I Dance in My Dreams

Someone today asked me why I chose the name as my moniker. The answer is simple...in my dreams, I can dance. This is me : - the dreamer.

I have two left feet...I am clumsy and klutzy by nature. I bump into walls, and fall off chairs. My sense of coordination leaves much to be desired...and the jerky gyrations I do leave me certain that I have no rhythm gene in my DNA make-up.

My only public attempt was in early school days, and I ended up being the laughing stock because I simply was out of sync, and the plates I used as props came crashing on the floor.Never again...


But I love music...I love sounds...I love movements...And I love to dream.

The dreamer in me is my quiet, private self. The dreamer in me harbours hopes and wishes...and only if I can picture myself doing something so well, that I will make my dreams come true.

But alas, the aptitude for dance is simply not there.

So people...Starlightmoondancer...is the sensitive, romantic soul, who twirls, sways, pirouettes forever in a surreal world of endless lyrical music, watched by no one, under the beautiful full moon, and the glittering stars.

Incredible Tales

I decided to write this as I watched Incredible Tales being shown on the idiot box. All 3 kids are in the room, curled under the blankets (Zafran denies it...but I know better....)

Somehow between the Western 'scream fest' and Asian ghost stories, I think our version beats our Western counterparts hands down. It is not about the blood and gore...but I supposed it is because the elements of 'the other world' are more 'real' and recognisable to us.

As a child, I was scared silly of the classic Malay "Pontianak' or even "Sumpah Orang Minyak." The children of yester-years would tow the line when parents referred to supernatural beings as bogeymen. I dread watching movies at my grandma's place...for the toilet seemed like miles away from the rest of the house, tucked at darkest corner...God knows what lurked in those places...with the worst possible creatures around.

I have said that I acknowledge that there are beings out there...whose world I do not quite understand. But I find it scarier when humans make use of these beings for their own personal gain (that is another story altogether)

My earliest recollection of an encounter happened at a cousin's place. She was an only child then, and her doting parents filled her room with lots and lots of dolls - many of which were displayed in the cupboards and shelves. I felt uneasy looking at so many pairs of staring, unmoving eyes.

One evening, after putting my cousin to bed, my aunt and I watched TV in the living room. But we heard laughter and giggles coming from from the little girl's room. Thinking that her daughter was up and about, my aunt decided to check on her.

I opened the door first. I saw my cousin on the floor playing with all her dolls. They were all around her...and she was talking to them; having a conversation. This was the first time I have seen her dolls being taken out from their display cabinets.

My aunt who was behind me gave a gasp. I was startled...and saw something I'll never forget. On the bed...was my cousin, ...fast asleep.

My aunt clamped a hand over my mouth. She need not worry. I do not think I was even capable of screaming aloud even then. She half-dragged me out of the room, closed the door quietly behind us, and sat down on the floor...muttering furiously verses from the Quran.

I clung on to her in fear...but I think I was too young to fully comprehend what was going on. We held on to each other for at least 20 minutes...I think...when we no longer could hear voices coming from the other room.

After half an hour, my aunt managed to compose herself. She took a deep breath,and gingerly opened the door.

The room was indeed very quiet...and there on the bed, was the figure of my little cousin, curled up in deep sleep. The dolls? There were none on the floor...they were all back in their original places, as if they were never touched at all.

She then took several large plastic bags, and removed every single one of those dolls and put them outside the house, for the garbage collector to take away the next day.

Who was the little girl I saw on the floor playing with them....I dared not ask then...I dare not guess ...even now.

Keep Up Or Keep Out

I cannot afford to be obselete. The faster things move, the more I need to catch up. But I suppose that there is a way to keep myself on an even keel.

So today marks the day I start on a new ITC journey. Bought myself the Adobe Creative Suite 3...with Dreamweaver, Flash, Fireworks & Contribute. It's more for the kids' use, but hey...I got no choice but to learn.

I suppose that there is such a thing as studying smart...do I will probably look into the Idiot guides to these new-fangled thingies...But I am all fired up (at least I try to think I am)...so the day I am able to make something move with Flash, I think I deserve a medal....hehehe

On a lighter note...
I am hooked...actually, will confess that I am an closet anime freak.
Have been watching the entire series of "Prince of Tennis"...and that includes the Movie version and Live action. Though Yuu Shirota is rather cute as Tezuka (the captain), nothing beats the super cool anime version of the droolsome tennis captain.

Hehehe...inspired enough to pick up my tennis racket and wear my tennis shoes again...(unfortunately...the days of shorts and tennis skirts are over)...so anyone keen for a game?

As Ryoma would say..." mada mada dane..."

PS: Is this blogskin better people?

Knowing Me

Besides Maxwell, the only group of people who make sense to me are the proponents of Positive Psychology...anything that does not make me feel inadequate and ineffective.

Here is an animal fable extracted from one of these books that shatters the myth that you are excellent only if you are well-rounded or all-rounded.

Once upon a time, the animals all came together and founded a school with six subjects: swimming, crawling, running, jumping, climbing and flying. The duck was an excellent swimmer, but in her attempts at running, injured her webbed feet and eventually that affected her swimming.
The dog could run like the win,but hurt his foot when he crashed during flying class.
Everyone was in awe of the rabbit's jumping prowress, but he fell in climbing class and hurt his back.
The eagle was the best flyer, but nearly drowned in swimming class.

At the end of the school year, almost every animal that excelled in something was either hurt or injured. The class valedictorian eventually was the tree frog, who could do a little bit of everything, but nothing very well...

But was he really the best student among the animals?

Think about it...

Other Encounters

Someone asked me if there were funny moments I experienced in school. She said that most of the time, when I write, I seemed to be recollecting events which are either sad, or with a lesson to be learnt. Well, the funny moments were too many to count, but I guess what constitutes as hilarious to one person, may be quite 'lame' to another. Laughter is a tricky thing to describe.

But I will try. I apologise to M in advance. I know he will not be too happy if his story is told. It's not 'funny' in that sense, but I can certainly say that the incident I am going to relate is quite interesting and unforgettable.

It was the day before we celebrated Teachers' Day. But it being the end of August, that batch of kids I had were stressed to the max. Mock exam 1 was over, and will be followed by the prelims. Pressure...pressure and more pressure. I had told them that there was no need to even think of TD celebrations. "Focus people...focus..."

As an FT, I was very, very particular about my 'babies'. Ask any of my kids, and they will remember the fusspot who would pick on their hair, their nails, their clothes, their shoes....and I think they toed the line more because nagging is a worse form of punishment than detention. They all have learned the silent signals; a raised eyebrow, a smirk...and oh...they all hate the 'poker-face' look as I stare at their faces, without saying anything. (Hey guys....why is that so uncomfortable?). That morning, as I walked down the row during assembly inspection, I noticed that M was not quite himself. He was rather green.

Anyway, something had made me so annoyed that morning. So they were banished to the old EL room to 'reflect'. Hehe...some form of effective time out. During recess, some of them stayed on for a self-imposed detention. Actually, I know that the room was a nice place to take refuge.

A and N came rushing into the old staff room. I sit nearest to the door, and I detest all that banging. But their faces were white.

"Cher...cher...come quick." N panted.
"Where's the fire?" came my quick retort.

"Cher...please...we are not kidding. M! M! Cher....he's dying!" A grabbed hold of my hand and dragged me out.

Hmm...that was something new. No child had ever grabbed me in such a manner before. Anyway, N too is usually calm and mild-mannered. Something definitely had ruffled his 'relax-lah Cher' composure.

I ran to the room, and saw the reason for their panic. There, flopping on the floor' like a fish, was M. He was clutching his chest, and gasping for air. He was, at that moment, looking like something who was....er...dying?

Don't ask me why I reacted the way I did, or if I knew what I was doing. The immediate concern was M, who needed...? what ? CPR? (er...er..NO WAY!). I reached him and saw that his body was jerky yet stiff. He was truly having difficulties breathing. Instinct I think took over.

He couldn't speak, and this was definitely not an act. I pushed the furniture aside so that he could not hurt himself accidently. I took hold of his hands. His fists were clenched tight.

"M...M...can you hear me? What is wrong?" I tried to get a response from him. No reply. I remember ordering his two other friends to remove his shoes and other forms of tight clothing that may have restricted his breathing.

The situation became comical because of those two. Here, I was, faced with the possibility of having a student die in my arms,...and there were the two 'clowns'. In their panic, they ripped the button of his shirt, and stripped him off his pants. (thank god for boxers). The shoes and socks must have flown somewhere in the room.

To my utter amazement, A burst out crying as he knelt beside his friend.
"M..M..please forgive me for all my wrong-doings". He sobbed uncontrollably. Within seconds, I watched this macho, strapping 17-year old reduced to a wailing baby...

N joined in the ruckus. "Mengucap (declare your faith in God)...please M..mengucap." and promptly recited the declaration out aloud. His tears also started to flow copiously too.

For goodness sake...Were they for real?...No wait...wait...Could they be right?
By then, M was really in trouble. His face had turned blue, and his eyes had rolled far back that the whites were beginning to show. I can't really describe how terrified I felt at that point. I shook him to get a response, and yelled, "Don't you dare die on me! So toot! toot! TOOT! Breathe! Breathe! Breathe!"

Dramatic right?

I think that there was a sensible person around (I do not know who though), who had informed the office. Two other teachers came into the room to see what they could do. Seeing us, Mr L broke into a curse. "Wah...today the teachers all know how to swear one." came a voice from somewhere.

I really would have gladly allowed my 'rescuers' to take charge of the situation. But there came the new predicament. Somehow, in trying to get M to breathe, I had become entangled with him.

Lets see..how can I explain this?
You see, I had tried to unclench his fists earlier. But when I got distracted by N and A, his hands had re-curled, and firmly clamped mine in between. His nerves were taught, and were atrophied...and thus, I cannot be released from his grip. The more I tried, the tighter they became.

So try to imagine...for no words can fully capture the effect of the situation. A's wails were getting loud, and he flung himself on Mr L for comfort. N was in a trance...muttering prayers under his breath. And there I was gripped tightly by a young man, who despite his condition, had a strong hold on me.

Thank god the paramedics had come in. I don't know what ran through their minds. They placed an oxygen mask over M's ashen face. They tried to ask some routine questions, but I couldn't think straight.

"Boy...listen to me...relax...you got to breathe. Easy...easy...Don't fight." urged the medic.

No response. Even with the pure oxygen, M was still struggling.
"Oi...you want to die is it? If you don't breathe on your own, I'll slap your face." barked the other. And to my horror, he momentarily removed the mask and gave M two quick slaps. M gurgled and gasped more. At that point, the tension came to a peak, and I started to cry too.

They had a challenge...They could not release my hands. The vise-like grip was too strong. So they placed M on the stretcher, and carried him out of the room.

"Er...Teacher...you go also." the senior paramedic said.
Duh! What choice do I have? Till today, I am so glad that only one or two colleagues saw me walking awkwardly at an angle. It looked as if I was the hysterical mother, bending over, and clutching her wounded son. The walk to the ambulance seemed forever.

But M seemed to have improved. He was slowly beginning to breathe...though they were quick and noisy. The strict medic bent down to speak to him sharply again.
"Let your teacher go..." he ordered.

Still no response...I wonder if M was conscious or not, as his eyes were closed tightly.

"If you don't let her go...I'll slap you again."
The grip did feel a little looser, but his hands were still strong. So it was another difficult maneouvre up the ambulance.

"Cher...cher...wait...His pants and shoes.." N suddenly called out. His tear-streaked face was dirty. He held out the items and expected me to take them from him.

"Why you all torture your teacher that way eh?" asked the medic as he took the items and placed them at the side. He then slammed the door of the ambulance shut.

I guess it would have been exciting to ride in the ambulance, with full sirens blaring....had it not been for the seriousness of the situation. The strict officer took on a different persona, and he was very efficient had he monitored M's situation. Very gently, he rubbed M's arms...so that at one point, they became relaxed...and when they did, the medic slowly uncurled the fingers that had gripped mine.

I stared at my own fingers. They were white, and there were nail marks at certain point. I could feel the pain shooting up.

"Cikgu...you ok? Don't cry...He will be fine." the medic spoke slowly.

I looked at the man, and then over at M. The colour was slowly returning to his face...and he was able to breathe more regularly.

We arrived at the hospital I think, in less than 10 minutes. M was wheeled to the emergency, and I was told to do the necessary procedures. Within 5 minutes, M's parents appeared, with worried expressions on their faces. Meanwhile, I was shell-shocked...and I could not say anything, expect to shove the pants and shoes into their hands.

To cut the story short, M was fine. The doctor said that it was likely that he was not well earlier, and was running a high fever. Then it got worse when he suffered an anxiety attack. When he panicked, he held his breath. When you don't breathe, your muscles are deprived of oxygen. They harden and get literally stuck in a certain position. That would explain how I became imprisoned by him.

Anyway...I'm a lot smarter now. Why? Cos I have learnt how to react when a child hyperventilate. I will use a plastic or paper bag. The principle behind this is was someone hyperventilates, get him to breathe in carbon monoxide...yes...you got that right...monoxide. This is cause him to choke and automatically, the instinct will force him to take a deep breath of oxygen...

All I have to do...is put the plastic bag...over his head.
Really ? hehehehehe...

Please people...I am getting old...so no more of such excitments ok?
And if I am the one who forgets to breathe...let me be...

You Are Loved

Today, I think I met someone who reminded me what it meant to be a good mother, and helped me rethink and take stock of my own actions.

Today, I made a home visit. Nope, it is not because this child is naughty or acting up...on the contrary...this is a child who is well-mannered and hard-working. We are told to make our visits random, but I guess, parents still get rather alarmed when we descend upon the house.

Today, I saw what makes a house a home.
The place must really be one of the neatest places around, despite that there were 5 kids. Though I did not move around, from where I was, I saw where the family had their meals...a kitchen with a sink, and a stove...no cabinets...down to the barest minimum..There were no ostentatious objects, the walls were bare. But still, you could feel the warmth of a family who do not need much to enjoy the simple pleasures in life.

Today, I heard and saw the hopes of a mother who wants her child to rise above her.
She wished she could give him more in life...with what money can buy...but I think the child has already got something even more valuable than that. He's got her encouragement, her support, her blessing, her love. Are these things enough? I think I can say so, for in return, she has a son who is determined to make her proud.

Today, I am learning to count my blessings again.
Today, I am learning to reach out, and give back.
Thank you...thank you...thank you.

I am back to reading Maxwell again...this time his latest "Go for Gold". I really like his stuff. If I feel myself going on the downward spiral, I'll curl up in bed with a good read.

Here are some of my takes on the simple things that make life more bearable. Maxwell talks about something he calls "Disciplined Emotions". People have just two choices when it comes to their emotions: Master them or be mastered by them.

Which category do you belong to?
I know on the surface, I tend to look unfazed, and wise...(oh well, at least I try to)on most occasions. I realise that should I wear my heart on my sleeve, I am more vulnerable than I already am. I cannot afford that.

Maybe this is the cynic in me talking. I do not think I put on a smokescreen, but my facade has been built on years on really putting my real emotions under control. I have managed to tame the rebel...the wildchild and carefree streak. I have put that temper on a short leash.

But does that mean I have mastered my emotions?
I don't think so. Over and over again, the psychometric tests I take reveal that that part of me is something that I can only hide, but never remove completely. I know I appear to be compliant, meek, and mild.

So will the real me stand up?
I don't really know...for the two paradoxical sides of me are one and the same...and that is what some of you are learning about me....

It has been a long time since I let people into seeing me for who I really am...for in the past, I did not want the illusion to be spoiled.

But this is me...the one who writes...with the Voice...tells me who I really am.
And I am enjoying it.

Do slowly the private self is coming out again...and you know what? It's not so bad.
So join me on my journey to find myself again...