Where do I begin
To tell a story of how great a love life can be
The sweet sweet-and-sour love life story that is older than the sea
The simple truth about the love life she it brings to me
Where do I start
It’s hard not to jump into the bandwagon of talking about the subject matter when the word is sprawling all over the blogsphere today. But it is rather harder to fake a similar lovey dovey entry after the attempt for some candlelit dinner plan with Himself felt flat on my face.
“Yang, let’s have dinner at KLCC XYZ tonight. I’ll wait for you there after your seminar. My treat!”
“Sounds nice. But not today, I gotta rush to Low Yat to buy ZYX. I will see you at home at 6:00pm.“
Oh well! Giving him some benefits of doubt, he should notice the many bouquets of red roses which suddenly bloomed ferociously throughout the city center today. But because he was so preoccupied with his business, he might have thought that the roses were just dumped in the city because of the invasions of snow storms in the west or the bushfires in down under.
Being the occasional melodramatic queen that I am, I video-called him at 4:00pm and I could hear and see the brisk business over at Low Yat. And, his car entered the gate at 5:30pm, with (only) ZYX in hand.
Ah, he is indeed my Valentine!
Her hypnotically smile captivates millions. Many believe in her portrayal of a sad and depressed lady, but because of her smile even many more think she is a happy lady. After centuries of mysteries and mysticism, her identity has finally been revealed. She is Lisa del Giocondo, a wife of Florentine businessman, Francesco del Giocondo. Even more intriguing is a scientific finding that unlocks the famous smile of mixed emotions; Mona Lisa was 83 percent happy, 9 percent disgusted, 6 percent fearful and 2 percent angry.
I don’t know what it is with Mona Lisa that I, in one way or another, feel like connected to her.
Those who are linked to me in Facebook might identify me as just another plain Jane on the street/LRT who tries hard to keep up with the demanding work life. A Jane who is saddened/angered with what happened to the brothers/sisters in Gaza, intrigued with the Barrack-Michelle Obama story, and at the same time letting her hair down on weekends, sitting back & relax, enjoying movies, window-shopping or simply enjoying Kalamansi with Asamboi over a plate of Kerang Bakar at her favorite reclusive lakeside stall.
I don’t know what exactly comes through the minds of those who skim through my tiny blog; but it seems like they are curious about this anonymous & faceless pathetic blogger. Well being somewhat a geek, I do know the way to discreetly install an invisible webcam behind this blog which is able to sense the readers’ emotions and compile them for some other intelligence purposes. And all credits should go to Leonardo and Einstein who had just been abruptly awoken from the graves to launch the technology…muhahaha! Seriously, this is what WordPress is hinting to me; my sporadic ‘Under My Duvet’ or ‘Dear Diary’ entries logged the highest hits so far.
It also somewhat tickles me when I could be perceived as belonging to those insecure and clingy categories, just because of my ‘PS I Love You’ entry in BlogHer.com, a women blogger community which I was looking forward to join, after US First Lady, Ms Michelle Obama, herself was blogging her heart out in there (but it looks like she has recently stopped writing in BlogHer.com).
For the life of me, I do hope the perception isn’t true.
We could never have all the perfections that we want in life. A picture is worth a thousand words, so they say. Facial or verbal expressions can be played, but what lies in the heart can never be fully understood by all the people, all the time. I do love my life, and I am confident to enjoy both the happiness and challenges that He bestows upon me. He knows the best.
(Note: This was written 2 weeks ago as some sort of a sequel to my previous entry on kampong life)
It’s now 7:00am and unlike the usual rush hour morning beating the traffic to make it to office on time; I am now typing this journal at the most wonderful place I can ever wish for, enjoying my rather long year-end vacation with a specific mission (hope to write more about it later). I am now seated at the worn out sofa at my family home’s verandah back in the kampong.
I don’t know what it is with kampong ambiance which makes as though the clock ticking away very slowly, the day seems to be passing by very leisurely. The air is so soothing and refreshing, it seems like it is filled with more oxygen that enables me to breathe more calmly. The sound and feeling of calmness or nothingness around make it the most ideal place to de-stress any tired bodies.
Perched on the rambutan trees that had just finished delivering the bountiful fruits, is a family of small little birdies. It is not as though there were no birds back in KL but the serene kampong ambiance makes the birds’ lovely chirping sounds more convincing and serenading. There are also cockerels which seem to have no other things in mind besides flirting and running after the voluptuous hens, although there’s clearly a group of young broods still trailing behind the hens. Hei guys, can you at least let the hens enjoy the leftover rice which Mak has just spread on the feeding ground first! And can anyone tell what exactly those funny looking birds are trying to say while cuckooing on top of the durian trees?
From where I am jotting this note, I can see Pak De is busy accumulating the dry rambutan & chempedak leaves and old coconut branches for burning. His IC says he is already 80 years old but we all suspect he is actually 5 years if not older than what the paper says, since his energy or rather quite youthful look makes people half his age envious with both curiosity and guilt. Can you imagine not seeing obvious strays of grey hair for 80-year old man, and when we pester him to share his secrets, he just smiles and says maybe it is all the bitter ulam-ulam he is very fond of. Oookie, I guess I’ll just stick to visiting the hair salon for the necessary hair makeover then, *chuckle*.
Pak De has been up to his sleeves since 6:30am this morning while I was still shivering taking shower and washing up before the prayer this morning. Once he is done with them, he moves on to water the chili trees, the lady fingers, the brinjals, and all the ulam-ulam. His tiny garden seems to provide endless supplies of fresh vegetables for him and Kak T, his daughter who is staying with him after Mak De passed away about 15 years ago. Kak T a fulltime housewife and her lovely family of 6 are like my own family, not just cousins; and I suspect Mak sometimes feels that too. Well, being away from home, it is quite hard for me and my sister to be home for every single kenduri that Mak and Bapak arrange. It is Kak T, plus Mak Su, who has always been helping Mak prepare for the all kenduris. Sometimes, when I am home and almost bringing down the kitchen looking for ingredients to make asam pedas, it is Kak T would inform me where Mak is keeping all the asam keping, which part of Mak’s small garden is housing the daun kesum and all.
Sadly, it seems like life back in kampong is not all that rosy all the times nowadays; there are genetic urban problems which seem to be creeping slowly into the once lovely fairy tale like kampong life. That is what Mak, Bapak, and Kak T have been telling me and my sister when we confess how we enjoy our short stay back in kampong. There are increasing numbers of burglaries by desperate drug addicts, there are also hideous stories being discreetly passed around the households on unwanted and out-of-wedlock pregnancies among teenagers and college-going students, and the occurrence has become much more rampant. Kak Y, another cousin, who is a medical officer at the nearby hospital’s maternity ward, has also been supporting the story by sharing with me the grim and sky-rocketing numbers of such incidents.
That’s the price of modernization I supposed, not that I am condoning the ugly acts. My once a sleepy hollow small town is transforming into a bigger township, and with all those modern factories and community colleges mushrooming almost every other day, there bound to be exceptions to the patronizing glory stories.
Who the heck is this anonymous blogger? I am not quite sure how many would be asking that question, since I know this tiny space is not explosive nor groovy nor haffenin as many other good blogs out there that worth dropping by. But, I was pretty pleasantly surprised when I noticed that there was quite an increase of hoppers stopping by my former little space, especially those coming either from The Queen/Matron of Malaysian Bloggers, Kak Teh, or from her Heathrow-like busy Sentral Station. Being a pathetic and sporadic blogger that I am i.e. my blog posts are very minimal and irregular, what I wrote is so boring it can even put a hyperactive cat to doze, I don’t know how to actively mingle virtually aka dropping comments, leaving trails at others’ although I have been a stalker to those many good blogs for years, it sure is nice and humbling when my former site is listed in both Kak Teh and Sentral Station.
God knows that probably was/is the main drive on why I keep struggling to let the ink flowing although honestly I don’t have much to share. My very hectic and demanding career sometimes makes me overlook that I do have a blog (yes, you, my most nearest & dearest, my wonderful colleagues, friends of friends, and relatives of relatives who somehow finally managed to unmask me. I am a blogger, happy? 
So, don’t be shy, drop a line or two, but pleeaaassseee call me as what I am identifying myself in this blogs ya …pretty pleeeaaassseee…) so occasionally when I dropped by Kak Teh and Sentral Station and I noticed my positioning was wayyyy down at the bottom, I panicked and slightly agitated, and I would scramble for anything to push my position slightly up again; hence that pretty much explained my previous post in my former site (if it can even be called a post that is); an entry about nothing since my mind was totally blank and I was contemplating to even delete the site totally. Phew!!! Thank God I didn’t, else I wouldn’t know where to park my rambling here. BTW, thanks to Ms B, the young hot yummilicious corporate jet-setting mummy; and KC the funny carefree supermom wannabe for the notes…muah..muah..muah.
So what now? The malu-malu kucing cat is starting to come out of the bag now, don’t I at least have a courtesy to explain myself as a blogger, so at least people out there could maybe better understand why I write the way I have been writing, why I only write on things of which I have been writing, if may use Denise Richard’s reality show tagline, it’s complicated. Err… no, that’s not quite how I would explain my life now, it more like it’s boring. Yes, my life is so drop dead booooring, it only revolves around work, himself, cats, kampong, work, himself, cats, kampong, err, I probably shouldn’t be repeating typing the components of my life here … see that’s how boring my life is.
But one thing for sure there’s one element that differentiates or more like alienates me from the rest of the happy bloggers in this whole wide web world; I am a DINK, and that is why I think Denise Richard’s tagline is very true in describing my life. Not only it is boring, it’s complicated. I probably can write a book or two about the ordeal, I may even be able to grab premium membership in Orpah’s Book Club (yeah right, wistful thinking) but as it is now I don’t even want to go near to the subject matter. There’s no more tears left in that department. Subject matter closed.
I was once reminded by a blogger friend that I need not go emotional when making blog entries, and that probably explains why my previous entries are mostly a bit impersonal, but I am only human with feelings and bad days. I am what I am.
Anyway, back to the happy blogging mode, I can’t believe that it’s been 2 years since I become part of this big virtual happy family of Malaysian life bloggers. I do hope to be able to continue scribbling, pouring my heart out on things that I wish to share, sharing my takes on life both at personal as well as corporate level. Who knows there could be souls out there who may be able to gain small benefits from reading them.
Happy 2nd Year Blogging to me. Call me MyAnneJay, still very much NJ at heart, a Malaysian Boleh! life blogger
#1 – Not everyone that poops on you is your enemy …
#2 – But, not everyone who digs you out is your friend.
I should think after years of accumulating the tips and tricks of growing thick skin and maintaining poker face in all kinds of bad situations, I have learnt them all. Yes, give me all shapes and sizes of corporate demons and lemons, and somehow I will find my way to make lemonades out of them.
Except one. Send me to after work parties with instructions to mingle, to build better network with your counterparts, then I will fail. Fail miserably I must further qualify. I don’t know how to mingle, I don’t know how to make small talks. I just don’t know.
Just like the other night, where I had to represent Big Kahuna at the Corporate Raya Gathering of one of our sister companies. It’s bad enough that I have yet to really get to know the names of all these people. You see them almost every other day at the cafes, in the lifts, in the surau; and most of the time it was ok to just smile to each other without really having to utter or exchange words. But not when you were on your own walked into a room full of people whom although you might have bumped into them in one occasion or another, and you had to mingle and make small talks to them. And worse still, you were still in your ruffled office attire (I just didn’t bother to change to casual dress) while these people were in their glamorous & glittering Bernard Chandran-like outfits with their most sparkling bling-bling on.
So I just did what Betty would have done in parties filled up with Whilmenas, Alexis, the Mode models, and the likes. I was fortunate to finally be able to locate CP, a fellow number/project cruncher, at a cornering table. So we just quietly and discreetly filled our plates with the barbequed lamb, grilled salmons, sates, and what not and started stuffing our face with the delicacies, paying little attentions to those glamorous counterparts.
Yes, people did drop by our tables to thank us, to acknowledge us, to make rather awkward small talks, but we suspect it was because they had to and that they had no choice. We are the devils who they have to depend on and of which without us their corporate life can potentially cripple, so-to-speak. Hmm… come to think about it, I just love playing this combination of Ugly Betty and Whilmena’s devilish character. Muahahaha!!!!
There was one young man in his 20s, surrounded by what looked like his mum, sisters or aunties, who was passionately eating his last home-cooked meal before the journey and who was oblivious to his surroundings and loving glares from his throng of female relatives. Next to his group was slightly an older girl who was swamped by her family members and whose photos were lovingly snapped by her nieces and nephews. And then there was one middle-age gentleman who I presumed had to be away for business trip as he was haggling with at least 2 briefcases which from the look of them might be containing very important documents. He too was unmindful of what was happening around him since he was solely focusing his attention to his young beautiful and immaculately dressed spouse (I presume) and giving some kind of instructions and guidance on what to do when he was away.
There were a few other groups of fellow travelers who unlike me were savoring the final moments with the loved ones before flying off. They were all surrounded by their respective family members who were eagerly bidding farewell for their bon-voyages. Enviously fascinated by these groups’ various antics while enjoying my dinner of McDonalds before boarding MAS enroute to my destination almost made me forget that I was there all alone at the departure terminal. Himself was not there to send me off, to bid me bon-voyage.
I was quick to start blaming him before I reminded myself that it was me who had insisted that I would just swipe my passcard out of office at 6:00pm, headed to Sentral Station and checked in from there, instead of having him sending me to KLIA just like the numerous previous travels. For the first time, I just wanted to spare him all the hassles and emotional farewells at the departure terminals. “Bye Yang, see you in X days time, I love you”. It has always been the standard farewell bid by both of us depending on who is leaving on the jet plane and who is staying behind with the cats.
I handed over the boarding pass to the security, and after reaching the ground floor I automatically looked up and somewhat hoping that Himself was there watching my steps towards the immigration, usually with his forlorn look (if it is me who is staying behind, likewise I would also be expecting him to stop and look back at me whose eyes are filled with tears, before he proceeds his way passing through the immigration checkpoint).
People always ask whether I am happy with the way I led my life, together with Himself, surrounded by the cats. Of course I am, it is always my answer to all of them. But I don’t know whether that answer is convincing enough to my heart, right here right now. I just don’t know. I may seem and may sound like a very independent level-headed career-minded person, but at the end of the day I am just a woman wanting to be showered with loves, to be swamped with gifts of loves. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me… Gosh! How in the world did I turn into such an insecure and clingy person?
Your BIL and I kinda enjoyed our solitary Raya moment in this big city this year, when we made the sacrifice not to balik kampung (you so owe us big time lil bro), so we could all have a better preparation over your hantaran and all. It was joyful event for both sides of the families when both sides met face to face finally; all the wedding arrangements were made just over the phone for the past few months.
It was indeed a memorable event to our little family despite having to endure the long and tiring journey heading north, from JB (for Kak Ngah & her family), BP (for Mak/Bapak) and KL (myself and your BIL) to Sik, and not to mention the massive head-banging bumper-to-bumper traffic crawls heading back to KL.
Still, deep down I couldn’t help but repeat this question. Again, do enlighten us lil bro, why your chosen blushing bride has to be from far faraway state when you had the choice of sweeping off the feet of another fair maiden whose home is just sebelah kampung to where our family home is? Moreover, this lady’s parents have been close friends with Mak/Bapak over the years; they are all also in the same ahli jawatan kuasa masjid as Mak/Bapak.
Anyway we acknowledge that it is you, not us, who is getting married, thus it was your prerogative to decide who your better half should be. And for that we respect your decision.
I hope she treats you well, that she doesn’t break your heart. Same goes to you. You are now the first SIL on her side of the family, you have to throw away your spoilt brat attitude, and be a good example to her younger siblings.
All in all, just remember that happy marriages begin when we marry the one we love, and they blossom when we love the one we married.
Congratulations again lil bro.
Love,
Kak Long
For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.”
“Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?”
“I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don’t get full value from your efforts,” the pot said.
The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, “As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.”
Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.
The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”
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