-out akan datang akhir minggu ini. Ke garisan! Aunty Chin akan diculik minggu depan dalam masa beberapa jam di Bangsar Village tanpa ugutan meminta wang pampasan, cuma ole-ole dari Hong Kong jika beliau mau selamat. Akan tetapi antara Amsterdam, Munich, Venice, Rome, Paris, Kajang, Bangi, Bangsar, Hongkong, Singapura, Bandung, Indramayu, Anyir dan Jakarta… mungkinkah kita jatuh cinta di Moscow?)

Picture Me

Dear friends, families, foes and foei gras [fwɑ ˈɡrɑ],
If I am still not on your friends list on Facebook... search me by enida@mail.com kay? I have uploaded new pictures by the kilotons for you to see how deliciously tastily spicy my life is now. Not.

It's as stinky as my Kangkung Belacan, as fishy as my Sambal Ikan Bilis, as greasy as my Roti Canai and funny as my supposedly Indian curry that had gone to Hadyaai but ended up in Kecamatan Manggis in Bali. Oh these Russians!

Bananarama Momma

I am writing a looooong entry about what kind of Mom I am. But nothing deserves a publishing more than an entry about what kind of children I am Mommy-ing. So here...

For the past couple weeks now the Monchies and I have established a still-chaotic-work-in-progress bedtime routine. Before the l'ultimo bacio, we tell ourselves a bedtime story. Yes, we. The light will be dimmed, the Monchies tucked in the bunk bed - Kitreena on the top, and I will sit by Edrick in the bottom bed. I will start with the easiest part "Once upon a time, there was a..." and the kids will fill in the blank - whoever is faster will get his choice of character's story made up and told. And the story will go on from there. Ad-lib.

Surprisingly Edrick has been the faster one to come up with a noun for the blank. And Kitreena has been the more imaginative one, cooking up the storyline. And two nights ago Edrick filled in the blank with a banana. I put the banana into life by making him run really really fast for his life. Right away... Kitreena could see the monkeys chasing after him. It was such an intense phase in Mr. Banana's life, I tell you, we could almost peel his pulse! I mean, feel his pulse.

It wasn't long before Mr. Banana started panting, sweating and almost pee-ing in his peel. In his desperation to save his life from being eaten alive by the bananabaric monkeys, he was granted an idea by the Banana God watching him from up above the clouds over the banana republic. Mr. Banana thought of going bugil (naked) would save his life as he could run fasterer - so there! He peeled himself and kept on running!

The monkeys, running so fast so hungry, did not have time to see what had been thrown at them by Mr. Banana. And guess what? Predictably, the monkeys slipped on the peel and came tumbling down the hills, losing their special lunch that day. While Mr. Banana might not grow a new peel and would go bugil for the rest of his life, he was at least saved for another day by his quick (street-smart and strip-smart) thinking.

The End.

Last night it was Daddy's turn to put Monchies to bed. I opted for the dishes! The kids came down to the kitchen to say goodnight to me and demanded the bedtime story. So after briefing Daddy with what it was all about, I initiated the story. Edrick got his way again by filling in the gap with an elephant who lost his trunk. I, trying to stay away from another action-packed-come-to-life stripping elephant, asked Edrick where he thought the elephant could get a new trunk.

"The trunk is on the tree, Mommy!"

I rolled right over on the kitchen floor laughing as I was imagining an elephant with a wooden trunk and a tree with an elephant trunk!

And for some reason another trunk came to mind. But that was for my bedtime story.

Better Than Chocolate?

Since as far as November 2008, I have been meaning and trying to pen a tribute to my pediatrician. I mean, my kids' pediatrician, of course. A tribute for, well... obviously taking a great care of my children when I needed him periodically and pediatrically. I have been trying to find words and ways to say how thankful and grateful I am. But every time I read my own words and ways of saying them... I keep thinking of analogies to describe the tribute.

It's like trying to make a good cup of cocoa but end up with that crunchy-nut-in-the-middle Perugina Baci or better yet, Godiva and Bernard Callebaut chocolates melted together. And it's like trying to make a simple crepe but end up with a Belgian Waffle with strawberries and honey on top. Forget sugar! This is HONEY we're talking about. And oh, that waffle has got to be eaten on a cool Sunday morning on that little balcony facing the Heaven's Gates of La Rochelle. Has got to!

And it's like stuffing a little box with a nice little Shikisyi Edo handkerchief but end up with the best Muga silk duvet wrapping around you... like your wedding saree.

Oh I so need a chocolate. I mean, coffee. Sorry!
(Tea? What tea?) Ahhh... my cup runneth over.

Unwritefully Yours

I know I should just go to bed.

Things went perfectly well with the monchies tonight. Fed them the homemade non-piccante Green Curry Beef dinner earlier than usual. Got them home from the playground right in time for the 15 minutes get-ready-for-bed rituals. Had the 'Once Upon A Time There Was A...' bedtime story told by 2045. They were cosily tucked in and in Lulla Land by 2100, and voila! The day was done. Yes, Sunday is an ON day for the wicked moms. Supposedly.

But I went downstairs instead. Made myself some Earl Grey and grabbed a sooshka instead. I was supposed to pay my debt to Elizabeth Gilbert of her Eat Pray Love - 3 pages installment per night tonight, like every night. But I paid 15 instead. (There is this rule I have been governing myself with. For almost 20 years now. The rule says: I shall read at least 3 pages of anything per day, if not night. Thus those books or magazines you see in almost all my WC's in my house, car-door or seat pockets, night tables in all rooms, on one corner on all benches, in the closets, kitchen and all under-sink cabinets.)

I promised myself to write The Silent Reader a reply email which I started 3 nights ago but stopped. I re-started it tonight. But I re-stopped instead. I wrote so long, felt so much... that in the end I found myself back in the middle of the beginning of what I had written so long and felt so much about. Words, like they have been the past weeks, seemed to turn to tears and tears turned to blood when I wrote them. I was bleeding when I thought I was merely weeping.

I don't know now if I am telling you the truth by lying. Or if I am awake by sleeping. I only know that I am dying by living. Or maybe the other way around, instead. So angels, I am unwriting this right before your eyes. Or are they mine instead?

I should have just gone to bed. Or eaten the sooshka, prayed for a goodnight sleep and loved Enida after that 15 pages of Eat Pray Love. Instead...