To my dear friends and readers

I am now writing this blog from http://silveretchings.wordpress.com for a change of scenery. So do visit me there :)

A COSTLY AFFAIR

These past couple of weeks I have attended quite a few weddings and the last was on Sunday 16th August. The venue had been as varied as the invitation cards and the themes of the decorations; they were either the parents' house, school auditorium, multi-purpose halls, clubs, or hotels. It seems also that you never really know who would actually turn up on the day. Despite the reply cards issued with the invitation, and the phone numbers printed on the card, there is bound to be the errant few who don't bother to indicate their attendance or otherwise. Not knowing the exact number that would come on the day can mean wastage for the hosts who I bet have enough to worry about. For this and the social obligation, my husband insists that we honour every invitation as far as humanly possible!

The best thing about having a wedding in the house is that guests could take their time to leave. Especially the relatives and close friends. In the absence of formality, every one could mingle about freely, chit-chat with everybody and anybody they want to, and then leave as and when they choose. All well and good if you have the space for the tents, the catering staff, etc. Often the road frontage and the neighbour's house would provide that much-needed extra space - provided the neighbours are accommodating! But, if held during the day, the afternoon sun can be off-putting; trying to appear cool and composed under the strain of the heat (or the kebaya) can be challenging. It can make you "hilang gaya" - so said a friend!

If the wedding was held at a hotel or some rented venue, there is the time and space constraint too. Once the bridal couple takes their place at the door, it is the cue for guests to leave - which means very little chance to mingle and catch up. The sit-down dinner affair with the speeches, video shows and sometimes some form of entertainment thrown in lends the occasion added formality. What with most guests (the women, I mean) dressed to the nines - beaded, sequined, silk-ed, satin-ed and bejewelled!

The current trend in the city is to engage a wedding planner - as has been practised in the West for decades - and who is fast becoming a status symbol. You could leave virtually everything in their hands - if you can afford the fee. The ones who have touted themselves to be consultants to the rich and famous would cost an arm and a leg to put up the pelamin, hantaran, the themed decorations and what-have-you. Then there are those who claim to be purveyors of good taste, but are a far cry from one. Whoever it is, this form of delegation doesn't come cheap. Some friends who have used their services said it is not money well-spent. The result is not always satisfactory and up to your expectations. It could have easily been done by a group of willing aunts and cousins with the inclination for such aesthetics - at a fraction of the cost. Except you don't get the prestige, of course.

The catering aside, there is the cost of the pelamin which I'm told can run into the thousands, the wedding trousseau (no bride has just one dress these days), which can cost a small fortune, the obligatory bunga telor and the wedding cake. Currently, it is seldom a bunga telur in its conventional form, but run the gamut of trinket boxes in silver, ceramic, silk or crystal, miniature glass cups, etc.etc. Not to mention the contents. It might be an assortment of sweets, a couple of chocolates, a piece of baulu, fruit cake, muffin or the now ubiquitous cupcake. What will they think of next?

Have you also noticed that many have been tripping off to neighbouring countries to get their cards made, the trinket boxes, the lace material and other decorative stuff? And here I am thinking that there is an exodus of shops selling these kind of merchandise in our country! Do the supposedly cheaper prices 'abroad' really justify our spending there at the expense of our own traders? Does this explain invitation cards that have become thicker and fancier? Never mind that they are going to be binned anyway. Price can't be the only consideration surely? Seriously I have seen items that are not worth the trip because of their shoddy workmanship. Some are downright tacky.

While we are spoilt for choice - and at the end of the day, it is a matter of personal choice as dictated by the size of the parents' pocket - it is easy to get carried away in our effort to be different, to keep up with the Joneses or simply to flaunt our wealth. And all for just one day, or not even that.

A MOVING EXPERIENCE

At 9.30am on that Tuesday morning on 30th June, my husband and I were part of the queue waiting to enter the historic museum on the Prinsengracht in Amsterdam. The tongues that permeated the cool morning air told me the whole world was represented in the queue. Like us, they all thought they had come early to avoid the summer crowd making a beeline for the 'museum with a story'. Alas, the queue that we joined was already halfway round the adjacent block. The sky was azure-blue, the mood was light, the voices chirpy with anticipation. But all was about to change the minute we set foot inside.

For this was no ordinary museum. This was the Anne Frank House where a 13-year old Jewish girl chronicled her life in the Secret Annexe in which she, her parents and older sister lived in hiding to escape persecution from the Nazis. The Frank family together with 4 others survived there for just over 2 years before they were finally captured by the Nazis when someone told on them. To this day, we don't know who gave them away; but we know how they 'lived' in their secret hideout within the warehouse building, thanks to a diary written by Anne that was discovered in the Annexe soon after their capture. She wrote almost every day in her diary to an imaginary friend, Kitty, like she would a confidante, to express her joy, fear, frustrations and hopes. It is truly remarkable how one so young could have been so perceptive, and could write with so much insight and forthrightness. That she managed to keep a diary under such an ordeal is indeed inspirational. Seeing the diary in Anne's handwriting was in itself a moving experience.

Remarkable still is the atmosphere of the house that could still convey the prevaling sense of gloom and acute anxiety enveloping the occupants as they tried to live with some semblance of normalcy. To have done so for over 2 years under such dire circumstances belie the imagination. As I touched the walls and pondered the state of the rooms, I was taken back to a time in the past. It was distressing, to say the least. Restricted in their movements even within the confines of the Secret Annexe, Anne and the rest of the occupants undoubtedly felt smothered in their desire to stay alive. Having read her book, I could visualize Anne stealing a peek out the window - the few times that she could - for a glimpse of the sky, the trees and the world beyond the Secret Annexe that was forbidden to her. It was heart-wrenching to see the yellow-ing warped walls pasted with newspaper cuttings and photographs - Anne's own handiwork to liven up the room and bring some cheer to their dismal surroundings. I doubt if anyone visiting the House could remain unmoved at the end of the visit.

Human suffering in whatever form would always affect us, no matter the scale. But Anne's plight in the face of imminent persecution was extraordinary; her death in March 1945 in incarceration a human tragedy. Deprived of a normal childhood, it was her spirit of survival, her fortitude amidst deprivations, and her unflagging optimism that I found so encouraging. In all the photographs that survived, Anne is always smiling, and the most enduring photograph of her is the one chosen for the cover of her book. It is uncannily haunting. If visitors had entered lighthearted and carefree, they left Anne Frank House sombre and deep in thought as we were that day. Her 'story' took place in the early 1940s, but, today, similar issues of humanity continue to plague us.

Equally penetrating were the words of Otto Frank (Anne's father) in an interview he gave before he died in 1980: "You don't really know your daughter" which must have been prompted by his discovery of Anne's innermost thoughts as revealed in her diary. Which surely must have struck a chord with those visitors like me who are parents. Maybe it was a reminder that children - sons and daughters alike - need to be listened to and encouraged to express their feelings so that parents could understand them better.

In the Diary, on 15 July, 1944 Anne wrote: "I see the world gradually being turned into a wasteland, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too. I feel the suffering of millions of people and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I somehow feel that this will come right again, that also this savagery will stop, that there will be peace and tranquility in the world once again. Until that time, I must hold onto my ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I'll still be able to realize them". Don't we pray for this too?

So if you get to Amsterdam - which is really worth visiting for many reasons - don't skip the Anne Frank House. Meanwhile - if you haven't already - read the book "The Diary of Anne Frank"- you'll be moved.

HANDS IN GLOVES

It was a wedding reception like any other. The venue - ballroom of a reputable golf and country club in Kuala Lumpur. The decor - understated and elegant. The bride - tall and slim, with a waistline to diet for. The groom - one happy guy judging by the grin that never left his face the whole night. The food - typical Malay kenduri fare, complete with the must-have rendang pedas which in all fairness was better than some. The entertainment - a mix of French oldies more suited for the parents and their contemporaries than the newly-weds delivered by a local songbird playing the electronic organ. The speech - short and a little sweet. All in all, the ceremony moved quite swiftly with no more than the necessary fanfare. A thoroughly modern wedding in my books. Nothing wrong with that.

But here's the clanger (in my books). The hostess - mother of the groom - wore gloves from beginning to end. She greeted guests and salam-ed with the women with gloved hands. We - the guests - came bare-handed. (I mean, literally). After all, we weren't going to eat with our hands; and sure enough, forks and spoons were laid out on the table.

Why then was she wearing gloves? A tribute to MJ? Don't think so - the gloves lacked the bling. They were similar to those used by doctors in the clinics, so they were no fashion accessory either. A health precaution subscribing to 'better safe than sorry'? Presumably, then, we guests were health hazards? Was she just manifesting her fear of contracting the flu (of whatever kind) or some other contagious disease? I'm afraid too; but that doesn't stop me from attending weddings. Was it just an indiscretion on her part?

Why did I find it disconcerting?

The Feline Invasion

She had obviously gone through my bin with a mission - its contents were strewn on the kitchen floor, the bin lining torn to shreds. This was the umteenth time that I had been greeted with such a mess upon entering the kitchen. In a flash I knew which 'neighbour' had been the culprit. I would often find her reclining seductively on my window sill as if in reconnaissance, and taking in the sights with an eye on my bin, but would not venture further afield in my presence. I would shoo her away each time - vigorously - thus making clear my disapproval of her implied intentions. She would walk away, but not without purring in protest with eyes that told me I was unkind. But patience and tolerance has its limits - even with cats.

Can you imagine what I had to go through every time she's had her 'fun'? After picking up the bits and pieces on the floor, I would have to mop the floor (never mind that I had done it just yesterday, or the day before) to remove all stains and traces of her visit. Her point of entry is the window which I leave open from dawn to dusk for ventilation purposes. Certainly not to usher her in. It isn't the bin alone that gets her attention. If I leave meat or fish to defrost on the kitchen counter, you can be assured that she would have a go at it soon enough. The feline sense of smell never fails her.

Why do the neighbour's cat ransack my kitchen bin? Aren't they fed enough at home?

Instead of having one more thing to worry about, I have decided to keep the windows of the kitchen closed whenever I'm not in it. Which of course keeps the heat in, and makes it a hot spot! Whether anything's cooking or not.

An Anniversary Tribute

Dear A, N & P

Our wedding anniversary came and went, but none of you remembered because we didn't receive a single greeting. Not even an sms. But don't worry - I won't hold it against you! Just pray that we would have many more to come.

It's our 28th, you know, and I have so much to be thankful for - to and for your father for the most part. We did not give each other gifts on our anniversary. I certainly didn't want one from him. Have I told you that he is God's gift to me, and when you have that, what more could you want? But I thought my gift to him would be to tell you about the kind of man that I married, so you would know more about the man that is your father.

Now that you are all living apart from us, and I am moving towards my twilight years, I worry that I might not have the time nor the capacity to tell you things. Things that I think are important for you to know, to remember lest you forget, or even worse, take for granted. And for you to have an idea of what its been like for me these past 28 years with him. You might think that this is going to be one of those mushy-mushy stuff and I would be going all sentimental. Maybe; but, bear with me, please....

Papa is the embodiment of love. When you were born, I knew I could not have given him a greater cause for happiness. It was as if he was made for fatherhood. It was never too much work, too heavy a burden, or too great a responsibility. He was quick to wake up nights to feed you, change your nappies or simply to take you into his arms, to coo and croon in your baby ears so that you were lulled to sleep. And this from a man who could fall asleep just about any time, anywhere. He ran with and after you, fell off the bicycle as you were learning to ride and ate off the spoon he was feeding you with. When you were cranky, he would take you in the car and drive around the neighbourhood till you fell asleep.

If you thought your teenage years were difficult, they were no easier for him either. While he relished the role of father, he was mindful of the other duties that came with it. Not least of all, that of disciplinarian. But never have I seen such a role undertaken with so much empathy and understanding than that displayed by him. He never shouted, raised his hand, nor saw the need for a cane. Instead, you were made to see your mistakes through gentle words, never harsh ones; to see reason without rebuke.

You would recall the numerous family meetings we had where you were always listened to. Ah, yes - listening. That's another trait he bears so well. He didn't impose his opinions upon you, but wanted to impress upon you that there are always two sides to a coin. When you were at fault, his actions were never punitive. He was mindful that you were living out the vulnerability of youth as he once had. Just recall the time when you and your friends were caught smoking in school, and when you chose to play truant and not go for tuition. I was enraged, and your father thought it was just "one of those things" that boys did. Serious though they were, those meetings never ended on a dour note. Can you still recall the many anecdotes from his childhood that he dispensed so casually that you weren't even aware that it was the lesson of the day? They were moral lessons dished out with his brand of humour. And you thought he was just being the 'historian' father!

He always welcomed your friends because if there's any one who values friendship, it is he. He never had to choose his friends - they chose him to be theirs. He has friends from his childhood, his schools, his college, his university and from God knows where. He's touched them all because of the simple and unassuming man that he is - who never forgets an acquaintance, much less a friend. It amazes me that on several occasions, when we least expect it, there would be someone there who would know him.

If you choose to raise your voice, to cast a disdainful or disapproving glance, to snap because you're irritated, just remember that your father hardly ever does. When you see fit to fret and frown when you can't get what you want; when you choose to give up, or to give in to indolence and mediocrity, think of your father. He is the one who got you where you are today, and has made life comfortable for you through sheer hard work and selflessness. To not make an effort, to not go that extra mile, would be to disrespect his propensity for diligence. Remember his "Don't be afraid to dream" motto? Have you forgotten the notes of advice (booklet) he wrote each of you when you were in your mid teens? As you know, he doesn't write much; but those are words from his heart, painstakingly chosen to guide your entry into the realm of adulthood.

If ever there was one who overcame the odds in life, it is he. He knows no privilege other than that earned through sweat, and yet he never envies those who have it easy, preferring to dwell on the positive. Not one to hold a prejudice or a grudge even towards 'friends' who have let him down, he is inclined to think the best of every one. "The eternal optimist", I would say! In bad times, he does not wallow in self-pity; neither does he blame the world for any shortcoming. His ability to laugh at himself is so endearing, and his up-to-his-eyes laughter so heartwarming. Success and money have not gone to his head. Devoid of fussy tastes, he does not turn up his nose at Bollywood films, nor is he apologetic about his liking for rice, petai and cucur udang. Sad stories on TV move him to tears. His friends say that he is 'London-trained'; to me, and I say this fondly, he is still very much the Kuala boy.

In as much as I would like you to become your own person, it wouldn't hurt to emulate him. If you could be half the man he is, I would have done something right. I have often wished that I had had the time to tell my in-laws that they had done a great 'job' with him. Because, among other attributes, this is a man whose actions are always leavened by humility.

Your father is not an outwardly religious man, but he is certainly God-fearing. If having decency, respect and consideration for others, magnanimity and integrity is not the bedrock of religion, what is? As a wife, hardly a day goes by that I don't feel loved. And respected. Alhamdulillah. And you asked me why I gave up my career when I was in my heyday?! I was enamoured with him from day one, and I am still wowed by his charm. If anything, age has only brought out the best in him. Given my inherent faults - and you know I have many - your father has tolerated them all, and despite the 28 years, I have yet to hear him complain. He endures it with the kind of tolerance threshold that a man should have for his wife (and then some) giving me such a leeway that even you might think that I am taking advantage of his good nature. There is precious little not to love about him. How can you not love a man who is more concerned with your comfort and convenience than his? His golf buddies call him a suami mithali! They also call upon him to organise golf games because he has the knack of making people turn up.

When we were in university, my friends and I used to exchange thoughts about the kind of man we wanted to marry. Some wanted him to be handsome, some wanted him rich. Me? I wanted a 'good' man (without the foggiest idea of what that meant). Now, do you even wonder why I consider him God's gift to me? If he appears saintly, he is not - but close. He is not without weaknesses or failings and he would be the first to admit it. Do I live a charmed life with him? Almost. He regrets he can't give me a 'Taj Mahal', but anywhere with him is my taj mahal.

Would your future spouse say the same of you?

All my love,
Mama

A Mother's Worry

Whenever we are in KL for longer than a day trip, my husband and I would stay with our yet-unmarried children in their 3-room condo in Damansara Perdana and upset their sleeping arrangement come bed time. My daughter would have to give up her room - the master-bedroom - for us and sleep in her eldest brother's room, while the latter would have to cart his pillows and blanket to sleep in the sitting-room on a spare mattress. My other son gets to keep his status quo. And so it has been for the last three years.

Which has given me more than a passing glimpse of my children's goings and comings. All three are working adults - young, foot-loose and fancy free, as yet untethered by marital responsibilities. They leave the apartment before 7.30am every morning on a working day, and don't return till after 9pm or later on most evenings. When they do, they only have sleep on their mind. As they get caught up in their working lives, I fear that they are losing touch with one another. Even before they have a family of their own.

I had tried to nurture a closeness among them from the time that they were children and in their teens when we did a lot of things together as a family. The weekend trips, the holidays, and the eating and playing together times. In the mid-90s, we formed our own bowling team that I named 'Family Matters'. We used to (and still do occasionally) have regular family 'meetings' to discuss something that was either important, or significant in our life, and to drive home the importance of communicating among ourselves, to listen and be listened to. I had hoped that this would pave the way for them to communicate, to confide in and support one another in times of need, especially when we parents have departed the earth.

It worries me that they are not interacting enough with one another, that they are living together but each is really on his/her own. They hardly sit down together for a meal. Even when we are in town, it is increasingly difficult to get the five of us together for dinner. Have they succumbed to the daily grind of their job leaving no time and energy for anything else? Is the pursuit of money and career an overriding concern? I know they have to earn their living; there are bills to pay, but I wonder if 'time-management and prioritizing' is not a problem here.

Though they are young and yet to be in the prime of their lives, I fear that they may have allowed the rut to set in - the mistake of being indifferent. All relationships are fragile; sibling relationship is no different. The natural bond needs nurturing to remain strong and impervious to outside influence. Have they become too self-absorbed? Or don't they care enough about one another? If this is so, where did I go wrong?