Hijacked...or something

I finally got into this account.
I seriously need to migrate my blog as the mail accounts are linked, and this darn cloud computing thingy is making my laptop confused as to which password it needs to respond to.

Hmm....
So maybe, I'll create a new one.
But darn, I love hanging on to this.

Maal Hijrah - The Move

Today marks the new day in the Muslim calendar. Many people think that Hari Raya is the new year celebration...but it is not.
For us, the 'celebration' is marked with a day of prayers and thanksgiving.

In the spirit of things, I completed my move from my spot downstairs.
It has been 9 long years...since I moved down to that position.
As I cleaned out my desk, I remember the times I've had...with friends and colleagues...and the students who sat beside me as I worked. I also recall my encounters with my 'friend' - the presence of another being in the room.

I have spent more than 23 years in the school already. That is a long time...
It's my second home.

So I leave the table with a sense of sadness, but also a stronger sense of calm.
We all need to move on...and at this point of time, I have come to cherish my health and my peace of mind.

Ya Allah,
It is Your Will. It's a time for new beginnings.
With your blessings, I will have more good times ahead.
Insyaallah. Amin.

When the memories leave...

The MRI scan has confirmed the prognosis.
Mum has both dementia and Alzheimers.

It's interesting that of late, there has been many news articles on the state on Singaporeans' mental health. At least 1 in 10 will suffer from a mental degradation...from the simples blues to depression, from plain forgetfulness to those who totally lose their identities.  There is a stronger call for the early screening to be made mandatory, so that those, especially in their golden years, would not be a time when they are struck down by this disability.

While I celebrate Zarifah small victories climbing out of the abyss in which depression had sucked her into two years ago, I am now facing this new challenge.  Even with medication, Mum's condition, 'may be slowed'....technically, within 6 years, we may...face the prospect of her...

But Alhamdulillah, mum is taking things within her stride...at least, I think she is more upbeat than I am...or is it because, her short-term memory has already been short-circuited.  It's becoming quite obvious that she sometimes cannot even remember topics of conversation that took place ten minutes earlier.

Her faith is keeping her strong.  Surprisingly, she retains the ability to memorise Quranic verses...much better than anyone of us in the family.  That gives her the focus she needs...the antidote to soothe her nerves when she gets frustrated at not being able to remember simple things like taking her medication, or even having her lunch.

Dear God,
Your humble servant, ...pasrah.
It's Your Will...and I pray, that you give me the strength...
In You, I place my trust...
Look after mum...
and let her keep...the most precious of her memories...
That is - to serve you.
Ameen

Dissecting Words

Excuse me...
I dis - sect   words!
That's part of my job...I also do it for fun.

That's part of my background...
I tear at words, and put them under a magnifying glass.
The 'literary grounding' is as strong as instinct.

So...if you use words...
either randomly or whimsically...
or for whatever reason you say...
I'll look at them and wonder...

Words...
have power....
to lift, to break,
to enlighten, to confuse
to praise, to condemn

Words...are used for a purpose
Literally....figuratively...
Your words...no matter how convoluted or straightforward
Reveal a lot more than what you want to hide.

So I know...
though I may not fully understand...
What you mean...

Walk the Talk, please

Today....was a disaster.
There was a workshop ....I can't put the title here...for fear that if someone googles this, and stumbles across what I have to say, well...lets say that the consequences would not be pleasant.

But come on...
The group is made up of professional educators.
Granted, it is the holidays, and the idea of having to attend 2 full days workshop is just as exciting as having a root canal dental work done on you....

But this course is about ____________....meaning, that, you, as the 'expert', is supposed to help us in our journey towards that goal.

Yet...
The trainer is the anti-thesis of what is being said.
Never had a whole room of professionals made to feel as if we are transported back into the classroom, and treated as if we are the naive, illiterate children.

The trainer felt that the momentum was not right...
Yet...again, blamed the participants.
And we...being too polite,
Did not want to tell the truth to your face.

Do you know why?
You once held one of the highest position possible in our line of work
...yet now, you are sadly out of touch.
The very things you tell us not to do with our students,
...are the very things that you are doing to us.

Sad...sad...sad...

Dear God,
Twenty years down the road...please do not let me become that....

The New Fine Line

One of the locally produced shows which I enjoy is "The Pupil'. Though it revolves around the lives of those in the legal service, the show portrays many cases based on actual cases; or work into its plot some thought-provoking scenario.

A case in point was last evening's episode.
It highlighted a case of how the head of a school was being sued by the parents of a girl who felt that his actions had led to her over-dosing herself.  The head teacher had started an on-line portal where he could be more accessible to his students. So in the evenings, (maybe to set an example to his teachers how to be caring???), he chats with them over any matters.

So with the girl, it started with her telling him of her academic woes.
But along the way, it did point out that this was a girl who rarely listened to advice. She clearly had a mind of her own. Anyway, she kept chatting with him, and confided that she was having problems with her boyfriend. It was revealed that his first advice to her was to ask her to turn to her parents. Of course, she would not listen.

So, as the relationship soured, she continued to tell the headmaster her woes....and one of his advice was "End it..."
I suppose it makes good drama with an open-ended, ambiguous statement like that. English teachers teaching inference skills must drill into the students to always look within the context of what took place. But what did the dear child do? For the first time, she decides to listen to him...and 'end it' by overdosing herself with sleeping pills. (never mind where she got them from....)

So...parents found her in the nick of time, and she is saved.
The parents saw the web page with the chat history and those damning words...and decided that this man must pay for his tresspasses. How dare he mislead a child...worse still, go against any Socractic oath (no...I'm making this up...since Socrates was one of the world's greatest teacher). This is a teacher who has definitely crossed the line!

I am of course, biased at this moment, for obvious reasons.
But I was very disturbed when the judgment came. The court found the P guilt of misappropriate behaviour. He has crossed the line.

That set me thinking....Crossing the line?
What is the role of an educator?

In between the courtroom drama, there was a heated exchange between the P and the public prosecutor. The prosecutor painted him as a potential phedophile, taking advantage of his position to exploit young minds. She called him names, and found herself crossing the line when she that that as a parent, she wouldn't want to put her child in his school. In his anger, the P then yelled that if only parents did their job...as parents...because all he did was doing his job.

Much have been said about the role of a teacher.
How do you know that you have crossed that fine thin line?

There are no answers...only deep thoughts and worries that follow.
If what the man did was wrong, then I have been guilty a thousand times over.
I do get personally involved in my students' lives.

So what is the lesson to be learnt?
There is no right or wrong way...no one answer that fits all.
But times are changing....

I rue the day when I become cool, detached, and 'professional' in the execution of my duty to impart knowledge....
It's the time to leave....

Wherein lies your intention?

It takes all kinds....
In this world, there are dreamers and the realists, lenders and borrowers, optimists and pessimists, and the givers and takers.

What is your intention?
What is your personal agenda?
We all do things for a reason...
and to reach a sincere and pure intention...
Is the hardest thing to do.

Lillahi Taallah...
Guide me...and make my niat,
the right way to your path

Another one bites the dust...really?

I think STOMP , twitter and even FB are trending about how a young local girl had boasted about slapping her mother. She is still a teenager, barely 15.

From what I have read (ya...I do have a bone to pick with 'citizen journalism', but that's another issue altogether), this child claimed to have done the deed, and posted about her actions on FB. She also decided to rant, and called her mother all kinds of derogatory terms. Someone who read her post then sent it to STOMP.  The floodgates opened up a whole slew of reactions - from those who felt so outraged and called insulted her in turn, to those who felt that her actions were really 'cool' and wanted to befriend her...only to be 'hurt' when she accepted one of the 300 people who made the request on FB.

Welcome to the end of civilisation.

I am not going to adopt a 'holier-than-thou' attitude.
I think in my postings, I have had enough grief over the issues that plague society...
Lets just put it such that I want the finger pointing to stop.

I am appealing for those who still hold on to good universal values to look deep into ourselves, and think of what we ought to be doing. It starts with ourselves.

Coming from an educator's perspective...I can guess what needs to be done, and what we are likely to do.

"Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone".
As hard as it is, no matter how 'outraged' or 'appalled' I feel, there must be steps to 'save' this child.
No matter how much bravado she displays, I am sure she is reeling from the consequences of her actions. The vigilantes are up-in-arms against her...and no one can withstand a whole onslaught of abuses hurled back at her (see...karma already...and personally, those who use vulgarities back are no way better than her).

Yes...
She must 'pay'. She needs to know the err of her ways.
But I wonder how many Fbookers, or tweeters or whatsoever, has not publicly ranted, nor called another person names. How many have boosted about hitting or punching or whatsoever your boss or colleague or friend?

Lets ask...
What can we do now?...
Can we turn things around for her?

Or...is she another one of the 'sleeping child', who develops a whole new persona when she is awake?

A Little Thankfulness

Technically, yesterday was the last day of school for some students. With the advent of the O'levels, many secondary school ends earlier as compared to those in primary schools. But lessons will still carry on for another two weeks or so unofficially so that a lot more of in-depth teaching can take place.

There were two things that I want to reflect about as the academic year comes to a close.
Firstly...the exam results and moderation.
I do not want to go into the validity of papers set. That I trust...and most teachers I know would have prepared taught what is needed, and prepared the students for the exams.

Yet we spend many hours debating over 'poor academic performance'.
We become the judge and jury...debating on whether on not some of the students would really be ready to move on to the next level...when it is obvious that some of the reasons for the bad results stem from the child's own attitude and apparent lack of interest.

Enough said here...there is enough great debate out that about exams and its whole plethora of shortcomings when it comes to evaluating a person's worth....

But here is the crunch.
I know that there are teachers who care enough to want to help these students move on.
We evaluate each case carefully, and most of the time, the teachers will speak up for the child.
...and they do it with sincerity.

Which comes to my second point...
One of the last exercises I had to do yesterday with a class was to encourage them to write a nomination for a national 'award...which is to recognise the teacher for his/her contributions in the line of duty. All the students had to do was to simply write a few lines to thank any teacher whom the child think is caring.

While some dutifully filled up the form, there were many who stared blankly.
"I cannot think of anyone," was the common phrase word.
"Must I really do this?" another whined.

I know I had no right to be upset with the attitude. Perhaps gratitude is the last thing these children want to display. It may be presumptuous of me to say that this display of apathy is payback time for the amount of nagging and scolding they remembered...and of course, the ones...that we helped push up despite the poor results...had also skipped class.

But...the classic line was this.
"For what, cher? Isn't caring part of your job? ... Teachers are paid to do it, right?
After all, you are just a civil servant...we pay you already!"...came the 'joking' jibe.

Ouch...ouch...ouch...
I failed as an educator....

Locked Out...

The title has special significance for several reasons.

Firstly, I could not update the blog as I could not gain access to it.
You see, the email address I have been using all these while is 'owned' by the larger organisation I work for...and they have 'migrated' to a new 'cloud somehow...(dang if I can fully understand all this high-tech terminology)...In short, I got locked out cos the password is now sacredly associated with that user id.  Fortunately, donkey years ago, I had created a long-forgotten gmail account...and apparently, blogger said I could use that...but I had forgotten that user id and password as well...Anyway, it took me three days to figure out the steps I had to take to finally get back in here.

Locked out...physically.
This was what happened to the child I had mentioned in one of the earlier entries.
I do not want to elaborate...but his father's failure to settle debts found the family locked out and thrown out of their rental flat...
I pray that you will be able to find a place to stay...or else I know you will end up like the other stories of families living by the beach.

Which comes to my final point...
I truly understand why some parents get locked out...from their children' hearts.
While parents too, are humans, capable of mistakes,
their 'errors, faults, and flaws'
...can stem from arrogance, rigidity and insistence that 'I am always right'
...from their old-fashioned echoes of  "respect me cos I'm older, and as a parent, I ought to be obeyed'
...from unrealistic expectations
...or simply from, a failure to fully play the role of a parent...who should be loving, protective, forgiving and responsible.

I have seen and heard enough to know this...
And as a parent too, I have made mistakes too.
But I learn...and god knows, I truly try.
For the day I get locked out from my children' hearts...
will be the day, I lose mine.

Ya Allah,
guide me...

Ameen.

Down that road again...

Tomorrow is the start of the O'level exams.
EL paper will kick off the exams.

Each year, besides the release of the results, the day will see me on tenterhooks.
Of course, I will be filled with self-doubts....
Have I done enough?
Did I teach them the right thing?
Could I have done more?
What have I not done?

It's hard to shake off this feeling.
It's not the stake of just obtaining good results...or whether I achieved the set msg.
It is about...
feeling responsible for the children...
because the results...in a way, will affect whether or not they can move on to the next stage, and where they will move to...

And this year, it's especially hard,
cos this is the group of children I have seen through for three years...
I have grown fond of them...
The stakes are higher...

Dear God,
Please watch over them...clear their minds...
Help them to think...and remember.
Ameen

The world goes on...deal with it.

These few days, I have learnt a lot just by observing people - especially the children in school. I also have been re-reading Florence Littauer's "Personality Plus" to have a better understanding of why people behave the way they do (hahaha...yes...in a way it's true when someone says "I cannot help it.I'm born this way!")

But one of the best opportunties to study positivity and resilience presented itself yesterday evening when I met up with one of my ex-students. I have always thought of him as a calm and steady person.  His quiet demeanour belies the inner turbulence he experiences daily.  He is not academically strong, and I remember his struggles facing the O'levels.  But he kept going on....and ...on...and on...pushing himself.

I think when one has a 'bigger purpose' in life, somehow, that provides the motivation to keep on peservering. I knew he had issues, most of them, not of his doing. He knew that his results would be key to getting out of his predicament, and no matter how hard things got, he just had to never lose sight of that.  But I can image, even at 17 then, having to balance between studies and work.  There was no other choice. He had to support his mother.

Currently, he is in a polytechnic, in his final year.
He gave up a chance for a work attachment abroad, because it was just not financially viable, and of course, it meant that his mother, who was not working, would not be able to fend for herself. (let's not talk about dad - cos he is the root cause of all the problems)

So he managed to compact his study schedule to 4 days in a week - Monday to Thursday - from 8am to 8pm.  It is something called the 'competition route'.  On Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, he works from 9am to 9pm (for $7 per hour...and "every single cent counts, Cher"). When probed, he survives on a 'decent breakfast' at home, and eats again only when he reaches home for dinner. Weekdays are 'luxuries' because his work at the F&B outlet has lunch thrown in...and when probed what he does doing lunch breaks in school - he smiles and says that "I catch up with sleep'.

I was tearing.
Through the years I have known him, never have I understood the extent of his struggles.  But yesterday was the first time he opened up to me - and told in a matter-of-fact way. There are no regrets, no sighs, no hoots, no complaints...and no whining.  Yesterday, he shared, simply because he was just tired...not tired of what he was going through, but just tired physically.

But the face remained serene and smiling.
I supposed that we all need to 'unload' and share sometimes...so it all came tumbling out.
The house rents are three months overdue, so are the utility bills. So the family is on the verge of eviction...

His lowest point was when the 'creditors' came aknocking in the middle of the night threatening their lives...he was so badly rattled that he failed all his subjects in the middle of last year. But by sheer grit, he clawed his way back...His regret was letting that episode pull down his GPA.

I spent a considerable time, just allowing him to speak. I really felt so humbled in his presence.  It was as if my own problems were so negligable compared to what he is going through.

I offered some help.
He gently brushed me aside. "No charity, cher," he chided. I know that this 'pride' is something he so strongly holds on to...it was a matter of principles...his sense of honour.

My son, Akmal, was with me throughout the dinner.  He has long come to regard this person as his 'godbrother'.  And when we left, Akmal asked me this:
"Ma...how does one go through so much and remain so strong and cheerful? I want to learn this from Kor-Kor"."

I am glad Akmal saw that.
And I am grateful that Allah send me these 'children' as reminders of my own purpose in life.

Alhamdulillah.

The sleeping child (II)

Back in the days when I was teaching literature in lower secondary, I introduced the students to a poem by John Walsh entitled "The Bully Asleep." Basically, it is about a group of students who were plotting 'revenge' on a bully who made their lives miserable. The best opportunity came when he fell asleep in class.

The idea from the poem befits the image of J, who had his head on the table. He was snoring away softly, oblivious to the laughter that was building up around him.  J. may not be the terrible bully as portrayed in the Walsh's poem, but there are are striking similarities.

This afternoon, when grassy Scents through the classroom crept, 

Bill Craddock laid his head Down on his desk, and slept.

The children came round him: Jimmy, Roger, and Jane; 

They lifted his head timidly And let it sink again.

‘Look, he’s gone sound asleep Miss’, Said Jimmy Adair; 

‘He stays up all the night, you see; His mother doesn’t care.’

J's story? 

Well. he does fall asleep when the humidity levels in the classroom reached almost an unbearable level. It was a usual sight to have him slumped over. I did not know which was better honestly. For you see, when J is awake, he talks endlessly. He must always have the last word. He is a bright child; and has a sharp wit. He has a good range of vocabulary; so some of the 'barbs' I throw at him are easily deflected. Even when told to keep quiet, he will attract attention with needless gestures; with a kick to the table, or by scraping his chair.

Yes...he does stay up all night. At least that was what his form teacher told me. And the fact that he lives a considerable distance from the school often finds him falling asleep in buses...and he is inevitably late for school on numerous occasions.

‘Stand away from him children.’ Miss Andrews stopped to see. 

‘Yes, he’s asleep; go on With your writing, and let him be.’

‘Now’s a good chance!’ whispered Jimmy, And he snatched Bill’s pen and hid it.

 ‘Kick him under the desk, hard; He won’t know who did it’

‘Fill all his pockets with rubbish – Paper, apple-cores, chalk.’ 

So they plotted, while Jane Sat wide-eyed at their talk.

I do not need to really tell you that J does not endear himself to his peers.  Negative attention is still produce some form of response from others - so in his loud, brash ways, J attracts all the wrong kind of attention. He is boorish, crude, and rubs people the wrong way.  He is not a bully in the conventional sense - it's his ways that puts people off.

Not caring, not hearing,Bill Craddock he slept on;
Lips parted, eyes closed –Their cruelty gone.

‘Stick him with pins!’ muttered Roger.
‘Ink down his neck!’ said Jim.
But Jane, tearful and foolish,
Wanted to comfort him.
In short, J is not a person that you would warm up to easily.  There were days when I feel exasperated by his endless distractions.  He hardly has books in his bag, has no papers nor books, and comes to class with the dirtiest-looking rag of a T-shirt ever.  When asked for his shirt, he would pull out a crumpled, yellowed school uniform  and grumbled that the weather was too hot to be wearing one.

But as I watch him sleep; with the exam paper left undone, a few things struck me...

This was a child...
whose fighting parents have declared that neither one wanted him
where the roof over his head was taken away because of the adults defaulting payment
who came to school sometimes without the money to fill his stomach

This is a child...
....this is a sad....sad....sad...sad...child.

Sleep J...if it calms your troubled soul....

The sleeping child (I)

This is a reflection of something that happened recently. I wrote about it, but never got to the point of publishing this entry...As I invigilate the exams, I am bound to find some of my students falling asleep, with the heads on the table.  This was what went through my mind as I looked at this particular child.

She is beautiful...so I had made the assumptions that the genes must have come from either parents.  Tall & willowy, with dark eyes which framed her heart-shaped features perfectly.  The only problem with her was that she was frequently absent from school.  There is no real explanation as to why medically, even though her absence was always covered by a legitimate medical certificate.

She appeared with her mother in school recently.  They were seated along the stone seats along the corridor while waiting to speak to the form teacher who was in the classroom. I made my way to the woman whom I assumed was my student's mother.  It was then obvious where she got her exotic good looks from - the only difference between mother and daughter was just the colour of their skintones - but otherwise, t.hey were almost the spitting image of each other.

I should have read the body language more carefully. The girl was sitting away from the mum, fiddling endlessly with her handphone, while the mother was sullen; obviously unhappy at being made to come to school to discuss about her child.

I introduced myself, and then immediately spoke about the daughter's progress in class.  She listened without interrupting whatever I had to say. Then suddenly, she asked me this question:
"I know about her studies...But I want to know. Don't school's teach values anymore?"

I was taken aback. That was a question that I did not quite expect. Then she went on.
"It seems that all the school cares now is about results.  But what are you teaching the children?"

That put me in a spot. I did not know how to answer her.  But before I could answer, the daughter interjected.
"Why do you ask my teacher stupid questions?"..It was more of a bark.

"See...no point I send her to school...to be educated. Look how rude she is."

"I'm rude? What about you? All you care is for yourself...You are nothing but a cold-hearted b**ch!"

Whoa! Where did that come from?
The bitter exchange was so fast and unexpected that I was stunned...The daughter stamped her foot and walked away.  Strangely, the mother, sat up , ramrod stiff, and refused to utter a single word. Her face was one of total self-control. She was so red that she looked as though as if she was going to burst at any moment. At that point, the form teacher came out of the room, and invited her in.

I went after the child.  I found in, sobbing in the toilet.  When she saw me, she wiped away her tears.
"Please don't say anything, please. Don't make me apologise. I am just telling the truth.  That woman may have given birth to me, but she has not done a single thing to deserve the title of mother. I hate her."

A lot more transpired after that.   But I cannot elaborate it here.  But eventually, I managed to get the girl back to the classroom, seat her next to the mother, where they spent the next twenty minutes in stoic silence.  And when the session was over, the mother left the classroom in a hurry.  The girl followed behind. But they went their separate ways. It left me with many unanswered questions.

How did things reach to such a state?  How could a 16-year-old habour such animosity towards her mother?  And how....how did the mother 'lose' her child?

Today, the child fell asleep.  As she had her head on the table, I reflected...such innocence in her moments of repose...But, when she wakes up later...what will happen with this child?

Knee-jerk Reactions

I know that I made the choice to step down. Now, someone has taken over.
While I understand that changes are inevitable, I hate it when I find myself cornered, and having to justify the actions I have taken in the past.

I acknowledge there are loopholes. I know that there are flaws.
I must know learn to bite the bullet when the feedback given are less than favourable.
That I know.

But my grouse is this...why is it none of this was ever raised to me personally?
Now it seems as if the arrows are shooting at me from every direction.

I will shoulder the responsibility of my actions.
It hurts, but I understand the need for improvement.

I only wished it was not a personal attack.

Hunger

This is what I wrote which trying to motivate the kids to do their essays.  It is not 'original' in the sense that it is based on the poem that I used to teach years ago.

"You better come down.Dinner's getting cold." Mother yelled for the umpteenth time. So far, none of the children responded. They were probably lost in their virtual world, and lost track of the time again.

She sighed. She wondered if she ought to go upstairs and bring them down.  She had taken the trouble to cook a delicious meal that evening - chicken rice, vegetables and steamed fish.  After all, the doctor had advised her to watch Boy-Boy's diet. He has been deemed as obese. She had been upset. To her, he has yet to lose his baby fat.

Her eyes caught sight of what was going on on that little TV in the kitchen.  The documentary on Channel 12 was featuring the situation in Somalia.  The famine-plagued country was torn apart by civil war.  There were images of tiny babies - with sunken eyes, hollowed cheeks and bloated stomachs - victims of malnutrion.

"The Red Cross is appealing for donations" the commentator's coice droned. Numbers kept flashing across the screen.  But Mother did not quite notice .  She was busy pouring a large cup of Cola for Boy-boy. It was going to be a treat. He has been pouting eversince the she had to cut back his food.

The boy in question came into the room, and immediately sulked when he saw the food on the table. "I want MacDonald's!" he demanded, his chubby cheeks puffed in anger.

"But darling, You had that yesterday. Today it's your favourite chicken rice." she coaxed.  But he glared at her, grabbed the glass of fizzy drink she had unconsciously offered, and walked off.  She wondered about the battles she will now have with him.

Then something on the screen caught her attention again. The scenes were graphic.  Skinny, bony women carried half-dead infants in their arms.  But she could not understand why the TV was showing pictures of naked women. How can the board of censors allow this? It was a good thing that Boy-boy has left the room.

Her teenaged daughter came bouncing into the room.  She too looked at the food in disdain.  "You know I can't eat this, Mummy! I'm on a diet. All this food will make me fat!"

Mother looked at the spread left untouched on the table. She sighed.  She would have to eat dinner alone - again.  But then, something on TV pulled her eyes back to the screen.  This time, it was the images of scrawny children, picking up leftover scraps from the filthy ground - mixed with dung and waste.


"Eeewwww...How disgusting!" she commented. The sight had turned her stomach. She now has lost her appetite.  She was no longer hungry.

But she, was not going to waste food. She had always disliked keeping food overnight.  So she carefully packed up the food and fed it to the stray dogs in the neighbourhood.  Then she picked up the familiar number of MacDonald's delivery, so that Boy-boy would not go hungry that night.

(written - 6 October 2011)

You are what you write...

I have a hobby which allows me to decipher a person's character...that is, if I want to.
The ability to 'read personality traits'  through one's handwriting is NOT fortune telling...yet each time, when on a whim, I reveal to some of the students their character, they are taken aback, and then have the misconception that I can foretell what's going to happen to them.

Graphology is the art and science of analyzing handwriting.
It started off as a hobby to while my time away back in the days when I was in varsity. Someone was offering to teach the craft, and I signed on for workshop. It was fun.

Of course, I am not an expert in it.  But I would say I know enough...to keep the students'  during the moments when things get a little dull in class. Some people get freaked out if I reveal certain aspects of their behaviour...though this craft is combined with some degree of perception and close observation.

There are many things that can give you away...
the degree of one's slant, the size, the pressure, the font, the loops and curls, the sharpness, and so on.
I do know that some companies which believe in graphology ask their potential job holders to send handwritten resumes, so that they can 'verify' the true character of a person.

I have one disclaimer.
Though I have this knowledge, I do not use it to 'probe' into the characters of my students.
It does not work like that...

My only wish is that those with minute writing, and messy scrawls would really use large neat script...that's the kind of writing that I want to be able to read!

Want me to read yours?

I am an Imploder

Kaboom!
That's why I suddenly jolted me up. It's around 3.45am now. I had been awake for more than an hour already.

I had not wanted to be reliant on medication.  No anti-depressants, no sleep-inducingvalium. I had thought that the tiring events of the day would allow my weary body to rest.
I guess I was wrong.

Kaboom!
One may not usually remember much of dreams.
But it had felt that a time bomb just went off in my mind.
Sleep was not restful at all.

The fragments of the day's events became a jumbled mess in my mind.
The scoldings, the fretting, ...the whole litany of unspoken words that remained imprinted were looking for an outlet.
Twice today, I had to walk out of the classroom.
Not because of anger, but because of tears.

It's that time of the year.
Wondering if I had done enough...if I had done my part
If I had been keeping to my 'amanah'

I cannot help but be emotionally involved...though it is their future; their lives.
I cannot switch off, and not wonder about the 'if onlys'

Dear God,
Guide me...and give me the wisdom to know my place, and my limitations.
Help me find the inner strength.
and...bless me with much needed sleep.
Ameen.

When sleep becomes elusive

I need to sleep...
Somehow, due to some hormonal changes, and the worries I carry in my mind, I have been finding it hard to get my rest. Oh, I do fall asleep around ten - that is more out of habit rather than anything else. But, lately, from one to four, the body clock re-sets itself. I am awakened by some thing that keeps on playing in my mind.

At the same time, that's when I find myself feeling very warm. Mind you, I sleep in an airconditioned room, but I will be drenched in sweat. Once, I got up and took a bath, but this would not be good for the joints in the long run...now that arthritis has set in.

I have tried praying...
But I found myself more alert than ever. I wanted to mark, but the eyesight is not very good at that time of the night.  So I have spend fruitless hours surfing the net mindlessly, hoping to look for a cure for the insomnia.

The doctor prescribed amitriptyline...
I know,...it's more on an anti-depressant which is supposed to help  me relax...If it was the other GP, he would have given me valium...so far, it only worked once this week..cos in total, I had less than 4 hours of sleep.

Panda eyes, sallow skin...
and extremely poor concentration during the day....this is bad.
Sleep is truly a balm for the body and mind...
I need to sleep.

What do I do?

What is God's challenge to me this year?
It comes in the form of a child...But unlike the other children, my struggle with this one is unique.
I do not want anything to do with this individual.

He is not a prickly porcupine, nor is he spineless sap.
He exists in a world where he thinks that only his needs are important,

I have tried the soft approach, I tried pity and compassion.
I tried scoldings and nags...but the effort has been futile.
He does not care about the rest of the world...and sadly, I feel he does not care about himself.

Never had I gotten a child that I ... dislike.

Hmmm...God...
Show me the way...
Tell me what I should do.

Thaw...

I once could touch
a fragment of a soul.
It sets the whole being afire.

There was awe and childlike wonder
for the passion of life.
There was calm and serenity
in the quest of unfulfilled destiny,

I once could reach
the essence of a mind.
It blazes with a spirit so strong.

But,
a wintry wind of change blew
and left in its wake
A chilled denizen of time unrecorded
a hardened shell of existence.

Cold...
I cannot no longer find a spark
to break the icebergs.

Glaciers are mountains...
I cannot thaw.

Reality TV: When real life is worse than soap operas...

Being ill, I spent the past two days at home...and whiled away the time catching up with the idiot box.  Usually I would rather read, but have been told to take things easy, and really rest...something that has eluded me for quite a while.  But the medication has helped to make the body relax, and I vacillate between a fuzzy brain-fogged state, and that of a "why-on-earth-am-I-doing-nothing" panic moments.

But back to TV, and the programmes being shown.
When I was growing up, there were plenty of action drama with often incredulous and implausible plots. (hmmm...actually the Bollywood movies are still like that).  The convoluted stories ended up as soap operas and yet, they keep their audiences glued; waiting to be satiated of their fascination for the all the negative human values that can ever be described.  It seems that the portrayal of all the 7 unforgivable deadly sins were captivating...people oohed and aahed...but somehow knew that what happened on television, remained on TV.  The compelling story lines had seemed so 'unreal'...real people do not really behave that way...really?!

Enter the age of 'Reality TV".
I am not talking about the Amazing Race, or Survivor, or the Bachelor.  When Survivor was first shown almost 20 years ago, people were 'surprised' at how dishonesty, cruelty, antipathy and selfishness reign in human nature.  It caused quite a stir because it seemed to go against the idea of how much humanity prevails in society.

We have come a long way.
Today, no one bats an eyelid when families allow their private lives to be telecast live on national television.  TV has become a convenient platform where individuals come freely to air their deepest, darkest secrets, and air other people's dirty linen in public. They fight and do condescending things - all in the name of money; or for a few minutes of fame....and sadly, the 'uglier' the character one has, the more compelling it becomes.

What has become of society? Does TV mirror society, or has society mirrored TV? Nothing becomes sacred anymore...it has left morality in shreds. It is teaching the younger generation that it is so easy to be so self-absorbed...and that to get on in life today, it is ok to scheme, lie, and do every unscrupulous thing. Integrity is a relic of the past...the new values in life are driven by greed, egoism and self-indulgence.

I could have easily switched off the TV if I did not like what I was watching.
But I did not....It's not about voyeurism...It's about thinking what I have seen, and thinking now...how best, I can do my little bit...to still hang on to our values and morality which keeps us sane.

Disturbed...

I am a little perturbed by some things...
I actually should not..because I realise that the lack of experience, and especially, a deficit of self-awareness, can make some people take things for granted.

It has happened over and over again...
and I find myself disappointed...
But what do I expect?...how could I expect anything...if the bottom line has been that I had really wanted to help out of sincerity.
Do not expect gratitude in return...for that is never the intention.

So let it go...
Just shake off the uneasiness...
I can't change the world.

Where do I go from here

It's another long break from writing...and now coming to a point where I wonder if I should really keep this blog going. Writing used to be a cathartic exercise - a focal point of release for the deepest thoughts and feelings.  Yes, of late, the words refused to flow in momentum with the jumbled thoughts. I would start something, and then, find my senses clogged...and like a drainpipe that is choked to the brim, it would take a great amount of  de-cluttering to get it flowing freely again.

Which makes me wonder...I am up at this ungodly hour; wide awake because my mind is still active while the battered body craves for respite. I am weary; more ever than before. The practical side would tell me to just close my eyes, and try my best to will my brain to stop thinking...and perhaps remind the 'whatever sense' to stop picking up other people's vibes. I do need to be stop being a sponge...for negativity is not productive.

'Will the brain to stop thinking'...why would I ever want to wish that to happen?
It's very scary thought...and one that I have tried to brush aside in case I open that pandora box - but how can one really avoid this?

A few years ago, I wrote a poem, "If I should forget to remember you"... a tribute to my maternal grandma who suffered from Alzheimer's disease, and my Nek Tor, whose trauma caused her to succumb to selective mutism, and had her memories swallowed by time...Now, it looks as though, that defective gene has reared its ugly head again.

My siblings and I had managed to persuade mum to go for testing, and the results have shown the onset of dementia. It merely confirmed what we had suspected. She was always misplacing her things; and of late; forgetting dates and even whether she has eaten or not. We understand that old age does that to people - as the chemically and structurally, the brain changes and slows down.

Perhaps now, the worry strikes at two levels...because there is a genuine terror that her memories will give way completely...and secondly, I have to come to terms with this real possibility: Am I predisposed to this condition too?

Dear God...
I can only pray...and seek solace in you.

A Teacher's Prayer

This is a poem by Jill Wolf dedicated to my fellow 'warriors-in-arms'.


A Teacher's Prayer - Jill Wolf
I want to teach

my students more
than lessons in a book;

I want to teach them
deeper things
that people overlook-

The value of
a rose in bloom
its use and beauty, too;

A sense of curiosity
to discover
what is true;

How to think
and how to choose
the right above the wrong;

How to live
and learn each day
and grow up to be strong;

To teach them always
how to gain
in wisdom and in grace;

So they will someday
make the world
a brighter, better place.

Let me be
a friend and guide
to give these minds a start;

Upon their way
down life's long road
then I'll have done my part.


Happy Teachers' Day to all who count themselves as educators.
You are heroes.

(specially dedicated to the best teacher in the world - Mdm Fazidah Abu Bakar)

Life...is too ....fleeting.

It has been a sad and sober month.
I lost....another Changkat child.

In the prime of his life...this young man had fallen overboard and got swept into the sea.
He lost his life a day before raya...and was only found after two days.

I will miss your laughter.
May your soul be placed among the pious.
Alfatehah..
Aidil bin Jasni.

Expectations - and why I will never learn

I need to remind myself that whenever I do things for others, never expect anything in return.
The 'niat' must be right.
I thought I was doing ok with this...for so far, I never caught up with 'you owe me' kind of mentality. I do not ask for favours, I do not gloat over help rendered.

But...
I am human.
When someone turns to me...in times of need...I will help.
But in good times...when there is no problem...
I get ignored...

Ouch...
That hurts.

The 7 most difficult days of your life - Dr Phil

I have been reading Dr Phil McGraw's book "Real Life". I still like John Maxwell a lot better, but while waiting for his new book to be out, I took to reading the former.  Dr Phil also makes a lot of sense, but he lacks that 'oomph-up-and-go rah rah' effect as compared to Maxwell...but that is just my opinion.

What caught my attention in the book was the section where he summarises the factors that will trigger the most stress in our lives....and those factors are likely to wreck havoc and pain, and put us through emotional turmoil.  Here is an extract of the common 7 days that almost everyone goes through

a) The Day the Heart is Shattered:
It is a day when you lose something or someone of great value, and in the process, your heart is broken and can never be fixed as a whole again.  The sense of loss is so great that it brings grief and gripping pain.

b) The Day you realise you have Lived your life as a Sellout
This is a day when you lose your value as a person. You know you are living without courage and integrity, without honour and dignity.  It is when you suffer a sense that you have let yourself down. (I guess some people will take a long time to realise this...and even if they do, it is too late for regrets.)

c) The Day you realise you are in Way over your Head
This is meltdown day - when you realise that you have lost control, and not able to meet the most challenging of demands. You are simply overwhelmed, and would just wish that the earth would open up and swallow you whole. ( I understand this...it's when I want to crawl into my bed, pull the covers over my head, and not wake up)

d) The Day the Body breaks down.
Most of the time, the body signals that there is something not quite right with us.  The physical being reacts more readily to stress, and when yet we tend to ignore the symptoms. But when it does...the body is capable of wear and tear. The day that we are stricken with a serious illness, or when someone we love is seriously hurt, we have to be prepared to face this reality.

e) The Day the Mind breaks down
This is a day when you realise and have to acknowledge that you or a loved one's mental and emotional functioning is in trouble. (enough said...I know...from grandparents who suffered from Alzheimer's, and my girl's depression)

f) The Day Addiction takes over
Drugs, Alcohol, and Gambling may seem to be the ones out in the open, but there are many more. When the obsession takes over your life, it can easily destroy it.

g) The Day you have Lost your Purpose and have no answer to the question "Why"
This is the challenge of finding meaning for your life. It deals not so much with who you are, but why you are. This is where you find that there is no sense to your existence...and you have lost your inner compass.

Well, I hope to be able to share more.
In a nutshell, what he is trying to tell us is that everyone faces problems and challenges. Life is truly no bed of roses, nor a smooth road for us to travel on.  Life is NOT a success-only journey.  We all will meet those 7 days at one point or another....and must learn how we can deal with them.

So for today:
So chin up and smile...and for me, Bismillahi Rahmaani Rahiim - In Allah, I trust.

You're Ok...we are ok....

This entry is for you...whose 'outpourings' lately reflect your current state of mind. It occilates, swings from one random thought to another, and you constantly find yourself making contradicting statements.  But hey, let me assure you that you are not losing it - that what you are going through - is actually normal.

I feel for you, and I understand....trust me, I have been through it too before.  You have suffered a loss - but that loss does not necessary mean just the physical being.  When that person is gone, you lost many other things too - a sense of belonging, warm memories, your ideals and of course, love. It has hit you to the very core because you have lost a large part of yourself. 

So, it is ok to feel the things you are feeling right now - the whole gamut of emotions - and it is ok to find yourself doing 'crazy' things.  You are one of the sanest and most grounded person I know...and while you find yourself unravelling, your innate values will somehow anchor you...you will not completely drift away.

When we first suffer a loss, it is ok to grieve....to feel so sad that it seems that your whole world has fallen apart. At the beginning, there was a sense of incurable misery...so much so that you would have wished that the world would stop...or that you simply wanted to be away from everyone and everything...so that the pain would stop.

Then I saw the anger and disbelief seeping in.  You could not understand what had taken place. It seemed incredulous right...why had that person left?...what had gone wrong? What was that person thinking? You felt that you had done everything right...and yet life dealt you a cruel blow.

You went into another part of the cycle...you became a little desperate...thinking of 'quick-fix' solutions trying to make up for your loss. You tried to convince yourself that there are better things out there, only to swing back into desolation. You yo-yoed between feeling high and low, and it left you tired, weary and I guess, more confused than ever.

The next stage you tried was to block off all emotions...You tried to focus on something else, channelling all your energies there....But in truth, the hurt, the pain, the misery has not gone away.

Yet I sense that you are a lot 'calmer' now...cos there is now a growing dulled sense of acceptance that you can change things back to what they were....

You know, you are slowing moving on.  You are picking yourself up, and though there are times you will falter and stumble, you are on the way to healing.  But I want to remind you of one thing...emotional healing will take time...there must be acceptance, and forgiveness...If you can't forgive the other person yet, learn to forgive yourself. It was never your fault in the first place.

Take care, dear child.
I know you will grow stronger from this experience.
All the best.

The MRI Experience

Ok...it now has been more than 4 months since I fractured the ankle. I can walk, though I limp.  At times, the foot would swell and look 'elephantly', and at night, the aches can still be unbearable....But I am not complaining. The fall has taught me to appreciate the importance of my legs; and how they keep me mobile and upright.

But since the recovery has been super-slow, the good doctors (so good that a wait for a consultation at CGH can be as long as 3 hours!) had wondered what could possibly go wrong. After all, the X-ray has shown that the bone has healed. The young doc I saw had poked at the area, asked if it hurt, and promptly stated," I cannot understand. The foot is swelling. The bone is ok."

(Sorry,doc. I don't mean to insult you...but the loooooooooong wait had made me rather intolerant of such bedside diagnosis. After all, you were the one who went to medical school...I don't understand either)

Since X-rays can only pick up scans of bones, I was told to get an MRI done.
(please people out there....please buy medical insurance...medical bills can be soooooooooooo hurting on the pockets)....and I had to do it during this fasting month.

For those who never had an MRI done, let me share this with you.
First, it is done in the deepest denizen of the hospital (oh...the lowest level houses the morgue)...and the temperature there is nothing is comparable to the icy blasts of the North Pole.  You besides shaking with fear, you'll probably find your speech incomprehensible cos your teeth are chattering non-stop.

The young radiologist (see...they keep getting younger) asked me if I had any metal implants...for they apparently will affect the radiation...I cracked my brain, and said I had titanium implant in my teeth...but after frowning for an eternity or two (brrrr....I was that cold!), he said it would not matter since I was not going to have my head scanned.

I was told to get on the machine, and thankfully, they strapped on me one of the most comforting heated thermal blankets in the world (hey...may I know where I can buy one?). The radiologist gave me STRICT ORDERS not to move. They then placed a pair of headphones over my ears, and it was blasting a song by Jay Chou...(how I knew, don't ask.....)Oh, I was also given a rubber pump which apparently I could squeeze if I wanted to communicate with the radiologists outside the room.

Now, how do I describe what happened next....the room went all dark, and the great white shark...er machine came cranking to life...oh...they switched music, and the sounds from Glee came shrieking into my eyes. I felt as though I was slowing being swallowed into that ....that....that hole.

I suffer from an acute case of claustrophobia. Lets compound that with an active imagination.  So the MRI machine transformed from the Great White Shark to a burning funeral pyre within seconds...and I imagined myself in a coffin about to be disintegrated by the licking flames....the sheer terror of it all! I wondered if I would even be able to fit into the hole as my body inched further and further in.

I think I must have screamed....as loudly as I could inside my head.  I was so tempted to press the pump to stop tell them to stop the madness. Yes, the rational side of my head kept telling me not to move....Concentrate....concentrate...don't look...don't look....close your eyes...let the music take over.

Music....music....music...
I know...lets stand up and dance....Nope, I am 3/4 way through...If my head goes in, ....breathe....breathe...music...dance....darkness....jaws.....(you get the drift)

Thank god my whole head need not go in. It stopped short at my neck where I could see the blinking counter lights....25 minutes.....lap counter....The machine jerked and my heart stopped. Don't eat me! don't eat me!

I think those were the longest 30 minutes of my life.
The lights came on, the monster machine fell silent.  My radiologists hurried into the room.  "Are you ok? You were so still...we were worried."

Hello? Still?...did you not tell me NOT TO MOVE?

Anyway, I am still waiting for the results of the MRI. My foot is considerably better, thanks to the massage and herbs I have been taking.
And oh....I did ask Zarifah, who also had an MRI previously done. She went for a brain scan and of course, was thoroughly inside the machine. When questioned if she was afraid, this is her answer.
"No....I fell asleep."

Sigh...it's just me.

Hurry Scurry ...for curry!

The weekend saw me in a 'frenzied state'...not because of anything else but over a pot of curry.
By now, many would have heard about the Singapore Curry Movement that gained momentum over the (long-overdue: 7 years ago mind you) dispute between the Foreign Talent (PRC) who set roots here and their Indian Singaporean neighbours over the smell of curry.

No...this is not a rhetoric against Singapore's immigrant policies.
I believe that everyone has a place in this world...and that the One who really decides where we mere mortals would end up is the One above.  So as a civilised member of the human race, I would simple state that no one race is better than the other, nor above the other.  But for the sake of humanity, tolerance and  respect are some things which are premiums we cannot afford to lose.

So back to my curry story.
I promised myself that in this Holy month of Ramadhan, my 'small sacrifice' would not to post any comments on Facebook....though I concede that I still do read my 'wall'. When I got to know about the National Curry Day, I thought that it would be fun to join in...no, not as a protest, but as a show of solidarity and get into the spirit of things.  After all, how many people really hate curry?

I wanted to do something slightly different (re: Never cook what your mother-in-law is good at - hey, that does contribute to 0.1% to world peace you know)
I decided to cook Bamiah - this Arab-like curry with okra and beef, and eaten with bread. I do remember arwah Cikgu Sadiah's generosity.  Each time she cooked, she would bring a large pot to school to share with the staff.  Maybe I should carry on her legacy. However....I am not a great cook...so sigh.

Anyway, it became a learning experience for everyone involved. I sent Zarifah down to Geylang with Bibik to do some marketing, and I ended up having a good laugh at her 'harrowing tales'.  I forgot that my little princess is a supermarket shopper, and for the life of her, has never stepped into a wet market.  She gasped in horror when she realised that the meat she purchased were not nicely cling-wrapped in convenient packages.  She can't speak Malay to save her life, and there was a 'chicken-duck' miscommunication as she tried to verbalise her thoughts.  I had told her to buy 'mee kuah'...and had emphasized to her that I wanted the soupy version of the Indian noodles.  I think this was what transpired.

Zarifah: I want mee kuah. Sop please.
Mamak: Awak nak mee kah atau sop kambing?
Zarifah: Sop. No mee...no goat.
Mamak: Mee Kuah?
Zarifah: No mee. Soup one
Mamak:....goes out of his stall and asks her to point to the pictures above.
(well....at least she knows how to recognise her food!....though she had jumped when I asked her to buy ladies fingers. When she was younger, she had thought that I literally wanted to cut off the hands of some young women...and refused to show cannibalistic instincts)

But with that experience, both she and Bibik abandoned the idea of getting the other things I had on the list....which took me some time to search over the next few days.  The secret ingredient of course is the specially madefresh paste (and yoghurt) you have to purchase from the old Indian lady.

Then she posted on FB that I was going to make Bamiah.  Now, I forgot to mention that this dish is actually cooked on special occasions only...so when news got around, more than one family member got excited....and you know what that means.

Yes...I ended up cooking not for one family...but at least four others.
I am not complaining...but in this fasting month, I get a little worried that the dish may not turn out well. However, with a prayer, and a lot of 'campak-campak' ingredients (literally meaning throwing in things here and there)...all went well for Iftar.

Cook a pot of curry and share...
I like the idea
That's how memories are made.

Small Blessings

Ever since Zaf went to camp, I would receive a call each night; except for the days when he was out in the field, or came back late from the range.  But I was always prewarned not to expect his calls...so I was quite prepared in advance not to hear from him.

For this, I am very thankful.
I sound like a high-strung mum, unwilling to let my child go...or to some, he is some 'poor mummy's boy' who is still firmly tied to the apron strings. Either way, I don't care much about what others say.

Do you know how much it means to me...to know that my child is safe and sound?
Even if it is a simple hello...or to a list of things he did at camp, I cherish the few short minutes I hear his voice.
It does not only apply to Zaf....whenever I am away from the family, I make it a point to speak to my children at least once a day... I need to hear them...to touch base.

It does not take much to keep the channels of communication open.
I would be the saddest person on earth, if my children no longer want to speak to me.

So thank you, Allah. I am grateful.
Alhamdulillah.

Life...is fleeting

The sad news came fast and furious yesterday... one that brought about shock, disbelief and eventually grief.  A young life was lost...very tragically, because it was quite unthinkable how the accident happened.
A life, which should have been lived much longer, was snuffed out...by someone's else reckless moment of folly.

This was what I meant yesterday; that we have no full control over our destiny.
I hope that for the rest of her friends and myself; this untimely loss will serve as a reminder to us...that life is fleeting.
We live life to its fullest each day; with the idea that we also need to prepare our souls for the hereafter.
We make each day count...doing good deeds...seeing good, saying good, hearing good....we be good. There is no need to waste time on the negatives...for each minute is precious..

Our life...is a gift. Treasure it.


Rest in peace, dear child.
You will be remembered.
Al-fatheha...Fathanah Jailani (4E 2002)
May your soul be placed among those of deep faith. Amin.

Journey

'Life's a Journey, not a Destination' -Ralph Waldo Emerson

This entry is a response...not just to one person, but to the few others whom I find it worthwhile to just answer the rhetorical questions they randomly throw.  It is also a note of self-reflection...as I take a breather to mull over unspoken thoughts.

It has been challenging times...for some, coping with changes and circumstances.For others, it meant a time of renewal and acceptance; of grief and loss; while others cope with the perpetual curveballs and hard knocks that life seem to offer.

Each one of us must travel down the road that is 'predestined'. I don't even think we know where exactly that road will take us eventually...though we can visualise the pit stops we will make, or the milestones we hope to cross.  We can still 'shape' and map out the route we hope to take...though we are not in total control.  And one of us, drives down a different path.

What do we take with us on this journey?
Some travel light, while others are burdened....emotionally, mentally and spiritually.
I guess it depends pretty much on one's outlook.
I have come to realise that it doesn't take much.
If you come with a moral compass, you'll be pretty much grounded, and can still keep a steady course even though there are distractions and obstacles along the way.

Will we ever be fully prepared for this journey?
I guess that one cannot be absolutely sure.
Some needs to drag themselves along, while others can run...each move along according to the beat of one's readiness. But ready or not, through this journey, we discover more about ourselves...and hopefully, become better human beings.

So if we travel down our roads, let's think about how we can learn to enjoy the experience and the challenges. Do not forget that there is a Higher Being at work up there; and that if we can accept that we are not in total control of our own fate....so things do happen for a reason; very often unknown to us.

We should not allow to be weighed down too much by things that happened...in the past, or are happening. We learn from our mistakes; repeat them if necessary...and learn to keep on going. There may be times when we question"why me"?....but we need not worry...if we keep on going with the idea that our final destination ... is a good place in the hereafter.

So God, I start each part of my journey with "Bismillah"
In You, I trust.
I will carry on....till my time here is up.

The heart of Logic

We live in a world of paradoxes...simple because we are humans.  The root of the matter lies in fact that Man has both the heart and head to contend with (if we want to put things simply). While the rest of the body obeys the brain primarily, we trip up because of the voice of our natural feelings that may run counter to the workings of the brain.

As I try to learn more about the laws of attraction, I know many who will scoff at the idea of such 'hocus-pocus'.  Why? Because there is very little empircal truth...because it sometimes do not make sense. How can you attract something just by thinking about it? But hey, the experts have explained that the discovery of Quatum Physics has been vital in discovering the possibilities that the Laws of Attraction can unfold.

I don't want to explain...I just want to think and do.
Lets invite all the good things...what is the end goals that we want (the positives)
Put the power of visioning, and positive visualisation to work...cos if you can think of the goals, you will work faster and better to achieve your goals (please note: I did say, 'work'...) Thought cannot be mere dreams without actions.
It also has the opposite effect...that if we think of negative thoughts...we will likely make them come true. (Hahaha...there is a story behind the broken foot you know)...

I begin to wonder...all these years, I have tried to make sense of the auras and vibes...the 'signals' that my internal radar pick up.  Had I 'intentionally' sought them out? Had my intuition unconsciously wanted to find my special children...?If that is how the law of attraction works, then...it makes sense that I need them as much as they need me...

Hahaha....I am going to chant each day.
"Bring me the As...Bring me the As....Bring me the As"
Hey...you'll never know....

But...it will always be:"Give me a special child...who will bloom eventually."
Ameen

A Missed Step

I fell...48 days ago.
Call it a misstep or a missed step...it's definitely seemed like a mishap (considering that I still am yet to be able to walk again)

I am not going to do anything philosophical about this...just going to write a recount.
So that is just going to be a simple record so that I will be able to remember and laugh about this in future.

I had a root canal operation done that morning. Dr Poh had 'happily' given me 8 jabs...cos somehow, he had to remove parts of the jawbone...and the usual dosage of anesthetic was not enough to numb my senses.  I supposed that 2 hour mini op was ok...but I guess, I did not quite hear what he had warned me about the possible side effects.

Iffah had wanted to eat bruschetta for lunch, and I promised to cook for her. So off I went to Tampines,(albeit a little dazed), and did my usual grocery shopping.  I had received a call from dad who wanted to pick me up, so I waited at the curb.  In the daze and excitment, I missed my footing, and tumbled.

I can't remember much:- all I knew was someone asked if I was ok...and I mumbled something about being afraid that my cans were rolling away. I knew that mum and Akmal came to me, and I was still more interested in picking up my groceries. It was when I could no longer fit into my sandal that I saw the ankle 'elephanting'...er swelling up that the pain hit me.

Now...I react strangely to fear and pain. I laugh in times like these....and so, in the car, as I was trying to keep my sanity because of the pain, I started giggling. By the time I reached Changi General Hospital, I was a mess.  The ankle had ballooned, and the attendant was trying to figure out if I had been sent to the right hospital.

I hate hospitals...but it was a strange experience being there, because a few days earlier, I was at the hospital since Zafran was sent there from Tekong(...and that folks, is a different story altogether). So I was aware of the loooooooooooooooong wait...but a fractured ankle, is no joke.  Part of me, wanted so badly to curse and swear...for I finally understood why some people resort to that....as an outlet.

I remember being wheeled in and out of places...and wanting so badly to go to the toilet...I think of those times as 'hellish'.....but finally, after trying to get me to place my foot on the ground, the doc at the A&E decided to make me wear a 'backslab'

A backslab is a half-cast...and so you can imagine how whacked out my centre of gravity became.
Stairs....became my greatest enemy. I got a pair of crutches, but came so dangerously close to breaking many other bones in the process, that I resorted to using a walker.  While the 2 weeks 'hospitalisation leave' seems like a welcoming respite, let me tell you that is effectively a jail term.  I was confined to the bed most of the time, and even simple things like bathing can become a chore....and when you have a weak bladder, hopping to the toilet made me wish sometimes that I could use a bedpan instead.

The backslab gave way to a fibreglass bright pink cast...and this was when the real torture began. If you fracture your ankle, it means that the ligaments and tendons would have been pulled or strained too. If circulation is poor, the ankle will swell, and the cast gets tight and uncomfortable.  Trying to ease the itch is also a torture...until I found a solution - to use a very long chopstick to scratch at unreachable places.

My moods...became bad...I was grumpy, uncomfortable, and the frustration grew daily. I have not been much of a TV person, and somehow, I lost my appetite for reading. Sitting in bed for long hours is actually quite horrible..you develop aches everywhere.  But I must say that I became a little bit more understanding of why certain bedridden elderly become so snappy. I am grateful that I still had full use of my other faculties.

I became an expert at hopping, and moving up and down with the stairs on my behind.  My right leg had developed muscles I never thought possible; and while I was afraid that my right knee would give way, it so far gave me problems at night....The sleep has still got to be induced by valium and other pain killers.

Anyway, the days dragged by, and I counted them by looking forward to Zafran's return from camp.
Then came the day for the pink cast to come off: I had happily thought that I could walk again.  Now, the cutting of the cast was another whole experience. I had freaked out for several nights, because I dreamt that the nurse would accidently saw my foot. So when I went in, I was frightened...Yup...and when I am scared...I would laugh too.

So there again, a hysterical mess...until the attendant was rather nervous. I had laughed so much that I think he would indeed have done a bad job....but that laughter was not enough to help me walk again.  The news was that, I would next have to be in a splint.

A splint is another moulded plastic that they made me wear (so that I would not walk). It is so horrible, being told to keep the foot off...Anyway, when the cast came off, I did get to see the sprained foot in its majestic glory of black, blue and green bruises. I knew that there was no way that the leg would have recovered.

Last year, I missed my holidays because of school work....so my heart sank at the realisation of another holiday break down the drain. It was back to the bed.  But I decided to do something...I borrowed the wheelchair from the school...so that I could at least go around if there were people who were willing to push me around.  So thanks to my sis, I did get to go out to IKEA, airport, and made a short trip to Bukit Indah in JB. Small blessings indeed.

At one point, I got very bored of my house arrest.  The poor kids too suffered since they did not get to go out much, and really missed out on many wonderful movies that we had wanted to watch. I decided to take stock of the situation by wanting to go to a specialist to buy special boots that would help me in the rehabilitation process.  God is great. My hubby managed to get the aircast boots which was given to him by a cousin who previously fractured an ankle too.

So what is left now?
The swelling has gone down (and thanks to QR for recommending me TCM) and the foot is able to rest on the ground. However, each time I tried to put weight on it, there will be shooting pains...which means that the ligaments have not recovered.  I have forced myself to go to school...something which takes the boredom away; though I am still very hampered in many ways.

What are the learning points?
Plenty.
One is to be grateful that I can still use the other parts of my body.
I have a supportive family who gave me lots of encouragement and comfort
I have been able to catch up with my quranic readings.

I supposed I am on the road to recovery.  It will be slow. I have to accept that.  But Allah has given me so many blessings from the accident.
I hope that I will still remain patient. Insyallah, I will walk normally again ...soon

The Laws of Attraction

In our journey of helping Zarifah find strength and resilience to overcome her current condition, we tried many things....the doctors, the medication, the alternative therapies...and the most recent one is the use of 'visioning'.

Now, I too have been on my own journey to fit the many puzzles that life has unfolded before me. There are times when it feels as if I have bits and pieces of the billions pieces that should make a cohesive whole - but they don't fit...yet...at times when I think they should...They will eventually...but I am continuing, for I have 'seen' where those parts belong...and how they would look someday.

Well, back to this "Laws of Attraction'...which is supposed to be an age-old 'open secret'
Now, this is is a kind of metaphysical law - "Like attracts like"
Of course I am not talking about magnets here..(cos I vaguely remember being taught that like poles repel, unlike poles attract)
It is the idea that our thoughts can be pretty powerful...and that if we are able to think positively, then we are likely to attract all things good...and vice-versa.

Of course, it is easy to be skeptical about this...since it is little scientific evidence to back it up.
But belief...is a very powerful tool.
(Haven't we seen what negative reinforcement can do to people?)

So why not?
Stay grounded...and invite...
All the good things you want
And move along...with faith.

Alhamdulillah.
It's going to be a good day.
Thank you for the blessings...and strength.
Amin

Mind over Body

Today's workshop in school was entitled"Teambuilding"...but it was like no other.
There were no powerpoint slides, no lectures, no trainers in powersuits.

Here was a guy who wanted us to break us out of the box...go against all conventions...literally telling us that we need to be 'reconditioned'.  There were many powerful messages that he was telling us, and how we needed to change....and that change had to begin with us.

He showed us what the mind can do...especially when it is motivated and supported. We got one of the teachers to think of her greatest motivating factor...her daughter. Then a group of us got down as she concentrated on her love for her daughter. Someone became a coach...who kept on talking to her, how to focus, about how strong she was, about how she is the best mother in the world. A few ladies affirmed these words by gently tapping her. All that were done intensively within three minutes...

Guess what?
Her body got so geared up that we were able to place her between 2 chairs straight (reverse planking) without any support. It was....astounding!
The bottom line is this...if we keep on believing in the positive, and focusing on things that we want, and is constantly being assured that we are capable of doing it, ...it simply can be done!

It takes about 6 months for a change to occur...
Lets see...if we change the tune

Are you ready for success? Yea!
Oi Changkat! Oi Changkat!....Changkat Oi! changkat Oi!....
Lets try....

I'll do it...!

Chalk it up to Experience

One of the best advice I had came from Dr Seuss...the man who wrote "Cat in the Hat"...
He said,
"Don't cry because it is over...Smile because it happened."

Of course, when for someone who has had something bad happened to them, this may sound like the worst possible saying.  At the point when we are hurting, or grieving or a loss, we deserve to cry to our heart's content...life owes us that...

But that is for that moment...to let our negative feelings out...so that they will all be released.
Then, we step back...and reflect.

Be grateful that we are alive...and by being alive, we move on
We pick up the broken pieces, and try to mend the wounds
We allow ourselves to heal.

It is not funny to suffer a fractured ankle.
I have not laughed at it yet, but at least I can smile....
I smile...thinking about how I wanted to curse and swear out aloud because of the pain.
I smile because I was fortunate to be rushed immediately to the hospital.
I smile because I had a bright pink cast
I smile because I am so clumsy with my crutches
I smile because...it happened...and made me a better person.

and I will try to find as many things as I can...to smile about.

"An Attitude for Gratitude"

I am going back to writing...maybe not as often...but constant.
There is so much to catch up with...in the months that I did not write.

So today's entry will start on a positive note:
Here are the things that I am grateful for
a) My parents who have always been there for me
b) I got the time to stay home to recuperate
c) Zaf's doing well in NS
d) I got lots and lots of Coach bags (hahahahaha)
e) all the blessings that I am aware (and unaware of) that Allah has given me.

I will now focus:
a) to get well and walk as soon as I can
b) deepen my faith and strengthen my religious obligations
c) helping my students ace their exams.

I will smile each day, and say a prayer of thanks.
Syukur Alhamdulillah.

They are Normal...

I was at Eastpoint yesterday running errands when I felt hungry. I decided to grab a bite at Banquet. It was around 4, and the place was relatively quiet; in fact, more quiet than usual. Yet there was a long queue at the chicken rice stall.  As I walked past, I began to understand the reason for the obvious 'silence'.

If one was in a hurry, and oblivious to the surroundings, the teenagers who stood in line would have passed off as ordinary secondary school kids.  They were clothed in their school uniform, and perhaps, no one would bother to give a cursory glance at the name of the school they bore.  But because of the 'looks' people were giving them; and the sideway glances, I took notice.

I recognised the name of the school - it was a place where students with special needs go to.  It takes in children who are severely autistic, and those who suffer from down syndrome. It became clear by the faces of some of these kids there that they look 'different'.

But as I sat there, a sense of deep respect and admiration grew.  They were so 'different' than some of the other teens who were there.  Maybe they realise that eyes were on them.  People were openly staring. These teens did not draw attention over any disorderly manner...in fact, they were the most well-mannered children.

Their 'disabilities' made them awkward and perhaps a little clumsy.  But they did not rush nor made a nuisance of themselves in public.  Under the teachers' watchful eyes, they helped each other with the heavy trays of food.  They ensured that everyone had their food first before proceeding to tuck in.  They passed out tissues, and politely told the ones who had shaky hands to be mindful and not dirty the tables.

There were conversations going on, but at a level which they did not need to scream nor yell. Some broke into a mini 'dance' upon hearing the upbeat music being played, but again, it was low-key fun.

Whoever says that these are not 'normal' children...think again.
They were definitely courageous, civic-minded , and everything you want some of the normal vulgarities-spewing, loud teens today to be.

Bravo...
You can hold your own in society.

The Sad Truth

I am no longer required to attend the main meetings...after I stepped down, there are times when I am glad that I am no more a part of the 'inner circle'.  There are certain things that I have been uncomfortable with., and am glad that I no longer have to do it.

But I never thought that the one source of discomfort could come to haunt me so quickly.
This year, I have been plagued by ill health, and of course, with Zarifah's condition, I have missed a number of days in school...So I know my name would appear on the 'blacklisted' list...

They reminded me oh-so-subtly that if this continues...my 'ranking' will be affected.
It means...I will 'pay heavily' for being absent from work....at worst...no bonus.

22 years....means nothing.
I realise that there is no such thing as loyalty anymore.
Sad...sad...sad...

Ties that Bind...

I think that this is one of the hardest entries that I have written...
In a sense, I have been meaning to write this for so long; and yet have kept it in my draft box; revision after revision. I am not quite sure of the purpose of writing this...or who my targeted audience is.
But today, I start off with the determination that I shall end this piece.

In less that two weeks, I'll be sending Zafran off for national service.  I am not quite sure how I would really react on that day. I'm psyched up to go to Tekong...so far, it seems like it will be just as if he was going away to some school camp or other.  I do not think that there will be tears on my part...after all, I will still get to stay in touch with him via sms, and God willing (Insyaallah), he will be home after his basic 3 weeks of confinement...and after 9 weeks, the army will make a man out of my son.

Where did all that time go?
It seems like yesterday, I was cuddling a chubby little baby in my arms. He was always earnest as a child, and rarely did anything that made me angry with him for long.  I remember for quite a while he was upset for not being taller than me...and when he shot up but at least a head, I am glad he did not resort to lording over me.

A mother is not supposed to play favourites - I mean how can I ever say that I love each of my kids differently?
Zarifah is special - cos she is my only girl...and Akmal is special too, since he is my baby. Zaf...well, I know that my husband would say that this is the child who can do no wrong.(so not true!)...He is my eldest...and the one who understands me best I feel.

There is no best way to describe my relationship with my kids...I have been very blessed indeed...
Maybe some people assume that the moment a woman has children, she automatically becomes close to them.  Maternal love alone is never enough to cultivate lasting relationships.  I understand that a mother may always want what is best for the child...but must know the difference between what is best may not be what is right.

Over the years, I worked hard to cultivate a loving, trusting relationship with the kids...especially since I spend so much time with other people's children. I learn what works, and what doesn't...and at the back of my mind, the whole purpose of raising children is carrying out Allah's 'amanah'. I had both good times and bad, made wise and foolish decisions along the way, and in the process, learn to accept the kids for you they are...and hopefully pray, that they will turn out to be ok people.

Allah gave me special challenges, and interesting times...
I have wiped their tears, cleaned their mess, and celebrated their successes.
I know what has been like to worry when they fall ill, and worry when they are not doing well. I've shared their little secrets...and do wonder if I will get to share more in future.

These past 4 months, by God's grace, I have had the chance to spend time with my oldest 'baby'...and reconnect with him.  I got the chance to play 'mama', and renew the ties...for he has really grown up in the years he spent in JC...I got the opportunity to understand how he relates to people, and how those around respond to him.  I am gratified when people compliment me for having raise 'a good son'.

Praise to God. (Alhamdulillah)
Zafran is very much his own person...and hopefully, with the values grounded in him...he will continue to grow from strength to strength.  So as he embarks on the next chapter of his life in the army, it is only right that I let him go with my prayers and blessings.  May he always stay grounded and strong in character; and find the courage to face all his challenges resolutely....and dear God, keep him safe and sound.

Ameen.

A Poem to Share

I love this thought-provoking poem extracted from Kahlil Gibran's 'The Prophet'

Your children are not your children.
Thy are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you, but not from you,
And though they are with you, they belong not to you.

You may give them your love, but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies, but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams,
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bow from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bend you with His might that His arrow may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer;s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

I feel that these are among some of the finest advice there is about being parents.
Yes, as a parent, I am full of expectations - that my children will make my dreams come true.
But I do know that it is not possible; nor fair...for them to be living my hopes and dreams.

I hope that I have learnt to accept that each and every child is different...with their strengths and flaws. I appreciate their individuality; and even embraces their differences with mine. They are my blessings; and God's gift to me.

Chase your own dreams, kids...
I am blessed...that you are....you.

I am King - ruling over my own life!

Here is a little story extracted from one of Maxwell's books - "Leadership Gold".

Frederick the Great of Prussia was walking along the outskirts of Berlin when he encountered a very old man walking ramroad straight in the opposite direction.  He was slightly miffed when he old man merely nodded in recognition of his authority.
"Who are you?" Federick demanded.
"I am a king, sire," replied the old man almost regally.
"A king?" laughed Federick, thinking that this was a senile subject. "Over what kingdom do you reign?"
"Over myself, sir. Always over me, " was the proud reply before he smartly walked off.

Whether the old man is senile or not, I supposed that we need a reminder that we can be, or in fact , are, the 'monarchs' of our own lives.  ...It is not about real power or how much money or property that we have.
One can be 'king' simply by taking charge and control over our actions and impulses.

We are the ones who are responsible for ruling what we do, feel and think. 
"We need to consistently make good decisions, to take the right action when needed, and to refrain from the wrong actions requires character and self-discipline. To do otherwise is to lose control of ourselves - to do or say things we regret, to miss opportunities we are given, to spend ourselves into debt."

Once again, it boils down to attitude.
Attitude which shapes our character and spirit.

Hmm....ok...I now can dream of being 'Queen'
...haha...

Cough cough cough (30 days and counting)

One of the common illness that I dread most is having the coughs.
It has been years since I last suffered from it - and now that I am down with it, I remember all too clearly why.

I hate the hacking and wracking...the bouts of muscle-pulling spasms.
It is an overall unpleasant experience.

But I realise that with age, it takes longer to recover.
Never before have I suffered from bronchitis.
Neither have I been traumatised by night wheezings and shortness of breath.
With a family history of asthma to contend with, I know that this is something that is now going to be quite common.

I hate missing school...
but need to recover.

Sorry kids

Audieu, Mrs Leong

When Veronica's status update reached out to the SACPS students about Mrs Leong's serious condition, her wall was flooded with messages.  The decades of students who went through her firm yet gentle ways of raising 'well-bred, refined young ladies'...she was a fine example of what an educator should be.

I knew Mrs Leong as my primary school principal...and also as a mother to one of my friends, Janelene. I really thought it was so cool to have a mother as a principal...since my mum was a teacher in the school. It meant that we could get away with anything...But it was proven otherwise.

Whenever we transgressed, we were brought back in line...no such thing as favouritism or nepotism (haha).  Mrs Leong was a tall, elegant lady...with 'genteel' upbringing. She neither screeched nor yelled...all it took was an extra long stare directed at you..it was enough to make one feel very small and sorry.

She was very, very , very neat...
In those days, all report books had manual entries, and she must have signed and written thousands of students' records.  She added her own comments next to the form teachers, and she always had something constructive to say.  It really made the girls feel special...for the principal knows you.

Over the years, I lost touch...and only renewed contact when I found Jan again via FB.  Well, Jan is very much like her mum, though Jan now is a doctor.  But she is very much like her mum, not only in looks , but with the same warm, classy disposition.

My heart goes to you and your family, Jan ...for your loss.
RIP Mrs Leong.
You will be missed.

Reflections from "Attitude is Everything"

I am forcing myself to read again...no excuse that there is no time.
So I picked up this book, "Attitude is Everything" by Keith Harrell. It is rather interesting because he is not really a sociologist or a psychologist, but more of an engineer by profession. So his take on this matter is refreshing as he explains his terms with technological metaphors.

I have yet to complete my reading but here is an exerpt I have taken for self-reflection:
"The most powerful computer in the world is the human computer. Our programming, then, comes from what we hear, see and say. We can be programmed for success or failure based on how well we monitor what I call the ear-gate, eye-gate and mouth-gate.

What we see through our eye-gate goes directly into our hearts, frequently having a profound effect on our state of min, sense of well-being, and of course, our attitude.Likewise, what we hear through our ear-gate has the power to lift us up and drag us down. Finally, the mouth-gate speaks to the heart-mouth connection.:- our words have a tremendous impact on our attitude and the attitude of those around us."

Well put.
Just a reminder to myself that I have what it takes within me to make, or break my day.
It is always easy to feel upset or get angry with others, and think that they are the cause of our problems.
But I have the power to choose and decide how I want to react.
So Dee...stay strong...stay positive
With God's will, and blessings. Ameen

The Wolves Within (A Red Indian Tale)

Now each Monday, morning assembly is held in the hall. The PCCG, NE and EL groups take turn to address the school about a particular topic or issue. When it came to my turn, I shared a simple story about self-control within a person.

I am not sure who to credit the tale to, but sources from the net quote it as a Red Indian folklore. (But I will credit the powerpoint slides to my son, Akmal, who helped me piece together visuals to go along with the narration)

The Wolves Within

An old Grandfather, whose grandson came to him with anger at a schoolmate who had done him an injustice, said, "Let me tell you a story. I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do. The easiest way is to hit back and inflict some kind of pain to the other person.


But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. You can use your fist. You can use insulting words. But after awhile, you will ask yourself if this is really necessary. I have struggled with these feelings many times."

The old man continued, "It is as if there are two wolves inside me;

One is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way."

This is the wolf that guards my feelings of compassion, honour, care and integrity.

"But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. He thinks he is always right.

It is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit. Each time when I feel I have been wronged by others; the two wolves rise within. When they fight, I feel torn apart."

The boy looked intently into his Grandfather's eye and asked, "Which one wins, Grandfather?"

The Grandfather solemnly said, "The one I feed."
_______________________________________________________________________________
It took a while for the message to sink in, for the ending seems short and abrupt.  But if I may say so, there was a general hush in the hall.  It felt quite good to be able to read aloud, and having the kids 'soothed' by the story they are listening to, and trying to absorb the ideas being put forward.
But back to the story. Who wins?
It is always you who do have the power to make something out of your own life.

Life is always a matter of choice. Whatever the circumstances may be, you can choose the level at which you live. You can choose what to think about the various events that play out in front of your eyes. You can choose how to respond to the challenges and opportunities that come along your way.

We all have wolves within...
But lets choose the right one to feed.