The hero that breaks many hearts

when the government first announced the 2 malaysian astronauts, my heart just melted when i saw sheikh muszaphar. and to my amusement, i'm not the only one!!! my colleague also has a crush on him, and now we refer to him as "our bf". one married friend was swooning over him on the phone. i had to remind her that she's married more than 10 times. and also reminded myself that he's taken *sigh*. as i was watching the interview on channel 588, i was back to being a 17 year old girl again, gushing as i saw him on the screen, speaking in that pleasant voice and laughing that throaty laugh, and i sighed "god he's so handsome, it's not fair".

he is, after all, the living embodiment of that handsome knight in shining armour, only that instead of an armour, he's clad in his spacesuit and and that big space helmet. it didnt help that he's an orthopaedic surgeon, a restaurateur, a model?!! and now he's a muslim observing all the ibadah. god, how can he handle being perfect?

all i know is, he's a heartbreaker, and his fiancee is the luckiest woman. yahoo news even recognised his good looks when they wrote "a bachelor who has become a national hearttrob"

*sigh* enough said.

when misfortune happens

few people would think of mishaps or misfortunes, unless these things happen to them. 2 months ago, my mother was admitted to GH after having bleeding stools. she was first admitted to the third class surgical ward. the treatment by the nurses there were awful, and to make it worse, the doctors misdiagnosed my mother - based on what i suspect as inaccurate reports from biopsy and ct scan. according to them, my mother has a benign tumour which is 15 cm away from her rectum. my mother was so happy she cried.

but in the aftermath of the results, she began to experience constant trips to the toilet, complaining about a pain near her rectum. i brought her to see a surgeon in kt,s private hospital,who told us the growth is 4-5 cm away from the rectum and to go for a second biopsy and scan because he suspected that it isnt benign.

a few days after that, my mother couldnt stand the pain anymore and told me she wanted to go to kl. i quickly informed my siblings, and we made arrangements to transport her by ambulance to ampang puteri. the surgeon informed us that the growth is 4cm away and that my mother has rectal cancer which hasnt spread to other parts yet. the options are either to undergo radiotherapy or surgical removal. tomorrow, the whole family will decide what course we should take.

we never think about all these things unless it happens to us, or to people we love. all i want is for my mother to be well again, and not to be lying there on the white bed.

please pray for my mother.

what? a day care centre?

today, i entered the staffroom and was greeted with some outburst from the teachers. i asked my colleague, and she told me our PM has suggested that the school hours be extended until 4 pm!!! what????

and so there was an angry outburst, and i guess not only in my staffroom, but also in all staffrooms all over malaysia. okay, so we understand that this is the direct result of nurin's kidnapping and murder. but to extend school hours for more that 8 hours??? that's absurd. why should the teachers be saddled with extra work of being babysitters to the students? students have less attention span, and obviously the teachers too. the rest of the govt officers might say that they work for 8 hours. but they dont deal with teenagers. they dont deal with peer pressure or truancy. we deal at an average of 150 students per week. that can mean around 90 students a day. and we teach the students, which means using our brain - a lot of it. then comes the checking of the exercises - we still use a great deal of thinking. as for me, i have to correct the grammar of my students' essays, and this isnt 10 words of composition, we re talking about an average of 200 words essay for lower secondary and 350 words essay for upper secondary.

some schools have started extending the school hours until 3.30 (in what was supposed to be "pioneer project" but it was just an ambition of one PPD officer), but none lasted. if we, as university students, complain when we have classes from 8-4pm, can you imagine the children and the teenagers? if we have to extend until 3.30, i'm pretty sure we will still have school activities on friday and saturday (which is a common scenario here). and what about 2-session schools who have more than 2000 students? and where do we put our families then? we are not only teachers, but we are also wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, daughters and sons.

the school is a place for seeking knowledge, and not a day care centre. what the authorities should do is to go to the root cause, and not burden us with this. nurin was kidnapped at night. does this mean the school should be extended until night time?

think. we're only humans. we need rest too.

what we need, after a 6-hour schooling, is some rest, away from the essays or math sums. we need time to regenerate, just like our students, who also need time on their own to develop into individuals.

what happened to this world?

the news of the killing of nurin shook the whole nation. many were appalled with what had happened to a little child of 8, and a lot more wish they could sula the killer. me included. what kind of a man who would do such a perverted thing to a helpless little child? probably this isnt a man, but a beast. but then even a beast wouldnt insert a cucumber or an aubergine into the private parts of a girl and then kill her. this is a madman who shouldnt be alive.

everytime we hear about tragic and brutal deaths by some amoral men, i feel there's no hope in this world. no hope for a child to live in happiness and later to become a good person. no hope for wishing for a good life, amongst good people in a good place.

but then, having said that, it doesnt mean that the evil has totally taken over this world. i was watching "Singgah Sahur" the other day, and i was touched, because there are good samaritans out there, (TV3) who take the time to visit the unfortunate families and show us that despite the calamities and misfortunes, life must go on, although with tears. and they shower some cheer to these families by giving them some hampers and money. i saw one father who lost his son in the bus crash, and i just cried when he hugged the tv3 representative. and i also like the idea of involving the audience to do some charity during this ramadhan by donating some money to buy quran, which is for a good cause.

there is still hope, let's nurture it.

Sepet: a review

i never had the chance to watch the film in full, even until today. but i did watch the beginning, part of the middle and the ending. i was crying and crying. okay so i'm a romantic junkie, but i could feel the pain when jason died (of course, who wouldnt?)

i see a lot of postcolonial issues being addressed here, which is a plus for yasmin ahmad. i was impressed that she incorporated Frantz Fanon's ideas on psychological impact of the colonialism in the psyche of the colonised in "Black Skin White Mask" in Orked's dialogue. impressive. not many know the theories of colonialism and postcolonialism.

the plot of the romance between Orked and Jason, a Malay and a Chinese, reminds me of Romeo and Juliet, only that Orked lives in the end. what yasmin ahmad tried to do is to re-advocate cultural hybridity which has been our national narrative. she does this by creating 2 characters who are tolerant and open for "newness" (salman rushdie's word, quoted in his banned book).

Orked is a blend of sweet innocence (wearing baju kurung with sneakers? some of my students have started wearing cotton baju kurung nowadays, without the sneakers) and a cultured, civilised intellectual. despite his coloured hair, jason is a sensitive romantic who writes poetry, and tries hard to be the one for orked.

and after i was crying buckets and buckets of tears (like i cried when watching cyrano de bergerac), there's a quote from the great rabindranath tagore in which he talks about love, which yasmin has taken from his collection of poetry, The Gardener, which he dedicated to WB Yeats:

Your questioning eyes are sad.  They seek to know my meaning as
the moon would fathom the sea.
I have bared my life before your eyes from end to end, with
nothing hidden or held back.  That is why you know me not.
If it were only a gem I could break it into a hundred pieces and
string them into a chain to put on your neck.
If it were only a flower, round and small and sweet, I could
pluck it from its stem to set it in your hair.
But it is a heart, my beloved.  Where are its shores and its
bottom?
You know not the limits of this kingdom, still you are its queen.
If it were only a moment of pleasure it would flower in an easy
smile, and you could see it and read it in a moment.
If it were merely a pain it would melt in limpid tears,
reflecting its inmost secret without a word.
But it is love, my beloved.
Its pleasure and pain are boundless, and endless its wants and
wealth.
It is as near to you as your life, but you can never wholly know
  it.

when the colonised struck the empire:a postcolonial commentary in conjunction with Malaysia's 50th National Day

i'm now watching "rising of great powers" on history channel. as someone who's been exposed to colonialism and postcolonial theory, i'm much appalled by what i've learnt in this programme.

this episode tells of how the great powers during the rennaissance era, portugal and spain, coveted spices that would bring them more wealth. spain and portugal then signed a treaty which partitioned their control of the seas. spain took the americas while portugal, as we know it, claimed asia. thus, these two countries plundered and raped the other countries' natural resources which included gold and silver from the americas, and spices from asia. in later centuries, great britain decided to get her share too, and like a parasite, sucked india's wealth. that is why india was called "the jewel of the empire".

colonialism entails the power expansion of one country over other countries. this hegemony does not only mean territorial expansion, but also monopoly of the country's resources. they also brought western modernisation, and assumed that the "savages" need to be civilised and thus the whites carried "the white man's burden", of educating the "savages" to become better than their forefathers, but not in anyway better than the whites. in short, the colonial power is a parasite and a psycho. unfortunately though, this parasite and psycho still exists in the form of one country who tries to convince the rest of the world that they're doing justice when in fact all they want is the control of the oil.

for years, the belief that everything about the west is superior is imprinted in the minds of the colonised and also postcolonial societies. the rise of the educated from the third world countries, such as Edward Said (author of Orientalism), Homi Bhabha (author of the Location of Culture) and Frantz Fanon (author of Black Skin, White Mask) helped to produce postcolonial theory, which fights back the colonialism and seeks to redefine the position of power of the colonisers and the marginalised or the colonised. it also redefines the identity of a postcolonial nation.

from the perspective of postcolonial theory then, the Occident has no right in asserting its power over the East. true, the europeans brought with them modernisation, but it came at a great expense - the loss of our national treasures. the civilisations of the colonised are as great or perhaps, greater than the europeans - India's civilisation dates back thousands of years before, the Africans also had their civilisation just like we the malaysians had our civilisations hundreds of years before the Brits came.

so why do we prefer the western cultures then? why do asian women colour their hair blond or red? why do they wear skimpy clothes? why do we want to copy them, when we have our own values? this is another way of how hegemony works - the hegemony of the minds.

education is a means of freeing oneself from the hegemony.

we're a postcolonial nation which has redefined our identity. no one should tell us how to talk, how to eat, how to dress, how to act. we live according to our moral values.

be proud to be a malaysian.

sweeping statements on health services

i have a colleague who does not go to government hospitals because in her opinion they give mediocre service. she prefers to go to private hospitals instead.

i, on the other hand, have no qualms in going to government hospitals. my late brother was a good senior medical specialist, and now his son and another nephew of mine are doctors. i believe in them. of course, we cant deny that in some circumstances, tempers will start to fly, but still, i think they're quite okay.

last year, i went to a private dentist and had my molar removed. unfortunately though, she removed the wrong molar. i still felt pain in my molar even after my other molar was removed. so, i consulted my oldtime friend, who's a dentist in australia. she asked me if the dentist took an xray of my molar. what xray?? after hearing my answer, she advised me to go to the government dental clinic. which i went a few days ago.

i went very early, expecting a huge crowd. but this is a district clinic, so in no time i was ushered in. the dentist probed here and there, told me to get an xray, and then proclaimed that my molar wasnt rotting, it's just the case of gingivitis and that regular flossing will do. still, she had some drilling to do. believe me, nothing scares me more than the drill and the sound it makes. i survived the ordeal, and was pleasantly surprised with their warmth and professionalism.

the moral of the story? you dont need to spend hundreds (or even thousands) of ringgit to seek medical care. the government hospitals are getting better in terms of their services. as for me, i thanked my friend for her advice which saved me from having another still-in-good-condition molar removed.

kudos to the dental clinic of jalan air jernih!

on diet (again!)

now that i dont have anymore CDC or LPM courses, i am able to continue my lifelong project, which is to diet. the word sounds awful, as any woman can tell you, except of course, for anorexic looking models and those who can eat a horse and still look gorgeous.

i've been eating healthily, which means a lot of vegetables, fruits and nuts. and of course, the usual exercise. but the tragedy is that, from time to time visions of delectable food come to my mind - like secret recipe cakes...and roti canai...yum yum...i can still resist secret recipe cakes, because the topping can just kill my desire (hmm...on second thought) but today, after craving for roti canai for days... i succumbed to the temptation and had one. and to make up for extra calories, today i walked 2.7km, thanks to my neighbour, who pushed me.

well, i guess having a walking buddy (same kepala, same wavelength) helps. so hopefully this time i can stick to my diet (although one celebrity said you have to cheat once or twice in oder to make your diet work)

tailored to your needs

although i sometimes believe in feminist theories (like equality and stuff), i'm much a conservative girl, which means the feminists wont like it when i say i like cooking and sewing (as they deem such activities as burden being thrust to the womenfolk by the patriarchal society).

i may be able to whip a tiramisu or make fresh croissants from made-from-scratch pastry, but unfortunately, much as i want to be good at sewing, i simply fail miserably. in short, i suck.

i was influenced by the presence of a mother who is the perfect housewife who cooked and sewed for the family. and that's not all. my sisters took ERT at school while i was the only one who took Commerce. so i had no basics in cooking or sewing.

but now that i'm a adult i find that i like to create something because it s therapeutic. however, unlike baking a cake which lasts only an hour, a sewing project can be tedious and time consuming. i still have an unfinished embroidery project and another unfinished very colourful quilted comforter (stashed somewhere in the mountains of cottons that i bought).

one of the legacies that my mother wishes me to have is her beloved Singer. it's an old sewing machine, dated from the 60s and to make it work, you have to exercise your feet (rock the foot pedal to and fro). when i was younger, she used to scold me for making a mess with the thread and the bobbin until the machine was stuck. so you see, i dont really get along with the sewing machine.

but that didnt deter me. i have this wonderful idea of cutting cost by sewing my own curtains. yep, you heard me. sew me own curtain (as jamie oliver might have said if he's a tailor instead of a celebrity chef). i had problems with the first set of curtains - which is for the dining room. the fabric is nice, it speaks volumes of drama. from afar they look like curtains, but dont get too close and scrutinise the stitches. buoyed with "success", i then decided to sew a set of curtains for my mother's room. the result? well...i guess mine would have been picasso's version of curtain. my mother gave her opinion, but nothing could be helped. she did say that if i ever want to change the living room's curtains, i should get professional help.

last month i had 3 days break, and i decided to sew a nightgown for myself. and because i had no basic knowledge of whatsoever in terms of sewing clothes, i bought the cheapest cotton so that i wont feel bad if i mess up. i did mess up, not once but many, many times. i already cut the cloth but then i realised that it wasnt according to the measurement, so i called my sister for help. she said that i must have a template and then started to get technical "you take your measurement then plus 2 inches..." i didnt listen to her after that. i did make a template, and despite my mother's warnings that the gown looked small, i boldly sewed it and was ready to try it on. only to find that i was stuck like a sarung nangka inside my nightgown. had to call bibik to take it off.

so now i'm back to sewing curtains, this time for my own room. okay, my sewing has improved, but still, dont scrutinise my workmanship.

well, i'm only human, after all.

stuck in the rut

i've just finished marking papers and it was a big relief. i was procrastinating, and i knew that i've had enough of scrutinising students' essays....at least, at this time of the year. school hols is coming soon, but i had emptied my "coffer" for my summer tour, so travelling anywhere is out of the question. unless....hmmm...

and worst, my outlet for chanelling my creative energy has been temporarily suspended, since my microwave went haywire 2 months ago. the poor old thing (which has done a lot of "jasa") is now at the service centre. no baking....no more homemade breads....no more spur-of-the moment cakes...or pastries...so now i channel my energy into buying roses (as was my passion years ago).

and all this requires money, and in trying to be an organised person, and a more financially adept person, i finally keep track of my spending by jotting down every purchases i made [but so far it hasnt helped to curb my spending :o( ]

harry potter mania

back when i started my MA, i pompously told one of my nieces that harry potter series was meant for kids, and not for adults. the writing was very british, and i couldnt understand the fascination.

until i started my dissertation. reading homi bhabha was very trying, and i needed a lighter read. and so my niece recommended harry potter and the sorcerer stone. which i devoured hungrily in a few days. then i read another. and another... until i became a fan (though not a diehard fan). i watched all the movies and believe me when i say, the movies dont do the books justice because so many parts were cut off.

when order of the phoenix was released, my niece was attached at the company who brings in harry potter series. she reported that things got ugly at kinokuniya as people jostled to get the books. some even spent the night there. the same happened at mph midvalley, although the purchase was done in peace. i spent 2 days reading the book, only coming out from the room to eat. i cried when sirius black died and could feel harry's pain (though he's a fictitious figure).

when half-blood prince was released 2 years ago, i had to go for a course, and i read between slots and at any available time i had. finished in 3 days. i cried when the beloved dumbledore died.

and yesterday, i got my copy at 8.10am. started reading the book in the afternoon, and finished this afternoon. i nearly cried when fred, tonks and lupin died. but i'm glad that harry, despite the burden he carried, came out victorious with such grace and maturity. most of the questions were answered, and my perception of snape changed. harry does become a great wizard, not because he is as great as voldermort, but like dumbledore, he's honest, brave and humble. i love the epilogue, although in a way, i feel sad, because this is 19 years later, and all of them are adults and married. this is exactly how i felt when the i watched the last installment of LOTR, the return of the king.

it's a peaceful world now for the wizarding community and the muggles, a time for laughter with friends and families. it's time to say goodbye now. there will be no more anticipations for more books on harry potter. and so i will relive the moment by reading, re-reading, re-re-readin the book...

the french attitude

as i set yahoo as my default homepage, i usually scan the yahoo news. and i glanced at the headline a few minutes ago - and was (still am) greatly amused. the headline? "mayor wants parisians to be more polite". at last, somebody of their own flock finally noticed how things are in paris.

some are in denial, saying they are "nice". if you happen to be a bus driver and reply curtly "je ne sais pas" in response to a question posed by a tourist without so much of a "je suis desolee", then i'd say you ARE in denial. if you happen to be a person selling cheap printed reproduction of original paintings to tourists and you shout at them when they try to find shelter from rain at your kiosk, then i'd say you're heartless. malaysians are much more courteous than that. and not only the mat salleh french who are rude (and proud), it's also the asian french (or probably holding working permit) who are rude. this is exactly the scenario laid out by Frantz Fanon in his book Black Skin, White Mask - the black wants to be whiter than the white, in his every action and mannerism.

in paris, despite the famous landmarks, i felt alienated and displaced. totally unwelcomed, especially since i wear tudung. of course, there are some nice people, but it's not often that we meet friendly ones.

being rude is also a form of oppression. hopefully the parisians remember why their ancestors fought for their freedom and to really observe their motto.

my birthday

today's my birthday, and for the first time i didnt feel like celebrating it. well i did have a cake, but the heart's not in it.

my mother's been hospitalised. she's suffering from haemarrhoids and has diarrhoea, and it's sad to see her in that condition. it's even sadder to see the treatment they give her. in the end, i gave some of the nurses a piece of my mind, and i told them that she must be informed of everything (an unspoken message : my mother is not provincial or a pleibeian, and she's not stupid) at this time, i wish my eldest brother was alive so he could reprimand the nurses and the junior doctors, the way he did - as the senior med. specialist.

at this time, i recall what i used to think about people. when we're in our prime time basking in our glory, people will come to us seeking for help, fawn over us, and have smiles for us. but when we cease to hold the position, the power is gone. there are no more people asking for favours and no more smiles. it makes you think if sincerity still exists.

i am, stronger than i was a year ago.

a year ago, i was still reeling from a broken heart.

now, i'm more perseverant. and wiser. and happier (in a way). i'm glad i made the journey during the school hols, because it made me see life in a different perspective. certain rudeness still fires me up, just as a simple act of kindness is appreciated. just as wordsworth who sees the yellow daffodils through his inward eye, i see wild red poppies bobbing their heads in the english and french meadows and fields. so much so that i bought a painting of red poppies.

i am a daughter who loves her mother, a teacher who inspires, a writer with the soul of a poet, an art lover who loves arts and theatres and architecture, a foodie who appreciates the flavours of food, a traveller who savours the intensity of life.

Pass It On

i was watching oprah show a few days ago, and as everyone knows, oprah is a great humanitarian. most of the time when i watch her shows about giving to someone in need, i'll start crying. she has such a big heart.

her recent project was based on juan mann, an australian who wanted to cheer people by advertising "free hugs". she presented US1k to every one of her audience, and their assignment was to make someone happy with the money. the money, however, couldnt be spent on themselves or their family members. they were given sony dvd videocam (on loan) to record their good deeds. and so, last night i watched some featured videos of the audience. one woman chose a family with a father who has brain tumour. she not only gave them US1k, she successfully raised US72k (donation from the people in the area) and started a college fund for the kids. that got me crying. and what was more, the givers felt that fuzzy feeling of doing something good for the others.

such kind acts remind us that despite the war, politics and prejudice, there are still goodness and hope in this world. goodness should be done, and should be reiterated by the receivers.

pass the goodness on.

a holiday to recover from a holiday

the crazy antics during the F1 upih race
the participants of LCDS Summer Camp 2007
the camp committee

barely a week after returning from my trip, i was off to perhentian island with my LCDS children. i hadnt recovered from my jetlag, so that was an added "bonus" to what i got myself into. more of that later. on that morning when my children were dressed in the black LCDS tshirt, the board of school admin wasnt too happy and wore that grave look. you know, that you-'ve-committed-a-sin-and-you-ve-upsetted-us kind of look that was supposed to silent even the most degil boy. if you saw what the children wore from their waist to above, it was okay. but what they wore from the waist till below was what caused the frowns. they wore knee high boxers/pants/shorts. and worst, they waited for the bus in front of the principal's porch. at that time i wish there was a hole for me to crawl into.

nevertheless, the bus arrived, and we quickly started our journey. we arrived at kuala besut jetty, and there were 2 boats waiting for us. it wasnt a smooth ride like we had last year when we went to redang, the waves crashed against the speeding boat, so you can imagine the times when we literally felt like being in a car without any absorbers. when i was about to disembark from the boat, the guide said "kita tak takut sangat pasal cikgu lain, cuma takut pasal cikgu nora nak turun ni je". eh? were they afraid that i might drown?

the committee already said they wanted comfort this year, okay, thank god for the chalets...but the children were !@#% when they saw the dilapidated chalets. but, the food was gooood.... really good. there were hammocks everywhere, and the boys were soon swinging from the hammocks. i was very much afraid of the trees actually. one hammock did come undone, but it was quickly re-tied. the beach wasnt the same as the marine park at redang, there were no corals, so that meant one had to go far ahead to see corals. the children had fun, playing the activities that my committee had planned. i suggested that they play the upih, hence F1 upih race was born. not to forget the ickiest stuff they had to eat in order to finish the race, or the ickiest burnt bread that they made out of flour, sugar, water with their sandy hands (and yours truly had to taste the bread to determine the winner...ugh!).

on the 2nd day, i woke up with an upset tummy. yep, it's official. i had food poisoning and made frequent trips to the throne room. missed the snorkelling activity (gladly, since last year i nearly drowned) but as my president requested, we made some sandwiches for the children going snorkelling, knowing well how hungry they'd be after the vigorous activity. tried to remedy my upset tummy by drinking pure coconut drink, not realising that it has a lot of angin, so instead of getting better, i had gastritis and had to miss the children's performance. they're a talented and creative bunch, so i was really upset to miss it. on the last day, we made our way back to the mainland... and i still had the upset tummy. but despite all that, i went to work and suffered. and this weekend is the perfect time for me to recover.

The Tales of the Wanderlust:The england and paris trips

roses, roses everywhere at hampton court manor, the home to King Henry the 8th
shakespeare's birthplace at stratford-upon-avon
big ben and the parliament house
the tower bridge
the tower of london
chateau de versailles, the extravagant Baroque styled palace of the Sun King, King Louis XIV
arc de triomphe
stonehenge - the mysterious megaliths that intrigue all
le tour eiffel at noir. very romantic. and damn cold.

ah london! paris! yes, a dream came true. but a journey which is an eye-opener. i've been longing to go to england since i was small. (dont we all? being colonised by the brits and all...) i wanted to see the big ben, shakespeare's birthplace and all the magnificent castles. and so, during the school hols, i found myself on a 24 hr flight bound to london. we arrived at heathrow at 6.25am on a cold, cold blustery drizzling morning. it was very cold, and i was wondering how i was going to survive there. anyway, that night i had a dinner of biryani rice, at an indian restaurant at earl's court. no dalca was given. hmmph....felt weird. a bit dry without dalca, but biryani rice was a comfort to me that night. the aromatic spice blend was perfect.

the next day, we took the national express coach to paris. when i saw the dover beach, i quickly snapped a pic of the white cliffs. and i kept reciting matthew arnold's poem, an attribute to the beach "the sea is calm tonight..". the immigration check at dover was horrible but it's something that travellers must go through *sigh*. along the way, we passed through many wheatfields, and saw farmhouses, chapels and scarecrows. i also noticed the slight differences of the french country house structure to that in england.

we arrived in paris in the evening at 7pm, and with our luggage, we took the metro and asked around for directions to our hotel. unfortunately though, one of our groupmates was pickpocketed and lost 500 pounds and had to freeze his credit cards. we arrived at gare du nord, and with the help of a very talkative frenchman (whom we had to pay) we found our hotel, which was five minutes walk fr the gare du nord station. hotel londres et anver is a charming budget hotel, the staff was friendly although at times there was a communication breakdown. i like our room, which was done in blue, with white plaster ceiling, and the long window was modestly decorated with dark blue draperies and very chic and so parisian looking sheer curtains. the bathroom was spacious.

anyway, on the 1st day of paris, we went window shopping at galerie lafayette. i said window shopping because this shopping complex features all the designer brands like bvlgari, celine, hermes bla bla bla and although we were salivating at the sight of those wonderful bags, we couldnt afford any of them. we had lunch of crepe with chocolate and it was nice on a cold afternoon. but it wasnt so nice when we wanted to go back. the french are generally very arrogant and rude, especially to muslims, so you can imagine our frustrations when the bus driver refused to cooperate and explain to us (i'm sure he's not that stupid and knew the hotel we're staying), only saying "je ne sais pas" which solved his problem. then, we found a cab. the cabbie was a vietnamese, and we thought that at least being asian he'd be more warm towards us. unfortunately though, some asians think they're better eventhough they're not exactly the authentic mat salleh french. so despite a light traffic jam, he dropped us 5 minutes away from our hotel, explaining there was a jam. we walked back and found there was no traffic jam there. i was, to be frank, very pissed that day.

anyway, although the people was a disappointment, the architecture was magnificent. we drove through moulin rouge at night (our guide, the morrocan jamal, told us that moulin rouge is not good for us the muslims). then we saw place de concorde, we saw arc de triomphe and eiffel tower at night, which were more magnificent and grand because they're bathed in yellow light. we drove through the famous champs elysees, and later saw the presidential palace. the next day, we went to basilique du sacre coeur, and then we walked to montmartre, where i purchased a small painting from an artist. we then went to the louvre but didn t go in.finally, in the late afternoon, we went on a guided tour to chateau de versailles, the place i've read so much and heard from my sister, who inspired me to travel to see it. chateau de versailles is a big palace comprising of sprawling lawns and gardens. we were taken to the grande apartments and i was amazed by its sheer oppulence and magnificence. and i walked on the same floor as louis xiv and marie antoinette had hundreds of years earlier.

the next day we returned to london. it was like coming home, because the british are friendlier and nicer than the french. we saw the big ben, parliament house, westminster abbey, buckingham palace, had a guided tour by a yeoman at tower of london, went on the thames river cruise, saw tower bridge and the original london bridge. we also went to harrods where the rich shop. then, we extended our tour and went to places which i wanted to see for so long - we went to oxford university. i wanted to see the dining hall at christchurch which they used for harry potter movies, but it was closed at that time. we then went to cotswold, but i was a bit disappointed because when we went to the cotswold, the houses didnt have thatched roof. we later went to stratford upon avon, and i entered shakespeare's house. the next day, we went to stonehenge and i was awed when i saw the gigantic megaliths. it was a windy day, and at the same time the sun was shining brightly. after stonehenge, we went to bath and took pics of the roman bath. what touched me the most was that an old lady with a cane, who was crossing the street, saw us wandering around trying to find the baths and asked kindly, "are you looking for the roman baths, luv?" sweet, sweet old lady.

on the last day, we went to hampton court manor, and the rose garden was simply divine! later we went to windsor castle and along the way, we passed eton school for boys. i realised it as soon as i saw the black suits with long tails that they're required to wear.

the trip taught us a lot, and i feel contented because i went to the places i wanted to go. we met a lot of people, and learned to expect the unexpected.

Tales of The Wanderlust:the preparation

when i was small, i could only listen to tales of my siblings' adventure abroad. two of them are pilots, and so they get to travel everywhere, up to a point where my brothers dont really go anywhere once they reach their destination -weary of travel, and already feel like they're part of the city. it's like going back to their homes in so many cities. the other sisters often travel as well, some on business, some on vacation.

i remember my eldest sister went on a european tour in the early 90s, and i remember looking at all the pics. she was complaining to me "your nieces were only interested in souvenirs, but not looking at the scenery". she was talking abt the their tour to the highlands of Scotland. she showed me the pics they took at Versailles, the palace of the great Sun King, or Louis the xiv. then there was a picture of tyrolean ladies dancing, spinning around. and in my silent heart i said to her "you should have taken me along, because i'm interested in all these".

with so many wonderful tales, how cant i be tempted? but as i was growing up, i was afraid of challenges, of the unknown. i embrace the routines and the familiar.

until the day i opened my mind to literary discussions.

i remember laurence sterne's A Sentimental Journey, Muhammad Hj Salleh's Si Tenggang's Homecoming, rushdie's Midnight's Children and The Moor's Last Sigh. i'm much influenced with rushdie's idea of cultural hybridity, of rootlessness - of not being rooted to a single place, but to be a traveller, and therefore, open to new ideas and cultures. that's the idea for a postmodern world. a borderless world.

a tourist is just a tourist, only satisfied with the commercial tourist attractions. but a traveller is more than that. a traveller seeks to discover new places and cultures with vigour and enthusiasm and learns so much more.

and so, armed with advice of friends and siblings, i'm preparing to be that traveller.

copy cats, cheap publicity and pop culture

at first, there's only one. the one. the next thing you know, imitations mushroom everywhere. an original louis vuitton will cost thousands of ringgit, while it's inferior counterpart (made in siam) only costs less than rm50.

talking about imitations leads me to my next point, which is the wild fire spread of copy cat reality tv shows. i understand that some tv stations are only concerned with reaping big bucks and ratings, but sometimes it's just too much. please, 1 david blaine show is enough....and there're a lot of other copy cat shows as well. and that too much publicised wedding - frankly i find it vulgar to commercialise such a dignified and sacred event. which is why i respect raja nazrin for making his a small but closed affair. it's tasteful, dignified and very royal.

back to reality tv shows, they target the younger generation (reminds me of a malay proverb something abt sorong bantal pd orang ngantuk?) who eagerly lap it up and even have factions fighting over their favourite celebrities.

makes one wonder - is this what we want our malaysians to be? to be too absorbed with entertainment until that's all they can talk about. this is also one of the reasons why youngsters do not read as they spend their time in front of the idiot box. and the ministry finally has to force the students to read by introducing literature component into the syllabus. i was really sad once when i started talking about books that i read as a teenager to my students. as i read out the titles of the books, i was met with silence and blank stares. how are we supposed to produce critical minded citizens then?

yes this has become our pop culture. the culture of texting on mobile phones, watching shows, less reading, less contact with our traditional culture...

where are we heading to?

a wedding and the aftermath

a long time ago, i used to have hopes of getting married and live happily ever after (well, dont we all? read that in the dryest tone). there was once when i hit rock bottom, but that wasnt because of a wedding, but of a pregnancy of another person, and it happened after i broke up with my ex. felt like i was a failure, like the whole world was against me. that was when i did my masters.

when one of the nieces got married recently, my other single nieces and i hung out as usual, after the nikah ceremony. some of them were depressed. me? well, i m past the stage. what can i say? my niece found a nice man. that's all. and so we moped over a muffin and ice blended chocolate with whipped cream.

i'm reminded of an episode of sex and the city, when a friend of the 4 girls got married and she threw the bouquet. the flowers fell at carrie's feet. they all looked down, but carrie never bent to pick them up. instead, she said her goodbyes to the other 3 girls and went off. probably i've become carrie, disillusioned.

the journey of life is full of thorns which make you cry. in the end, you become tougher, although i must admit, there are times when a wandering thought can set off unstoppable tears. it makes you wonder if you'll ever be happy. my niece pointed out that i successfully completed my studies, i've ex students who still contact me after 7 years, and students who respect me, and i can travel. happiness isnt attained when you have a handsome or rich husband. happiness comes from within you because you love yourself, you have people who care for you, and you pursue your dream and succeed in doing it.

it's in your heart.

Song of the Sea: Collecting Shells

In the midst of the calm morning sea,
I left fresh footsteps in the wet brown sand.
The peach globe was radiant and well-pleased,
listening to the orchestrated waves.

I couldnt help myself but smiled,
And looking down,
I was a girl once more.
There lay a curved row of beautiful treasures
of pink, brown and white.
I bent down and picked one.
With each piece I was reminded
of visits with my father,
listening to his tales of fishermen
reading the stars to sail home with their bounty;
eagles would fly majestically to signify the end of monsoon.

To the South China Sea
I paid homage and re-lived the ritual,
collecting treasures of the sea.
This is my land,
And the shells bind me to it.

penned on 6th June 07.

Song of the Sea: Laments of a Heart: A Tale of Innocence

In solitude
I crossleg on the millions of granules,
witnessing the birth of a new day.
It's peaceful around here.
Before me spreads a priceless painting,
Splashes of pink and orange spice the dull blue.
entitled "happy colours of the innocence".
Strange as it seems, the colours that remind me of you
are created on this land.

As children we breathed the same salty breeze.
We frolicked under the same sun.
We watched the high and the ebb.
But I had strayed from our playground.
And you, with the gentleness of the lapping
waves in June,
brought me back.
We were the innocence.
We confided our dreams,
We laughed, and we shared.
But today there are only regrets and a sharp pang.

This emptiness in me will no longer be filled with innocence.
The waves still lap gently.
They come and retreat.

I'm sitting here alone
Realising I can never catch my waves.
Realising I will miss you a lifetime.

penned on this day, 29th June 2003.

the football match

last thursday, when our beloved sultan mizan was installed as the 13th agong, my top lcds committee came for a meeting at my house (the president's idea, since his house is near to mine). when the children arrived (i'm very fond of calling them children, although obviously they are teenagers, i feel that there's a certain charm to it that i just cant resist), the smell of chocolate muffins greeted them, and they stayed for 3 hours for a meeting regarding our summer camp which will be held at one of the pulaus.

and just today, we had our annual football tournament, amidst the soft patter of a drizzle. i was there with another lcds teacher, and we stayed until 10 matches were played. everytime we began to walk down the stairs of the astaka, one of the boys would ask "teacher, where are you going?" obviously, we had to stay and we kept ourselves busy chatting (as all women do).

the final match finally ended at nearly 3pm, with the underground fc winning the title...amidst the sweat, lots of mud and empty mineral bottles (which i told them to pick up before the admin makes noise).

hopefully after this the next activity will be a blast.

The Climb

i hate climbing anything that is vertical. the last time i had a climb was in 95 when i was forced to climb a mountain in kluang. that was a torture. nowadays i spend most of the days walking on flat land where it seems more stable and i've no fear of falling.

then, a few days ago, my neighbour, a neurosurgeon, asked me to be her buddy for the hill climb. in KT, that only means Big Hill (direct translation, please). for a lesser mortal like me, the hill is precipitous. she already told me not to talk too much while climbing or i'd lose my energy. she's right. i couldnt even talk because my breathing was so laboured... i already told her if i couldnt go to school because of jelly legs, she's supposed to issue me an MC.

my neighbour takes the climb as a challenge because "the heart rate accelerates" and it's a good workout. so i was huff and puffing and we stopped a few times, watching some of the other locals with envy. while we were struggling, some men in their 50s were jogging and talking leisurely the whole way up.

when we reached the top, we could see a marvellous view of KT. nice. the descent was much easier, but it still took us half an hour. today is my 2nd day, and hopefully i'll do better.

This Thing We Call Love

since time immemorial, both men and women have been plagued with this incurable sickness/madness/euphoria (choose whichever is applicable).

i dont know why it wasnt that complicated for my siblings - for my eldest brother, it was an arranged marrige; for the rest of siblings, well it was easy. but for me, as the youngest, living in a totally different era, it is a hurdle that is hard to cross. and my nieces agreed.

one of my nieces is back in KT, to recuperate. we went for walks on the beach...more walks on the beach...staring into the aquamarine sea hoping that the tranquility will heal the wound. and all the while, we talked about relationships and men, about temptations, expectations and the brutal reality.

of course, love is not THAT BAD. it's like chocolate. it tastes heavenly and you'll be on cloud 9 or 12 or 15. you ll be smiling for no reason, the earth seems a better place for you and you just want everybody to be happy for you.

but when something goes wrong, and i'm not talking about a minor glitch, but a major one that forces you to rethink; love, like chocolate, leaves its scar. only then you feel the pain of the fall because you ve fallen so deep that you cant possibly get up. you think that the world is unfair because some !@@#^& broke your heart, and while to some, crying is all they can do, for some others, stabbing that person or ram into his new beloved car seems a very sensible and justified action. he's hurt you, so why shouldnt you hurt him?

yes, and so the heart bleeds....but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned either.

i've had my fair share of heartbreaks. and from each breakup, although i was hurt, i learned. the process of healing is always long and arduous and there are times when i feel that life is unfair. i wish i can just let go of the pain, but it's not that easy. healing IS long, and can be trying but it is through this process that we know ourselves better, that we become wiser. which is why we make mistakes. people dont listen to advice when they're in love. they learn from mistakes.

and hopefully, the next time i'm in love i'll be wiser.

The Wish and the Disillusionment of A Teacher

a true teacher is satisfied when her students have succeeded in life. she doesnt ask to be repaid in money (though a pay raise by the ministry is eagerly welcomed) nor does she ask the students to paint her name in the sky or be printed in papers.

thus, i always get a warm and fuzzy feeling when my students and ex students succeed. it doesnt matter if they're straight A students, so long as they're doing well, and they turn out to be decent people. because i believe not only in teaching them english or literature, but to mould them to become a good person. and that's the hardest task.

i'm reminded of a movie entitled "The Emperor's Club" starring Kevin Kline - a History teacher who teaches the History of Roman Empire to his students, and how he trusts and tries to "tame" a wild rich boy by giving him a chance in their annual Caesar's Quiz. the boy cheats in the quiz. he grows up to become a corrupted politician. and in his old age, the teacher becomes disillusioned, wondering if he can trust his judgment of people.

i feel the same way as that teacher feels today, when i saw an ex student requested that i add him in the list. i was shocked when i saw his pictures. not exactly what i thought my student would behave, and that really disappoints me. because i feel like i've failed as a teacher. i sent him a message asking who he was, but his answer was arrogant. it's not what i had expected from a student of mine either. especially a religious school student.

it makes me wonder.

soreness n frizzy hair

last 2 weeks,i was told by my head of panel to replace him for a course in KL.

"why me?"

"because, after the head of panel, the next person who should go is the secretary"

thought of LCDS badminton tournament.... the LCDS high comm meeting...my first Cycle 6 Literature in English class... *sigh*

in accusing tone
"you should have told me earlier"

"hey sorry la, i would have been there myself, but i'm stuck here"

yeah right.

so on sunday morning, i made my way to JPN and boarded the JPN bus with the other KT teachers. i saw familiar faces, my SPM marking teammates, and my longtime tesl friend maizah. the journey was full of chatter, but in the end, after 9 hours on the road, we just wanted a good stretch and a proper bed to lie on. we reached the hotel. looked at it, and sighed a big sigh. (read between the lines please)

later that night we met the ELO, DELOs, the GC and vicky. i was looking at vicky's hair, and thought "that's really a frizzy hair". from time to time she would twirl her fingers around her hair. later on, when i was in my group, i wasnt alone in my thoughts. one male teacher joked of buying her a metal comb.

during her session, we were amused with her american accent, especially when she pronounced "modules", which we thought at first was "mahjong". when we did catch what she said, we, the english teachers, became just like our students, and imitated her american accented "modules". now i know how my students feel like whenever i teach them phonetics in class.

it was another long journey on the road, and the bus driver did not see the humour when i was the last one to board the bus at a stopover - you see, i saw a teacher bought a cornetto, and i just had to get one. grinning at him didnt help either. thank god for the cuti perjalanan that we got the next day....too tired to even move.

well anyway, despite the soreness, i learnt something and am inspired to work wonders in class. and despite her hair, vicky did teach me something (or reminded me of what my lecturers taught)- to vary the teaching methods. which i did, and the debate in my form 4 class was a roaring success, with the students actively participating in the heated discussion.

well... at the end of the day, i smiled.

dated 26th march: An Elegy for Fluffy

i had so many cats before, eversince i was a girl of 6. i think cats are so affectionate and loyal, with the adorable qualities as well.

my beloved half persian, fluffy, was such a cat. i fell in love with him when he was 3 months old, and i bought him frm a pet shop. he's active, as all kittens are, and had a really cute face. all my family members love him, including one of my sisters who hates cats.

the thing about fluffy is he's really manja. too damn manja. he would meow in that manja way of his. and would come and take a nap in my room. sometimes he'd wake me up in the morning, asking me to open the door for him. when my students come for tuition, he'd come to the table and bask in the glory when people fuss over him. i used to feel menyampah over his act, but i love him.

despite his manja ways, fluffy could be very haughty. he could give anyone that haughty stare of a royalty. and he's also very smart. when he wanted us to let him out to enjoy a morning romp, he'd give us that melting pitiful look.

the whole neighbourhood knows fluffy, of the fact that in the evening and at night when he still hadnt returned, i or the maid could be heard calling his name.

last night, fluffy was extra manja, more manja than usual. i called his name from time to time, and he'd come near me and slept. when i was baking bread, he kept me company in the kitchen.

today, one of the neighbours' son came to the house to tell us that fluffy was found dead at his garage. there he was, fluffy, in his white and caramel fur, lying very stiff, eyes wide open. i was so shocked and held him dearly, and the trip back to my house (though a few metres away) was dreadful. that was the last time i held him, with his soft fur... i was crying openly, but i just didnt care. fluffy died. and he wanted to spend the last moments with his mistress. fluffy died, and my heart is crying...i can still hear his manja meows in my head. may his soul rest in peace.

entry dated 24th march: The Lovers of Literature s Meet

i always dread going to courses. may be it's because i like the mundane routines and hate being yanked frm its dreariness. so i always complain (loudly) about the stupid courses - like, the one i attended 2 years ago, about encouraging the teachers to use the textbook in class (DUH!! i've been using textbooks in class long before that). there was once a one-day course where english teachers had to jazz chant and jump. i wasnt amused at all.

and so, it was with great excitement when i was told by the top JU here that i would be attending a briefing on the new syllabus for the 6th cycle of Literature in English. yep, i was on the moon, jumping over it, around it, whichever prepositions you prefer. you see, i've been teaching the subject since 2 years ago, and after much racking of the brain, i realised that i need help in teaching the ending cycle - the one with the e.e. cummings (why on earth did they select a modernist poet who wrote run ons and gleefully wrote cryptic words?). i also need the new syllabus. i'm very happy to know that they chose Neruda's poem. the selection of texts are carefully thought of, and the texts are student friendly (except shakespeare's julius caesar)

will start the class next week...cant wait!

thumbs up to CDC

well my heart leapt up on thurs when i went to school and the typist handed me the texts of the new cycle for Literature in English SPM paper. because the first title that i read is the title of my mostest favouritest poem in the world, written by the most passionate poet, Pablo Neruda. the people at the Curriculum Dev. Centre must have a soft spot for the Chilean poet like i do.

i first read the poem 10 years ago when i was recovering from a breakup. now everytime i read the poem i still cry, as i can feel the poignancy n the emptiness felt by the persona.

well my literature students will hear me raving about the poem during our lessons...that's for sure...haha...for those of you who've never heard of neruda or read his works....read this poem...btw there are some other versions as neruda wrote this in spanish, so this is a translation.

The Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I love her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think that I dont have her. To think that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to the grass.

What does it matter that my love couldnt keep her?
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is so lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her, and she is not with me.

The same night that whiten the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer loved her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Some else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and forgetting so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
My soul is so lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem i write for her.

Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)

the lament of a shoe freak

i was walking in town 2 days ago, and passed by vincci. i couldnt resist stopping by, especially when there's a sale going on. so there i was, in my shoe haven, and i saw rows and rows sandals, there were at least 10 that i like, but alas, with a great sigh i realised that those were all at least 1 1/2 inches high. ah! i sighed again. such pretty shoes! and i cant bring them home because my feet are killing me if i wear heels when i walk to the form 3 blocks. and another reason is, i counted my wearable shoes, and i have at least 20 pairs of heels. i guess i'm turning into carrie bradshaw and her blahniks (but mine are just vinccis, carlo rinos and primavera), but i hope i'm not turning into imelda marcos. and so, i sighed again, walked out of the shop. alas, pretty shoes, parting is such sorrow!

I need a Holiday!!

on the 1st day of school, i was at the last coordination meeting for spm paper code 1119/2. when the last bundle was carried into the team leader's car, i was stumped. pooped. tired. felt like a zombie... yes, i was mentally tired.

the next day i went to school, and felt, for the 1st time the agony of walking to the new form 3 block, which used to be form 4 block and was the agony of all the form 4 teachers. my heels are either 2 inches or 2 1/2 inches high, so just imagine walking a long long way and climbing the tiny tiny steps in my heels to all my classes. and i groaned. my classes are all on the 2nd floor. including my form 4 class.

which is why, i need a holiday. thinking of the next trip...ah! cant wait to see the culture, to visit the historical places....how ppl there live...and to shop!!!

The Standard of English of Young Malaysians

back in the 70s, my late bro, who came back fr. the UK after getting his MRCP, was offered as a lecturer in the faculty of medicine of UKM. my brother, like me, was concerned with the quality of students produced. we both want our students to come out to the outside world with knowledge that befits them - in this case, for my brother, to produce quality doctors. unfortunately though, he was pressured to pass the students eventhough they're not up to the mark. finally, my brother left, and became a specialist in the govt. hospital. he was offered a lot of money to join the private hospitals, but he declined the offer - because he wanted to train young doctors doing their housemanship and to ensure they're of quality.

now, i raise the same question of quality, and although i'm not a medical doctor like my late brother, i question the standard of english among the young malaysians nowadays. to be sure, there are good english speakers, good english writers - those who are exposed to the language at such an early age or use it at home as their 1st language rather than their mother tongue. then there are those who are motivated because of their keen interest in the language.

one of the reasons why students dont perform well is that they're not interested in the language. yes it's the same excuse, but it is the reality. they dont see the point of learning the language, or worse, they would rather read other subjects such as Physics, Chemistry, Biology. some brilliant graduates are jobless because they cannot communicate in english. which is a big shame, really. my niece, who went for the interview to become a PTD (diplomatic and admin officer) was appalled to see how graduates who could speak eloquently in bahasa during a presentation, struggled to speak in english during an oral english presentation.

parents should play the key role in motivating the students by speaking in english at home. yes, everybody is embarrassed to speak in english at first (for those who are not used to it) but it gets better with practice. which is more important, pride or the benefit of the children? they should also motivate the students to read in english. as i often told my students, even the most brilliant professor in english cant teach them everything there is to know in english, and they should help themselves.

unfortunately though, some students live in communities that still see english as a colonial language " bahasa penjajah", and some extremists view english as the language of the infidels "bahasa kafir". english is just a tool for communication, it has no religious nor political connotations. if the extremists are so worried for the souls of their children, they should bear in mind that their mother tongue is not the language of the Quran either (read this in a very dry note).

another main reason: some organisations which i cannot mention here, are instrumental in presenting malaysians with a facade. the teachers have a certain standard for their students, but after the results of public exams are out, students often get better results. some deserve the good grades, but some are questionable. sometimes we are told to accept answers that do not really answer the question. which makes this brain wonder again.... what has become to the standard of english? thus, we present malaysians with another reality. a constructed reality. my fren, who is working at one of the organisations, said that there are some who question why students who performed well in 1119 cannot perform in muet. i'm not going to provide the answer here. it is up to the readers to think. as descartes said, cogito ergo sum - i think, therefore i am.

Getting a Maid:A Manual

i'm maidless right now, which is equivalent to a greek tragedy. i've been so used (and spoiled) to having small luxuries, that now i miss all those days. like having all my clothes including nightgowns and caftans ironed.

i'm waiting for the new maid to arrive now, and you'll never believe how expensive a maid can be. last 2 years, we paid RM5k to get a maid in and paid her RM370 a month. now we've to pay RM6.7 to get a maid in, and her salary will be RM500. if you get one through licensed agencies, that is.

so basically, what do you have to do if you want to get a maid? first of all, survey. you ll have to know
1. how much the agency's service charge is
2. how much the indon agency's service charge is

however, it is my advice that you do not opt for unlicensed agencies, as the qualities of the maids might differ. of course, they offer much cheaper price usually half of the price set by licensed agencies, but if you want a peace of mind in your house, it's going to be difficult.

then, after you've chosen the agency, browse through the profiles the agent shows you. my agent uses her Chinese study of judging people from their physical appearances in helping us to decide on a maid. i found it amusing at first, but her judgment tend to be accurate. after you've chosen the the profile, the agent will start on the legal documents. some agencies do all hassle of going to the imigration, some dont. mine dont, but it's okay, because she prepared everything and i just went to the imigration, and they approved my application in a jiffy. to those of you who have to do the paperwork on your own, you'll get a few sets of forms frm your agents. you have to prepare copies of IC, borang EC, 3 months of your payslip, and if you have children under 18 years old, then make copies of their birth certs, if you're getting the maid for your sick parents, then you'll have to make a copy of your birth cert to prove your relationship to the parents. also, get a medical report from a doctor to prove the parents need assistance in doing their daily activities if your parents are below 70 years old. after preparing the copies, get duty stamps worth RM50 stamped on the application forms. when everything's in order, go to the imigration and bring along with you RM430 for the levy. the officer will approve your application, though i cant promise you that the application can be approved in a short time.

when you get the maid, you're responsible in getting her a medical check up. this is done through fomema and they will give you a list of panel clinics. you also have to pay RM190 for this.

before i forget. make sure you get an insurance to cover the maid frm the agency. if, let's say, the maid meets an untimely demise, you'll have to bear the cost of RM8k to transfer her body back to the country. if you apply for the insurance, however, you dont have to pay much, just a couple of hundreds.

so, what do you do when you get your maid? you've to train the maid according to your taste. what i mean is, how do you want your house to be run - how many times does she have to mop the floor in a week, what time is she supposed to set the table and so on. this is the biggest headache, because it's not easy to train a maid. if you get a garang maid, you'll be in trouble if you're soft because she'll bully you. if you get a slow maid, you feel like screaming your head off. you have to use your discretion, dont be too strict. dont be too friendly or else they'll be on your head. be firm but reasonable.

so that's just a few tips that i can offer you, based on my experience. bonne chance!

Judge Dread (not Dredd)

it's that time of the year again - when migraine attacks and gastric pains occur. when you rack your brain, thinking of things linguistically. when you ask yourself - to give or not to give?

yup. judging students' exam scripts. it's not an easy feat to read and to award marks to students. it is, after all, about deciding one's fate. of course, the fact that we dont know the candidates make it easier for us to evaluate the scripts fairly. though the hardest part is trying to decipher what the candidates are trying to convey in their essays. it's like driving a car. sometimes you get to drive a BMW - a smooth ride; sometimes you get to drive cabuk cars so it's a bumpy ride. there are candidates who wrote impressive pieces, so impressive that i thought that this cant be written by a 17 year old...what a diction! such precision, such sophistication!

i'm not going to talk much about this, since i'm bound by the Confidentiality Act. may God give me a clear mind to mark for the rest of the month until 2nd Jan.