What's in the name? Plenty.

I read my son's blog. He wonders why his name has no meaning. He wants to know why his name is spelled that way.

Son,

I've told this story numerous times when you were in my arms in that tiny one-bedroom apartment, 110 East Fourth Street, Bethlehem, PA 18015. It was a bedtime story that I recited again and again when we were alone in the room and Daddy was working late in Packard Lab, finishing his Master's thesis.

May be you have forgotten. So here it is again.

When I found out that I was pregnant with you, I freaked out. Major freaking out. So my ever-so-cool bff (aka your dad) mail-ordered a bunch of tapes from Islamic Society of North America (ISNA) to calm me down. Daddy made me stop listening to Jon Bon Jovi, Joan Jett, Guns n Roses on my boom box, and had me listen to these dakwah tapes instead. Listening to the tapes worked, I finally calmed down a little, and it restored my faith. I started reading more on Islam. One of the ulama' I listened to/ read went by the name Al-Qushayri. I didn't like the letter Q because it's too Arabic; and I like a y at the end of a name - kind of like mine. Daddy wanted to use Tok Ayah's name; hence Muhammad Kushairy. You see son, it is not without meaning. In fact I like the ending -ry so much that we've used it again on Ryan - which by the way, means " little king/ nobleman/ symbol of bravery in Irish. No, it has nothing to do with how cute I think Seacrest is.

I know what you are thinking now. Why did I freak out? Isn't that what married people supposed to do - have a baby? I was a sophomore, Ivy League Petronas-sponsored chemical engineering major and had no business getting pregnant. Daddy was graduating in winter that year - 2 months before you were due. I was fine with the idea of living without Daddy, finishing my studies in the US, while Daddy would return home to Malaysia, get a job, buy me a big house, a cute car and wait faithfully for me to graduate before having lots of babies. That was Daddy's bright idea at the time we got married. But you came early. Living alone, as a single mother, at 20, million of miles away from Daddy scared me. So now you understand why I roll my eyes every time Daddy has one of his "bright ideas", don't you?

So you see son, you are the main reason Daddy enrolled in Master's program. Daddy was Ok with leaving me for a while, but he couldn't bear leaving me with a child to take care. Fortunately, Daddy was a regular 4-flatter, so he didn't have any problem getting a scholarship from Lehigh University to pursue his second degree. His earlier sponsor, JPA too, offered a scholarship, but he chose LU scholarship. See son, good guys get to choose..

It was very difficult for us to adjust our life with your arrival. But if we had to do it all over again, we wouldn't change a thing. I'd choose Daddy again and I know Daddy would still choose me (great choice!). And together, we would still choose the exact same name for you.

Things done for love

We cannot do great things on this earth. We can only do small things with love.

- Mother Teresa

There is a big "Just Do It" sign over my head lately. I put it there to push myself to do things that need to be done around here. Things that need to be said/ started/ completed/ decided/ cleaned up/ arranged/ treated with care/ dumped/ delegated/ shared/ discussed or even forgiven and forgotten. The things are every where I look, left and right. Things that scream for my attention while I'm doing other things. Unnerving things. Boring things. Tiring things. Unexpected things. Chaotic things. Things on my mind. Things that scare the hell of me. Things that question the essence of me. Things that mock my principles. Things that shake my core. Things that creep into my nightmares. Things that I want to run from. Things that escape me. Things that get in the way of my life.

Obviously, I need to resolve these things. I need to find myself again.

I'll "Just Do It".

Then maybe I can get to do the thing I really want to do. Sleep. Not just any sleep - an 8-hr uninterrupted, lying-down sleep on my bed. Sleeping on the rocking chair while nursing doesn't count. Sleeping on the sofa while folding the clothes and watching Oprah doesn't count either. Neither does sleeping on the wheel while ferrying the kids to school. Unless I want to fall asleep forever, that is.

Inception

Rule 1: Don't sweat the small stuff.

Rule 2: It's all small stuff

-Dr Richard Carlson

I still can't wrap my head around the logic of the movie plot, Inception. Dom Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) is supposedly a genius who can construct dreams for himself and share the dreams with others whether or not the other person/s do it willingly. Then there is this powerful man, Saito (Ken Watanabi) who offers insanely large amount of money and a free-of-jail card to Cobb if he can plant an idea into the head of an heir of a dead tycoon (Fischer). And both of them, together with like-minded geniuses/artists risk their lives both in dreams and in reality to complete the task. They had to go through three (yes 3) layers of dreams with Fischer in order to plant this important idea.

There is a fine line between dream and reality.

I admit I kind of snoozed off a bit in the first half of the movie. But then the movie piqued my interest as soon as I understood the story line. What irked me the most is how long this movie ran. It was a 1:30 pm show and I thought it'd be done by 3 or 3:30 pm. It was 4:25 pm when I was finally out of the theatre, scrambling to find the surau for zohor solat, with Ryan in my arms sleeping soundly. I had to put him gently on the surau carpet, took wudu' and quickly solat, minutes away from the Asar azan.

I can't believe how close I was to losing zohor - the day I turned 40, no less. I have heard from wiser people that who we truly are is determined by the life we lead after we are 40. I have also heard from my parents that any habit that we have at 40 will stay with us for the rest of our lives. It's scary to think that even now I still have too many bad habits -midnight snacking, snacking on sugary food, etc.. and worst of all, late for solat. What would be my excuse in front of Allah? Would I dare to blame the movie producer for running the movie that long? Would I be able to accuse them of enticing me with Leornardo by opening the movie the day I begin my good life?

I thank Allah for giving me chance to breathe even after the near-miss. Many have taken their last breath on this earth. Many have not made it today. My dear classmate, Norlailawati Kamis, succumbed to lung cancer last Wednesday, leaving behind 3 small kids. I am deeply saddened by the news. I can't stop crying thinking of her - her sweet nature, her soft demeanor, the way she walked, her gait, the intense way she threw the ball during our netball practices/matches, her dedication in carrying out prefect's duties, her quietness and her chatter - all remind me of the youth I no longer have. Puan Dalilah Tamrin, a cancer champion, whose blog (www.onebreastbouncing.blogspot.com) I found (by chance) barely a week prior to her demise, died battling breast cancer last Monday, 3 days short of her 42nd birthday. In my effort to try to lead a better and meaningful life, I reread the book "Don't sweat the small stuff" by Richard Carlson. I was intrigued by what he wrote and wanted more, so yesterday I googled him. Only then I found out - no more books from Dr Carlson because he passed away at the age of 45 almost 3 years ago.

Among the things I can take from the movie Inception, is that life, as we know it, is short. The things around us that we perceive as reality may not be real. We are born with hijab over our eyes. The hijab will only be taken off once we leave this fana world. Some of us have thick opaque hijabs, some have transparent ones. Every one of us tries to do his/her best in this short life, the phase that we call reality. Only geniuses can get glimpses of the next layer of life, through dreams/hidayah. The smart ones among us construct the best layers- the higher the layer, the better it gets. Physics laws and mind logic only applies in the first layer. While most of us work, suffer and persevere for the sake of our lives on earth, the geniuses do it for their eternal lives.

Daddy says our life has three layers. The layer that we are now is the most important because every thing we do here gets magnified thousand fold in the second (barzakh) layer and third (akhirat) layer. Solat is the way to touch base with our true North , so as not to lose touch with any of the 3 layers of life. (Cobb spins his totem to touch base).

By the way, I'd like to elaborate Dr Carlson's second rule. While we may look at many things as small stuff, they do impact us in a big way. Small doesn't mean unimportant - and some things, like solat and the other pillars of Islam, are too important to take lightly.

This has been my way of reminding myself to never lose sight of what's important in life.

Good week

I didn't start the week on a happy note. Exhausted from the Kelantan journey. I get motion sickness easily. Major headache. Cramping stomachache for two days. My craving for Kelantanese food doesn't always go hand-in-hand with my delicate stomach. A typical case of eat-now-regret-later. Typical of me. Self-control is never really my strong suit. I do marinate in shame over what I indulge some times, but I know sooner or later I will just repeat the same indulgence over and over again.

Daddy theorizes that I live in two zones. Zone 1 is the surrounding I am familiar with - home, school where I work, and the route I take from home to work. No temptation in this zone. Every thing adheres to my perfect plan in this zone. Then there is another zone where anything and every thing goes. The zone where I lose all my self-discipline (especially with food). The zone where I throw caution to the wind. The zone that always gets me in trouble. He thinks we should visit PIL more often so that I can familiarize myself to the surrounding and can therefore include the place in my Zone 1. Fat chance.

Things picked up by midweek. I received my birthday present in the mail from Kushairy on Wednesday. A perfect gift from a perfect son. Then on Thursday he dedicated his blog masterpiece to me. Sarah handwrite a letter and gave me a box of my favorite chocolate. Iman, Dayana and I'zzah handmade personal birthday cards. Ryan accompanied me to the cinema to catch a movie (Inception) with Daddy. All six perfect children came through for me.

I really can't take all the credits for my children's awesomeness. My children are raised by many - my parents, siblings, countless babysitters, teachers (my friends), 8 indon maids (yes.. 8 bibiks in 13 years.. imagine the headache) and in Kushairy's case, college mates who were all parents-in-training.

Daddy has been very busy this past weeks, but somehow still managed to take an afternoon off the take me to a movie on my birthday. But on Friday and the whole weekend, he had to be at work again. I did grocery shopping on Friday after picking up Sarah from school - the first grocery shopping done without Daddy since Ryan was born. Silly me - I forgot to take Ryan's stroller from Daddy's car. Sarah had to carry 8-kg Ryan most of the time there. Halfway through shopping, Ryan started nudging for his milk. I went to the surau to nurse him until he fell asleep - which made him even heavier to carry. Sarah completed the task of picking up the items on the shopping list responsibly - right brands and correct quantity - she even picked and counted exactly 20 prawns for dinner - as per her Mommy's instruction. Good job, Sarah.

After unpacking the groceries I had about an hour to kill before starting dinner. I mended Iman's pajama and Dayana's school gown on my sewing machine. The machine has been idle for over a year. I finally got it up and running again. Yay. I actually enrolled in a 6-month sewing course with this machine, but gave up after 3 classes - when my pregnancy fatigue and morning sickness were too overwhelming. I had high hopes of becoming a capable seamstress when Daddy bought this machine as a birthday present last year. I might try to find time to enroll again some time in the future. As of now, I am content enough to be able to use the machine to mend my children's torn clothes. My life always turns for the better with the arrival of each and every one of my children. With Ryan, it just takes longer than usual. It's the age thing, I guess.

The weekend came and went too quickly - boring chores dominated my time. I do wish for a perfect weekend - holing up in my room watching sappy love movies or curling up on a sofa reading John Grisham's or Nicholas Spark's latest books. (It used to Danielle Steel's and Sydney Sheldon's - but then I grew up, I guess). Having McDonald's or Pizza Hut delivered to the door would be the icing on the cake. Then again, I am a mother of six. Who ever have heard of a mother having a perfect weekend?

Lucky Number Six

My sixth child is six months old today. I made rice porridge with carrot for him - his first solid food.

Ryan is a bubbly 8-kg baby. Loves to be held - no matter how uncomfortable the position is. Center of his sibling's attention. Plays with his hair at feeding time. Grab others' hair at every chance. Has a love-hate relationship with Daddy's goatee. Cries only when not held. Pouts (fish-style) when thirsty. Has a habit of drinking milk from one side and refusing the other. Family's sun shine.

Ryan is my only child who shares birth place with me. Two are US-born, two Penang-born, one Kedah-born and finally, one Ipoh-mali. My first pregnancy and delivery was the craziest - I didn't know what hit me. Didn't know what to expect. Friends (Liza, Nizam, Is, Asri, Rina) were literally our life savers. My second was the most painful - there was no epidural available. My third was the quickest - on our way to go shopping. My fourth was the most pampered - mom and little sis came to stay with us in Arizona for a month during my confinement. My fifth was my most difficult. I never recovered from the coughs I got during Hajj in Mecca though out the pregnancy. I remember sitting next to my husband in front of Kaabah while he khusyu' in his dua'. I asked him later what he prayed for. He answered, "for another baby boy". Eight months later, his prayer was answered with someone much better, a baby girl. Ryan was a prayer answered, 7 years later.

I never thought I would have another baby, at this age. I was pregnant on my 20th birthday and still nursing a baby on my 40th birthday! Busy. Half a dozen is enough. For now.

I thought 5 was my lucky number. 5 kids, house address No. 5 - the fifth place, in Malaysia, we call home (3rd house bought), married on the 5th day in the 5th month in Gregorian calendar after 5 months (one spring semester) of whirlwind romance. (In Hijr calendar, we were married on the 10th day in the 10th month of the 10th year - 10 Syawal 1410).

While pregnant with Ryan (in my 5th year teaching in Ipoh), I sent my first-born to UIA, honeymooned in Sumatra, visited traumatized orphans in earth-quake stricken Padang (Sumatra), aced my PTK exam (4 and 4 for the 2nd time), got DG-promoted and was awarded the Anugerah Perkhidmatan Cemerlang for the 3rd time (twice in Kedah). Being a competent woman has its downside, is sometimes a curse, but most of the times, is a blessing. And I am very blessed - in so many ways. And so is the person reading this.

Weekend at Red Soil

I was at my parents-in-law's house in Tanah Merah, Kelantan last weekend. Arrived at 10.15 pm Friday night, after more than 6-hour drive. We reached TM downtown around 9 pm, but didn't go straight to PIL's because we (I!) didn't want to trouble my MIL to prepare dinner for us and 5 kids. PIL puasa sunat Rejab. Dinner was kueytiow goreng for me and Dayana and full-course nasi for the Daddy, Sarah, Iman and I'zzah. I switched off my calorie-counter when the first plate of sate and nasi himpit arrived. I couldn't stand its alarming beep going off ever since our last meal at Gerik 3 hours before. I knew I should have left the counter at home with the treadmill. At least they can keep each other company while they mourn and miss me, right? Daddy wanted some colek perut to top the meal off but unfortunately (fortunately?), they are all gone.
On Saturday morning, breakfast was bought at the makcik's stall in front of the house. Nasi lemak, nasi belauk, nasi kerabu - all served with pieces of deep-fried chicken. On the side, there were kuih cek mek, apom kelapa, roti goreng, curry-puff, pulut pagi (brown pulut with white dessicated coconut) and pulut inti (white pulut with brown-sugared coconut). I devoured my breakfast, having totally forgotten about the 3 pieces of toasts, slathered with susu pekat manis, during sahur with my PIL just before azan Subuh. Both Daddy and I had home-made Nescaffe Tarik - gelas besar and with extra milk.
Whoever said eating pulut sapped your morning energy was right. I fell asleep as soon as I nursed Ryan his breakfast, and it was only 8.30 in the morning.
When I woke up, Daddy has already showered, dressed, and plucked two basketfuls of buah salak from the 10+ trees around PIL's compound. At least we had fresh fruits as morning snacks. My BIL, Juki and his family arrived from JB (after 12-hr drive) just in time to join us at the second basket. This had got to be my best Saturday morning in a long time.
At noon FIL, Ayah Tok, came home from his Jeli orchard with freshly-gathered durians. We couldn't crack them open just yet - out of respect for orang berpuasa. So we did the next best thing - drove out to TM down town for Nasi Biryani at Restoran Mama. But before that, I had to make several stops at the shops selling tudungs. I like buying tudungs, especially the tudungs made of lycra materials, here because they are generally 10-20% cheaper than those sold in Ipoh. And they have them in XXL size here. Abundantly. The only size that received the nod of approval from Daddy.
So armed with cups of Cendol in our hands, we went into one tudung shop after another. The Cendol here is somewhat special because they put the pink jelly stuff in the drink to add the extra umph.
At Maghrib, PIL break their fast and we had pulut with durian and santan. Only kids 14 and under had their dinner after Maghrib. Around 9:15 pm, after Ayah Tok came home from the mosque, we the adults had our dinner - rice with sup daging, daging goreng kunyit, rendang tok (bought at Pasar Tani, Ipoh), ikan kembung goreng, acar buah, sambal petai, ulam temangi, timun, kacang panjang with kuah pecal. The look of guilt must have registered on my face; Daddy said, "it's alright Ly, you are outside your Diet Zone, just chill and feast, k?". Guilt or no guilt, my diet was ruined hours ago. So of course I obliged Daddy.
On Sunday, PIL decided to take a break from the puasa sunat Rejab. Breakfast was Nasi lemak + sambal ikan bilis + sambal sotong kering + telur rebus + timun, nasi goreng + daging berkicap, pulut+ santan+ durian and serawa durian + Gardenia white bread. No outside kuih this time.
We left PIL's house around 10. Made a quick stop at BIL Juki's new house at Desa Impian. Juki and his wife Lin are renovating their house and are planning to move in there as soon as their transfer papers from JB Hospital to TM Hospital are approved. Lin looked tiny at their gorgious and spacious double-storey house.
After bidding goodbyes to them and their girls, Zulaikha and Zahira, we drove to TM market for more food. Dry and perfunctory items like keropok kering, ikan bilis, colek keropok, gula melaka (nisey) were uploaded to the box on top of our Citra. Easy-to-eat stuff like keropok lekor goreng, pisang goreng, keledek goreng, tapai goreng and apum balik went inside the car for easy access. Watery stuff like laksam, laksa, kuih katuh, lompat tikam (lopat tikei) and Nescaffee Tarik and cendol (for the kids) went straight to our tummies. The laksam and laksa gravy was so thick and creamy that it almost compensate the unhygienic and unconducive ambient at the market. The Nescaffee Tarik wasn't half as good as the one MIL made earlier. Kuih katuh and lompat tikam were sinisterly sweet - just the way I like them.
We didn't have proper lunch because at lunch time, I was fast asleep at the passenger seat and the kids were engrossed watching Mama Mia movie at the back seat. The Abba songs were my perfect lullaby and the kids loved the movie almost as much as they loved High School Musical movies. Almost.
We reached home at 5 pm. Threw the dirty laundry into the machine, weighed myself (hard habit to break), took quick shower and headed to Waritha Restaurant for dinner.
The end of an-almost perfect weekend, culinary-wise. Our regrets - Daddy didn't get his colek perut this time and I couldn't find kuih akok at the market. Luckily I found some chipsmore cookies while unpacking - they'll do for now.
I will probably switch the calorie-counter back on, on Monday morning. May be. May be not.

Dream Land (1)

I wasted 2 hours in the Pejabat Tanah Batu Gajah today. The man I was supposed to meet, a 70 year old apom balik seller, didn’t show up. Ryan fell asleep 5 or 6 times on my lap, woke up every time I shifted my standing/sitting position.
My lawyer set up this meeting, and yet her assistant only showed up 45 minutes after I arrived. I was supposed to sign a 14A form in front of a Pegawai there regarding a land I was purchasing from the man I was waiting for, Pak Akub. I couldn’t sign this form in the lawyer’s office because the land is protected under ‘Rizab Melayu’. They want to make sure I am really Melayu before they can approve the transfer, I think.
I put a 10% down payment for this land in April 2007. That’s more than 3 years ago, can you believe it? My husband and I fell in love with this flat land in Kampung Pisang Batu Gajah the first time the land-broker brought us there. There was a small bubbling brook that ran across it – clear and cool water with soft sound. It was serene and beautiful. I could picture my kids cleaning themselves up there after running around in that vast area. It was located near the Lumut-Ipoh express way (still under construction back then). There was a piece of government land that was being reserved as birds’ sanctuary right across the land. In 2008, during the hectic months of the General Election, our UMNO ADUN, Mdm Hamidah Osman, together with the Menteri Alam Sekitar at that time, visited the place and promised to upgrade the facility and promote the area as one of Perak’s tourists’ attraction. The interview was aired in Bulletin Utama TV3. The interview was conducted right there across ‘our land’. How cool was that.
The 10% I gave to the broker never reached Pak Akub’s hand. It served as the commission to the broker. Pak Akub came to our house, confirming his intention to sell the land. That was when we learned that the land was actually split into two titles, and get this, Pak Akub’s name isn’t the only name on the two titles. Pak Akub has 3 other sibblings, one biological mother and one step mother. The mothers were long gone. That meant that the lawyer had to make the necessary search and proceed with the pembicaraan kuasa and the faraid stuff. Let’s face it, how many Malaysian Melayu bother to write a will before they check out from this world? Including my husband, me and the people we know.. may be five. (Then again, may be some people, unlike the two of us, keep their will-writing a secret). The procedure would cost money – the money that Pak Akub didn’t have. And again money came out from our not-so-deep pockets. The siblings were all alive and according to Pak Akub (the eldest), all were in the agreement to sell.
Time passed as the lawyer supposedly did her thing.
After a couple of months I got a call from my lawyer asking me to meet with Khalid, Pak Akub’s youngest sibling. Khalid came down from KL and insisted to meet me. The lawyer gave him my address and we met at my house. He came alone. Khalid told us that he was willing to sell his share if we could triple the price offered by Pak Akub. We agreed. Khalid added that the other siblings were reluctant to sell, but he could now convince them with the new price. Good, we said. That meeting set us back a few hundred ringgit. The money was not part of the land payment, Khalid insisted, instead it was to cover his expenses in getting the other two siblings to come down to the lawyer’s office and proceed with the necessary legal arrangements. Hah.. that was the last time I saw or heard from Khalid.
Things dragged slowly, if it ever moved, in 2009.
Both of us, the lawyer and me got pregnant in 2009. My lawyer, we call her Pn Nor, delivered a baby girl on 31 December 2009, exactly 2 weeks before my Ryan was born. The file sat on her desk while we recuperated from our delivery ordeal. She had it tough. Her amniotic fluid leaked unnoticed for a couple of days, while she was busy working to close deals before the year ended. She delivered her baby on the operating table.
Our babies are 6 months old now. Pn Nor advised me to buy Pak Akub’s portion from one title first. There is still a lot of unfinished business with the rest.
So there I was sitting/ standing restlessly in the cafetaria of the Pejabat Tanah, still no closer to getting my name in the land title. Rizal (Pn Nor’s assistant) suggested that I waited in the air-conditioned room of the Kaunter Pendaftaran while he kept an eye on Pak Akub’s arrival there. Pak Akub didn’t carry a phone – so there was no way to contact him.
On my way to the Kaunter Pendaftaran, I spotted an Auction advertisement on the notice board. A 4,053 square meter lot tepi meant for bangunan was to be auctioned in early September. Price was reserved at RM36k. Hmm.. may be my 2-hour wasn’t wasted after all.
By noon, I couldn’t wait any longer. Rizal was heading out for his lunch break. I reached home at a quarter to one, reheated last night’s leftover, solat zohor, ate lunch, packed some lunch for Sarah and drove to pick Sarah up at school. Sarah ate her meal inside the car (again!) because her mommy had to drive to Taman Pertama in Silibin for an appointment with new clients, a young 20-something couple, who were about to make their first unit trust investment. Arghh.. why can’t I be satisfied with just the workload of a housewife?

Early birthday gift

I am writing on my birthday present. A red Samsung notebook. There was absolutely no need to buy this laptop at all. My HP still works fine. But it is my birthday month and my hubby is being his usual self, giving me things that I want long before I need them. I still have the sewing machine that can do 21 embroideries he bought for my birthday last year which I plan to use again some time in this decade. Two years ago, he bought me a pink phone that 'can slide' before I ever figured out how to take pictures with my old phone. An LV wristlet he bought in Denmark that was way too expensive to take to work. A diamond studded wrist watch he bought in Japan when my old Casio was still ticking faithfully. Five packets of premium coffee he bought in Costa Rica, back when I was struggling to quit caffein addiction. And the HP PDA that he bought for me in July 2000, when I was a housewife in Arizona, is still sitting pretty in its box. ( Ok.. I am the least tech-savvy person around.. and proud of it)

Thank God he never complains about the tie I gave him every year.
There was no card, note or message that went along with this present- which is quite a surprise actually. He is quite a writer, I tell you. You should see him at his desk - clicking away nonstop till wee hours in the morning. He reads, writes and rewrites his research papers and gets them published every month or so.
He got home last Sunday after sending Kushairy to the bus station, bearing a plastic bag containing a box and a knapsack. The knapsack contained 17 goodies from the vendor - including CD writer, mouse, mouse pad, laptop skin, LCD cleaner etc. The box contained .. what else.. my new red-hot notebook. He simply said, "your present." Nothing else. But I think he meant to say," keep blogging dear.."
That's the problem when you are married to a man with few (spoken) words. You constantly interpret his few words into essays in your head. And of course I tend to shape the essays into things I'd like to hear and eventually write.
I believe my husband likes it that I write in my blog, and hence my early birthday present. Spending time typing my inner thoughts in front of the computer means spending less time yapping and nagging in front of him. Smart move on his part. I remember there were times early in our marriage that said to me, "you should write a book, Ly." I was still too young and naive to understand that what he meant was, "you talk too much, dear".I know eventually he will read the things I write - in his own sweet time - and writing them now releases my tension and lets me move on with the house chores rather freely, without getting too hung up about the time when he finally gets home from work.

Cholesterol: 5.80 vs 5.78

I got my blood test result yesterday. I just love taking tests, any tests, especially the tests that I know I can ace. Test helps me quantify the things in my life. Quality is vague, but quantity is absolute. I love numbers – they help me compare precisely. Being a Math teacher does help. I wasn’t nervous about taking the blood test and medical check up because I was sure I had done enough to take care of my health all year. I was actually excited to have my blood drawn, if only to prove that all my sensible food choices all these months paid off.

There was a Capati Medan Gopeng next to the clinic. So I didn’t bother to have my breakfast at home because it was easier to have my usual thosai there. We drove early to the clinic. I was pumped up to receive my good news. The plan was to get the happy results, grab breakfast to celebrate the results and let my husband drop me off at home, without him being too late for work.

But I didn’t ace the test. My lipid profile result was a major disappointment. My total cholesterol went up from 4.3 to 5.8 mmol/L . Although my HDL (good cholesterol) increased from 1.02 to 1.53, my LDL (bad cholesterol) too increased from 2.6 to 4.0. My triglycerides, thankfully, went down from 1.4 to 0.5 and my total to HDL ratio decreased from 4.2 to 3.8. (less than 5.0 is OK).

I couldn’t believe that my total cholesterol, especially the bad one increased this year. One major thing I did this past year was getting pregnant with my 6^th child. That shouldn’t be the reason for the increase, right? I had been pregnant 5 times before and I had always been at the pink of health. I had been very sensible about eating, especially when I was pregnant. I based my culinary choice on proven science. I didn’t care for jamu or traditional herbal preparation during confinement. As the result, I managed to return to my pre-pregnancy weight by the time Ryan was 3 months old. ( I said ‘weight’, not ‘shape’). I now weigh 49 kg, barely a kilo heavier than I was in college, before I got knocked up, that is. So how come my cholesterol level went up?

The good doc was fairly convincing as he told me not to worry much about these results. Most folks live their lives to the fullest without knowing these numbers, he said. My overall health condition was good. But increasing cholesterol number is a sign that something is wrong, isn’t Doc? I asked. No, not necessarily, he said. It could be due to age factor or genetics. May be Puan’s parents have heart problems? he questioned me. I was about to say something when I caught my husband smiling, as if on cue, at the mentioning of “age factor” by the doc. It was the smile that says, “ age has finally caught up with you.” I hate that smile. It didn’t help that I am turning 40 in less than two weeks.

We were both quiet when we stepped out of the clinic. Hunger pangs suddenly hit me and I was just about to step into the Capati Restaurant when my husband turned to me and said, “do you still want to eat here?”.

“No. Of course not,” I quipped, while faking my sincerest look, and strode off our car. And he smiled that smile again.

He dropped me off at home and went to work. I made simple and tasteless lunch while waiting to fetch the kids from school. I was still baffled by the results. All year long and throughout my pregnancy, I exercised religiously, clocking at least 1.5 hours on the treadmill weekly. I knew I should clock more on the treadmill but I prefer getting my aerobic exercise lying down. And I have been carrying my 8-kg Ryan a lot. That should count as weight- bearing exercise. And because of my height, or rather the lack of it, I was forced to do a lot of stretching to reach things around this 3-storey house where the ceiling of each floor is 12-feet high.

And I watched what I ate. I avoided saturated and trans fat like a fish avoided the bait at the end of a fishing rod. I seldom lost my mind around food even when eating out. At lunches, I piled my plate with assortment of ulam and sambal tempeh on my nasi separuh while my husband ate his rice with a blob of daging masak hitam and 3 strands of kangkung. At dinners, he would wolf down greasy lamb chops while I painstakingly tried to peel the skin off my grilled chicken breast. And he ordered Nescaffe Tarik with his meal. I tried to give him the look; sometimes he got it and and added, “kurang manis Boss” to the waiter. Most of the times my look was met by his raised eye brows and he added, “gelas besar Boss”. I would be simmering inside as I sipped my air suam.

Around mid afternoon he sent me a message asking me if I want to go out to eat at the Capati restaurant at tea time. Fine, whatever, I thought. In the end, we didn’t go out for tea because by the time he came home from work, I was still napping. At night, just before retiring to bed, he pulled out a file from the briefcase kept under the stairs. It was his lipid profile dated about 2 months ago. He pointed to a number. 5.78. His total cholesterol. And he smiled that smile again, the smile that said, “ age has finally caught up with you dear, but not me”. I am beat.

Bertemu Waris

Last week there was a Temu Waris Day at my daughters' primary school. Normally we split this responsibility. I would go to the Temu Waris at the secondary school, since all my children enrolled in Form One at the school I taught, and Daddy would go to the Temu Waris at the primary school since it was not my fault that he got elected the Yang Dipertua PIBG the first time he showed up in their PIBG meeting.
But now that I am a stay-at-home mom, I can't find a single excuse to stay at home while Daddy perform his fatherly duty this year.
I spent 50 minutes getting prepared for the day-out, plus another 30 to bathe and clothe Ryan. So far, not a peep from Daddy. I knew why. He was watching 'Everybody Loves Raymond' rerun on Starworld channel. There's something about that Barone family from Long Island that taught him to be patient with the wife, no matter how long her mirror-time took.
The school prefects, including Iman and Dayana, were all lined up to greet the parents at the school main gate. Dayana broke the line when she saw us - running toward us excitedly - not to greet me, but to grab Ryan from my arms. Ryan was just as happy to oblige. As the prefects made Ryan their center of universe, the Senior Assistant came to greet us. "Tuan Haji.. terima kasih dapat datang.. mengenai rancangan kita.. ". The conversation didn't interest me, so I walked alone to I'zzah's classroom. Met Mdm Puva. She was all praises for I'zzah. I'zzah got first in class, obtaining A in all subjects except Bahasa Arab.
Daddy joined I'zzah and me as we ascend the stairs leading to Iman's and Dayana's classrooms. Met the Ketua Pemuda Pas of our Division, said the perfunctory salam and congratulated him on the birth of his third child recently.
There was a long queue of parents waiting in Dayana's class and even longer one in Iman's. So I decided to take a seat in Dayana's while Daddy went to Iman's. Ryan was giggling and making faces in the arms of one 10-year-old after another, completely oblivious to his mommy.
There were two teachers attending to the parents in Dayana's class. The parents who came before me took their turns graciously and I was just happy to observe the surrounding. There was one parent left ahead of me when one of the teachers motioned me to take the seat in front of her. I stood up and raised my right hand slightly to offer the other parent to take his turn with the teacher first. He obliged and I sat down, still in the queue. Then the teacher called out, "Meh puan duduk sekali lah.. tak pe.. apa yang saya nak cakap ni sama je.. untuk mak ayah budak-budak kelas ni.."
I should have sat stubbornly in the queue, but I didn't. That's when it got very uncomfortable for me, and especially so for the other parent, a distinguished gentleman in his 40s. First of all, we the parents weren't introduced formally by the teacher. And if that's not awkward enough to be sitting together at the crowded desk, Dayana was top 10 in the class, and the other parent's son was at the bottom 10. Dayana got mostly As and his son got mostly Cs and Ds. So the teacher went back and forth explaining our children's academic performance, completely ignoring the father's quiet demeanor, which to me, looked like utter embarrassment. It was capital A awkward.
Note to self as a teacher: don't simply throw random parents in a Temu Waris Meeting, no matter how pressed for time you are, and expect the meeting to be fruitful. After all it is a formal meeting between concerned parents and dedicated teachers. It should be done one-on-one, with or without the involved student. We should respect these parents who make time to personally come, sit and chat with us teachers about their concern and worry and may be offer us some insights on how to handle their offspring better in class. These parents in general take time off from their work (not to mention the one-hour mirror-time) to fulfill this obligation, and the least we, as teachers, can do is save them from embarrassment in front of other parents.
In Iman's class room, Pn Yap matter-of-factly pointed out to Daddy, "Tuan Haji, kita dua-dua professional.. saya rasa Tuan Haji tau apa nak buat, kan?", as she handed Iman's report card - B in all subjects, no 5 in class.
So there it is.. my first Temu Waris Day in a primary school in Ipoh.
By the way, I went to all Kushairy's and Sarah's Temu Waris Day in a primary school in Kulim. Back then, Daddy was a factory worker with no life outside the factory.