A Parents' Guide to Backpacking

.........Or how to survive duration of child away backpacking with ventolin

When your child announces that he/she is going backpacking, take a deep breath and a puff or two of ventolin . When your breathing is more regular and your hands stop trembling, google “backpacking” and that will take you to several sites, as this is indeed a very popular mode of seeing the world amongst youngsters, especially those who refuse to tag along with their parents and want to avoid the well trodden path of visiting relatives and museums and familiar places that Tourism Malaysia has on offer.

Most sites will have keywords, such as “unlimited level of flexibility with travel itinerary”, “cheap accommodations” and “cheaper means of travelling”. That alone should be enough to tell you that you DO NOT call up friends and relatives in places where your offspring plans to be. If you had unwittingly called friends, or friends of friends and relatives or relatives of friends or friends of relatives, then apologise profusely to child in question and say that you only wanted her/him to call them once he/she is there to convey your salam. Then, take more puffs of the ventolin.

And when child in question announces that he/she is backpacking in Thailand, attach inhaler permanently to your nostrils and at the same time, trembling hands permitting, go through 25 ways to calm your nerves here.

Several other tried and tested tactics are also recommended. (Success rate not guaranteed)

Bribery: Go to Bangkok BUT only on transit and offer to pay for the rest of the holiday in Malaysia.

Blackmail: You go to Thailand and I promise you I will NOT sleep and eat, until you come back. (add "breathe " if you are really desperate.)

Eleventh Hour Emotional Blackmail at departure lounge: Compose your face suitably as you hug him/her at the departure lounge. Quivering lips accompanied by endless flow of tears and loud blowing of the nose is recommended.

If all of the above fail – doa. Lots of doa.

PERSONAL NOTE: Called up travel agent friend and scolded her for issuing the ticket and not lying and say that tickets not available or too expensive.

Preparation: Ask not just once or twice about travel arrangements, travel companions, parents and background of travel companions. Get phone numbers of travel companions, and that of their parents and grandparents.

Backpack and contents: Go through contents of clothes and essentials to make sure the child does not carry anything you or customs on both sides of the immigration table don’t want he/she to carry.

PERSONAL NOTE: Got at least five padlocks for each pocket available on backpack. Not satisfied with padlocks, get backpack to be cling-wrapped twenty times over at the airport. With backpack looking more like nangka bungkus, child relented for backpack to be checked in, rather than carried on back.

MANTRA PRE DEPARTURE: Don’t talk to any strangers. (But seeing that everyone will inevitably be strangers…) don’t talk to suspicious looking strangers. (Googled images of suspicious looking strangers…couldn’t find any). Don’t accept anything from anyone, keep drinks close to you. Go in groups, do not wander off by yourself.

SMS every move you make.

PERSONAL TRACKER: In the absence of trackers such as GPS, have page permanently displaying TIME NOW IN BANGKOK as screen saver. Google every place mentioned by child, such as “backpackers hostel”, koh samui, th khao san, ferry to Koh samui. Click on images of the above and then more puffs of ventolin.

Place handphone, cheap international call cards nearby. Template added in handphone messages: Where are you? Where exactly are you?

On receiving reply via sms, call.

On hearing loud music and atmosphere of fun and laughter, take more puffs of the ventolin.

Ramblings from Rembau

Salam to all,

Last night , my husband kindly transfered my blog to the new version of blogger, and this morning I was informed by Alice that some commenters whose names appeared before in older entries, now appeared as anonymous. I really don't know what happened, but I do know my commenters and I do appreciate them. Now please read on:

Ramblings from Rembau

Had my son written me a letter after his stint in Rembau, it would have sounded like this:

My dearest mama,

My fingers are tired after replying to your numerous sms’es which came every other hour and so I have decided to sit down and type out this mail to you.

As you know my trip back to get to know my roots ended yesterday but it still baffles me to this day, why my roots strayed as far as Rembau when I know that Daddy hails from the seaside town of Kuala Terengganu and you are from Kedah. Nevertheless, I must say that I thoroughly enjoyed myself though my knees still wobble after the ‘crawl’ to greet the Undang. This must be the nearest experience to meeting a royalty, I must say. And I am truly honoured.

Rembau is a wonderful place with friendly people. But they kept calling me Jang. In fact, it turned out that they called everyone of us Jang. One ‘Jang’ and all heads turned. Anyway, that’s the least of my problems. I was the youngest Jang amongst other Jangs from Saudi and Coco Island. I wish they had briefed us on the language and dialect on day one but they didn’t and that created a lot of confusion on my part.

I remember you telling me that in Malaysia, Manglish is spoken. So, I was hardly surprised when every time someone spoke to me, they began with, “Then,......” But no mama, I came to realise quite late that it is not ‘then’ but Den as in I as in “Den nak makan.”

There were many new things that we learnt everyday and it was really thoughtful of them to brief us on nasi goreng and masak lomak. Perhaps they thought my diet had consisted only of fish and chips and shepherd’s pie.

It is impossible to pick one particular moment as a highlight of my stint there. Like I said in my sms to you, I had to learn to crawl on my knees, inching my way up to greet the Undang who was sitting on a big throne like chair. I practised this a few times until my knees hurt and once I did a real no no by turning to walk back. I had to walk backwards all the time. So, during the opening ceremony, representing the other Malay youths from around the world I did my crawl and walk backwards, without any problems. I was dressed like those Malay warriors in old Malay movies that you sometimes watch when it was too cold to go out. They must have been suitably impressed by the way I looked, ‘cos I was then invited to sit in the front row with the Undang and other officials during the group photograph, which I must add, and proudly too, appeared in a newspaper!! I am chuffed, mama, to say the least! and need I say too, that this was the first of many other photographs that appeared in the local media.

There was one particular mug shot of me that appeared in the newspaper, which prompted my cousins to sms me and called me the Mawi of Rembau. Who is Mawi, mama? Please tell.

A brush with the media is not something that I’d want to experience again in a hurry Mama, and this I say without intending to offend you and Daddy. When the TV crew turned up, the camera was everywhere, when we were sitting down chatting, even when we badly needed a rest and especially when we were making the lomang and ketupat. There was this big photograph of our group stirring the dodol with big oars. I reckon I’m an expert in making ketupat now although I looked quite ridiculous stirring the dodol while dressed in my baju melayu and songkok.

We had some silat sessions which I really enjoyed and I am making a mental note to take silat lessons in London, if that is alright with you.

Coming back to the media exposure and my fifteen minutes of fame, I admit I was quite upset when a story about me appeared with the headline,”Mahu Jadi Melayu”. What kind of a headline is that, Mama? I am already a Malay and even though I must have spoken Rembau Malay with a funny accent, that does not make me less of a Malay. I am a Malay. And I do resent being called, 'that budak Mat Salleh'. I understood everything that was said about me but I remember you telling me to be polite all the time and I bit my tongue. I wanted to say, I am a Malay, and a proud one too, especially when I wore the Malay costume with the tengkolok. Yes, I felt like a proper Malay though I’d look funny walking the streets of London. AND I don’t mean that as an insult. Me, funny...NOT the Malay costumes funny, okay?

The Hari Raya Haji in Rembau is one hari raya that I am not likely to forget. The night before, we did the takbir from house to house. Luckily I had enough practice doing the takbir with Daddy and also before the Raya prayers at Mawar. So, I was quite confident this time. The next morning after prayers, we witnessed the slaughter of the cows and believe me, I can still hear the sound that came from the creatures. After that, we helped to cut the meat and distributed them. I remember we used to do this at the old Malaysia Hall.

During one function, suddenly I heard my name being called. I was asked to go to the podium to give a speech. I was so not prepared for this, but I managed, just a short speech. It was not unlike the speeches that I had given at school during assemblies. I attach here a photograph and I am sure you’ll be proud of me.

The hike up Gunung Datuk was indeed tiring. It took us almost five hours to get to the top and several times I slipped. Although some went right up to the peak, I preferred to stay just a few feet below. I am no hero, mama. The walk down was much faster and easier.

The youth exchange programme ended all too soon and I made some very good friends and we promised to have a reunion soon. I enjoyed being with the Malays from Saudi Arabia. Their Malay was as Arabic as mine was English. But we had no problems communicating. And had lots of fun and laughter, especially during our journey to Melaka and back. And the foster family was also wonderful. Bapek den bagi den kain sarong.

Needless to say, I am now quite tanned after being out in the sun. When I came back to Mak Ngah’s house, Tok greeted me and said, “Bila balik dari India?” Tok’s memory is really gone, Mama!

This will be all for now till we meet again.

PS.
Can I stay a bit longer?

Missing my sayang mama

My daughter had to practically drag me away from the screen. “Mama, you can’t watch the plane taking off from that screen,” she said, half exasperated, half amused. The MH7 due for take off at 1805 had already registered that Gate 26 was already closed and my Taufiq had long disappeared behind the screen, past the passport and ticket checks, carrying just one rucksack. I drowned my sorrows in a plate of pasta. My husband sipped his tea in silence. He had tried to delay Taufiq going in for as long as he could, with last minute reminders and small talks.

Anyway, that moment came and went and suffice to say, the fog had lifted but there were flash floods at Terminal 3 Heathrow.

It must have been about a month ago when the organiser of the Youth Exchange Programme rang me up and asked whether any of our children would be interested. I had suggested Taufiq. He is sixteen and it would really do him good to join a group of Malay youths born and bred around the world, to take part in an exchange programme that would make him get to know his country and culture better. He was apprehensive. “I don’t know the host family, mama. I don’t know anyone,” he said. “That’s the very reason why you should go, “ I cajoled. And three weeks later, the excitement got to him while I felt apprehension setting in. “It is too late to change my mind, mama,” he said cheekily.

Yes, I must let him go, I told myself as I ironed his boxer shorts and folded them neatly in the bag. It must have been only yesterday that I was ironing his Thomas the Tank Engine undies and Batman pyjamas and now he only wears M&S boxer shorts and Calvin Klein pyjama bottom!

He has brought with him his favourite Barcelona stripes in case he has to play football there. As I ironed his black baju Melayu, I felt a lump rising in my throat. This raya, who is going to help him with the sampin? He may be 16, but every morning, I still tie his neck tie before he goes to school. And this raya, I will miss him doing the takbir in that voice that signals he is already an adult. I miss him most during subuh prayers when he does the iqamah, standing there beside his father, the imam.

I hope by sending him back in this exchange programme, I am not only letting him explore and learn more about the country and the culture that is his and ours but also to let people there know that being born and bred away from the homeland does not necessarily make one forget one’s root, culture, identity and religion.

Taufiq will be living with a host family in Rembau and till today, I still do not know who the host family is. The week long programme starts on 29th December and he will spend Hari Raya Haji with them.

It is every parent’s hopes that a child’s behaviour reflects his upbringing.
“Don’t forget to salam with everyone you meet, say thank you and be respectful of the elders,” And even as I uttered these I knew it was unnecessary for I knew he would do so. As for prayers, it was he who reminded me most of the time. “It’s nearly asar mama,” or “Let me do the dishes, maghrib is nearly over.”

It is these little things that I will miss during the next three weeks. The conversation that we have during our shopping trips, the laughter, the whispers and teasing as we watch our favourite tv programmes. All these years, the chubby toddler who used to sit with me as I typed my work, had grown up to be a friend that I can confide in.

“Yes, I will miss him too,” said the father as we were shopping for biscuits and chocolates to send home. "he is a good friend." And suddenly the dam burst right there, between the chocolate and dairy shelves at Tesco. Although, he didn’t say much, I know that the father will be missing the discussion of world events with him. Just before he left, they were discussing the developments in Somalia.

Both of us kept reminding ourselves that this programme will certainly do him good.

This year had seen him more matured beyond his years, not least because of the responsibilities he had been given at school. Being elected Deputy Head Boy, I am proud to say that I have seen changes in him. He played no small part during Remembrance Day and just recently, was in the panel interviewing candidates for Head Teacher for his school. While he tried hard to promote a positive image of Muslims in his school, the behaviour of some boys who played truant after Friday prayers, meant that the privilege of going for prayers at the mosque outside the school was withdrawn. He fought for the small group of Muslim students to be given a room for prayers and then led the prayers. I remember him preparing the sermon for his first khutbah. In his first message, he reminded his fellow Muslims the importance of tolerance and patience. I think he did quite well. In fact I think he did very well.

Since his arrival he has already met his uncles and aunts, cousins and Tok. He is having a crash course in Nogori speak from his Pak Ngah who hails from Pilah. We told him, when he goes to Rembau he must ‘sopeak proporly’. And yes, he has already gone shopping, with a generous angpow from his uncle JC and his older brother. Tomorrow he meets Malay youths from saudi and together they will travel to Rembau.

Take care sayang mama. And we have you in our doas everyday. See you next year!

She is back!

It was three weeks ago that I sat before three excited girls on the 1715 to Gatwick. They were leaving for Malaysia, with plans to pack in everything possible in the three weeks they were going to be there. They even had a crash course in pronunciation in Malay.

“Mak Ngah” said my daughter who was supposed to be the guide for the other two.

“Mak Nah,” repeated one friend. ”Mak Nyah,” said the other, practising how to address my older sister they were going to meet on arrival.

Oh, well, whatever, I thought, feeling a tinge of envy at the spirit of adventure, freedom and excitement. When I was their age, Mak took me everywhere, even to my first job as a temporary teacher at Air Hitam Secondary School, and even waited at the bus stop! Such a sheltered and boring life. So, no faraway trips that required visas and certainly no school rombongans.

They arrived home yesterday, Alhamdulillah, lugging heavy suitcases full of souvenirs and goodies and stories about the holiday that took them to Kuala Lumpur, Pangkor, Penang and Kedah. They had a lot to show – photographs, new clothes, cosmetics and toiletries (they are dirt cheap!), mosquito bites and marks left by leeches when they did jungle trekking. I sighed a sigh of relief that everything went well – no tummy ache, no accidents and most of all – no youtube visuals of them doing things that usually appear in youtubes!

Anyway, according to the card that the two friends gave my daughter, thanking her for bringing them to our beautiful and friendly Malaysia, they also thanked her for the opportunity to see her as a real Malay!

Indeed, they saw the best side of Malaysia; they enjoyed the scenery, the friendly people, the cheap but quality goods, the wonderful and delicious food and the list is endless. They had a taste of the city, dining at Crown Plaza, Hard Rock cafe, entertained by Chef Ismail himself at his restaurant Rebung, treated to a massage and being chauffered around, courtesy of a strong cable that I still maintain. They also experienced, briefly, kampung life, when they visited my sister in Bukit Pinang, the hustle bustle of Chow Kit Road and the tranquil and serene atmosphere of Masjid Negara where they stopped for prayers.

And how Malay has she become? Oh well, how about loads of kain batik sarongs, the umbrella like thingie to cover food, and....a congkak! So we played congkak while she talked about her holiday and believe me, I have not forgotten how to play!

Although I was apprehensive about letting her go, I now know that it was a good decision. Family holidays is fine, but being able to explore the country, the culture by themselves without us telling them what we want them to know, showing them what we want them to see, is quite different and has its advantages.

Sure I worried about how she was going to communicate with Mak, her grandmother. But I needn’t have. Both hugged and cried when they met and Mak, talked and talked animatedly in her pekat Kedah Malay, hands in action to convey whatever she wanted to convey to the granddaughter she had not seen for a while. Even both her friends fell in love with Mak who kept hugging them. “How did they communicate?” I asked my siblings in one of my numerous sms’es to them.

“With lots of tears and laughter” came a reply.

Communication was indeed not a problem. But I did receive this urgent sms saying, “Mama, pls call me back and speak to this person,” I did and true enough, I myself couldn’t quite understand the person I was speaking to. My daughter wanted to know where the bus they were taking, would stop and the time of arrival in Alor Star. They were then at a bus terminal in Butterworth. The guy I was talking to had a very strong Utaghra accent.

I am glad that they spent time with their relatives, met up with cousins and did what young people on holiday do, without their over-protective parents around.

BUT sending them alone to be with your siblings, without you being there to defend yourself is certainly not a very good idea. THE SIBLINGS ganged up on me and told her how I love to pinch, how I cut Kak Cik’s hair and left her in tears and how I virtually got everything I wanted because I was utterly spoilt. Well, whatever!

Next week, another sayang mama is leaving for Malaysia – to discover Malaysia and what she has to offer on his own. Taufiq is joining 20 other Malay youths born and bred overseas in a Youth Exchange programme. He will be with a host family in Rembau. I am stocking up phone cards and I suspect my siblings will have their phones permanently switched off.

Pillow talk and (im)possible dreams in a house divided

“Ya, it would be good for T to play for a team in Malaysia,” I announced, as if to myself. It was nearly 12 midnight. My pillowmate, quite accustomed to my out of topic and out of context ramblings, especially at this time of the night, just managed a ‘huh’without even looking up from his book.

“Ya, it’d be really good to be able to fix him up with some team – a kind of Malaysia – home and abroad thing,”

“Hmm”, another flick of a page and still no register of interest.

“He should play for Kedah, they’ve got a good....,”

“What? No, he should play for Terengganu! They are better”.

“Better? What if he doesn’t understand them? What would he make of, “Ha, mung pah pah bola tu molek-molek!”?

That made him sit up. When he put the book down, I knew he was ready for this interstate war of the Wans.

“And what made you think he can understand Kedahspeak – “Hang main baik baik, jangan lok lak, jangan dok tertomoih!”

And it went on and on and on....all because T came back with another trophy from the three aside tournament recently. He scored most of the goals and was quite proud of it too. Recently he played with a team of Malaysians in Regents Park and the captain of the other team had already spoken to me about the possibility of T joining him. Aaaah, I can now retire while my T shoots in the goals and rakes in the money! Sven, or is it Scolari, we are waiting for you!

The atmostphere in the Wan household in this part of west London has lately been one that is tense and full of suspense. At this moment, it is not only a house divided -Kedah vs Terengganu- but also Arsenal vs Barcelona. We are heading for a big bloody bust up when these two teams play in Paris on May 17 in the Champions League. We will be ready with mop and bucket, plaster and bandage as T and his older brother H fight it out in our front room.

When Barcelona won recently, confirming their place with Arsenal, H was already gleefully wringing his hands and salivating at the thoughts of the Gunners making a meal out of Barcelona.

T, a Barcelona fan has been quietly dreading this moment. He watched Arsenal sail through to the finals and is now preparing for the worse.

“But they scored rubbish goals, Mama,” he said to me when his brother wasn’t around. I suspect, he said this to reinforce his confidence in the team he has been supporting since he turned his back on Arsenal at the tender age of seven.

H, on the other hand has been a die hard Arsenal fan since he was five. As parents who know nought about football, we learn to cope with the stress, joy and tears everytime Arsenal wins or loses. We sigh with relief when Arsenal wins cos it means H bounding in through the front door and leaping with joy. But, you wouldn’t want to know when Arsenal loses. It is not a pretty sight when a grown-up man cries.

But what do we as parents do? Parents who know nought about football? My husband once tried to console his eldest when Arsenal lost by asking him to change his team. “Daddy, I’ve been supporting Arsenal since I was five!” he said, the hurt obvious in his voice, the pain so plain on his face at the very thought of shifting loyalty. He has every Arsenal jersey that comes on the market and that must have cost us a fortune. He has even queued up in the rain to meet Ian Wright. He was even featured in the sports page of The Independant when Arsenal hailed Arsene Wenger as their manager, and Daddy wants him to change teams????

Personally, I dread the seventeenth of May. Somehow it has a familiar ring to thirteenth of May. Bloodshed no matter what happens. I worry not just for the two brothers on opposite sides but also for us non-football fans parents caught right in the middle.

In the meantime, I am making my move, navigating my way to achieve my goal in the Kedah vs Terengganu game.....

(In the meantime too, we are not sharing pillows!)

A Necessary Evil

I came back yesterday to a house buzzing with news that R was mugged. She was on the way home when she received a text message. She stopped to check her message and before she could read it, the phone was snatched from her hand by a hooded teenager on a bike. My R is not one to be messed around with. She gave chase and even challenged the guy to a fight. Failing that she called the police. She was fuming, but I am just glad that she is alright.

Last week, I wrote the article below which was published in our local newspaper. What happened to R yesterday just goes to show how dangerous it is to be carrying a mobile phone.

"Like most parents I was under the false impression that giving mobile phones to the children was a way to ensure their safety; that they could call in the hopefully unlikely event of a problem. But sadly, the very gadget that is supposed to reassure both parents and children alike, is now increasingly becoming the source of the problem. Almost daily we hear of children being mugged and assaulted while they answer or make phone calls on their way home from school.

My own son was accosted as he walked home from school, by a boy not much older than him. He was asked to surrender his phone but luckily, he stood his grounds and challenged the budding mugger to take it off him. It wasn’t as if he exhibited it for all to see. His sister was less lucky. She answered my phone call as she got off the bus and within minutes it was already in the hands of a teenager who cycled passed her and snatched the phone away. Both incidents left me shaken for I now have to think twice before calling them up to ask them whether they are okay. Just answering a call will attract attention, and certainly trouble.

Mr Patel, our newsagent down the road, reported the latest tragedy in our small town that is fast becoming not a very safe place to live in. A young girl walking to the tube station was kicked and punched by four boys on bicycles. Needless to say, they were just after her phone. By the time Mr Patel got to her, she could hardly stand.

With mobile phones getting fancier and more sophisticated with cameras and video recording devices, they are very much in demand, especially by those who can’t afford them but would like to own them. The mischief and crime related to phone cameras and phone videos have spiralled beyond belief. This includes a sickening fad called happy slapping, the ritual of sadistic members of youth cults whose idea of entertainment is inflicting pain. A victim is slapped, sometimes using the phone as a weapon and then filmed as he or she is continuously assaulted and attacked. This footage is then circulated among members of the group as a source of entertainment.

Quite recently, a happy slap gang, headed by a fifteen year old girl was convicted of manslaughter when they were found guilty of killing a 37 year old man they randomly picked to star in their sordid production.

The girl told members of her gang that she was making a documentary on happy slapping and after a night of drinking, they picked their victim, punched and kicked him while the whole sordid attack was being filmed. They left the victim to die while they went home to watch the recording on the mobile phone.

A 14 year old schoolboy was arrested when staff saw mobile phone footage of a rape attack on an eleven year old girl. And there are many more sickening attacks in what is fast becoming the cult’s own reality TV show. And this trend is spreading across Europe with chilling similarities in what has become a thirst for inflicting pain for entertainment. And all these by the very young members of the community.
Walking home from work yesterday, my youngest after a lot of deliberation phoned to warn me that a group of boys had been seen roaming the place. I could detect the worry in his voice. While he wanted me to go on speaking to him and reassure him that I was alright, he knew that the very sight of the phone would bring the gang straight over to me.


It is certainly not a happy situation but the mobile phone has become an evil necessity."

.

Whaaaaaaaat??? Only 100 camels?

That was my response to R’s story about her trip to Cairo recently. Apparently, she was visiting the pyramids when someone offered the people she was with, 100 camels fo her!

Hisssh, 100 camels! What were they thinking! 200 and no less!

The father’s reactions: Huh! 100 camels? Where do we put them? Our garden is too small!

Typical!

I’ve been itching to write about this since reading anedra's entry about price of dowry in Malaysia these days and the comments are so interesting.

In those day, (and here we go again), when an anak dara could command, RM1000, its the talk of the kampung! I remember the negotiations that went on behind closed doors when Kak was getting married. She had had a long queue of very interested mums and even more interested suiters, but Pak was not willing to let go of his first child that easily. There were royalties, politicians and they pursued her relentlessly even after she was married and with child. Well, you could class her as a beauty, tall and willowy, fair and Miss Kebaya to boot! (And then of course Mak and Pak broke the mould and had us!)

But Pak was possessive not to mention protective. After rumours had it that she was being followed to work, he hired her a trishaw, with an uncle as an escort!

And finally, when a young dashing police officer in uniform came to nip the first bud in our garden, it seemed the right choice and we thank God for that because Abang is like no other and we love him tremendously . He still spoils us rotten.
Anyway, not before he had to cough up RM1000 for the dowry – a lot, mind you in those days!

There must have been a lot of talk...Waaah, Anak Pak Awang belanja seribu!!!

And behind our backs it must have been..."Ish, nak juai anak kaaaaaaa!"

I cant remember what happened to Kak Cik, but when it came to my turn, I recall having this reluctant feeling to go home during the term breaks. The minute the Mak Ciks know that you’re back, there would be strangers at the door. And you’d think they can be more subtle than that as they had been doing it as a profession – these mak cik merisik!

Mak would call out to me to make tea and I was supposed to make tea and walk all lemah gemalai and act all coy and sweet, which I was not at all. Then they’d look you up and down, not unlike the way they would do to a chicken or a goat before the big kill.

“Yang ni dah ada kawan dah kaaaaa?”

From a very young age I used to shiver when people talked about matchmaking. I think it started with a neighbour who used to put a dash of kapur on my forehead everytime we visited her! That was supposed to be a tag – a reserve tag for her son!

Anyway, nothing could beat this one – I was at my sister’s house when the phone was passed on to me – very businesslike this woman at the other end of the line. She proceeded to tell me that her son was very qualified and earning so much which left me quite speechless, not knowing head or tail as to how you respond to things like that.

Anyway, why did I digress so?

Oh yes...when the right wan, oh, sorry, the right one came, nothing mattered. Even if he had placed an IOU letter on the talam hantaran, it would be fine. I remember the rombongan that came to Abang’s house in Bangsar. I was not to be seen or heard, but I was told about the pantun memantun that went on downstairs! The next day, when I was driving around with my intended, he casually asked me the asking price. I mentioned the number and I swear to you...the car skidded to the middle of the road! He was perspiring! But then, that has always been his style of reacting to anything and I got the asking price in a small album - that took care of the bonus that he received from the NST at that time.

Nowadays, I read the figures can go to six digits, especially when the bride concerned is a celebrity!

Aaaah, I will have to seriously think about this again.. our children are at that age. Am not going into the business of haggling for dowries. The eldest will certainly have to work more before settling down – not for anything but for their future security. I am not materialistic, but I will not settle for camels for my girls.

"Siapa itu Kassim Selamat? Majistret? Loyar???" hands on hips, sumore!

As for my Batman, can I have more time with him, pleaseeeeeee!!!!

To my dearest Nona

Just when did you get to be nineteen? Have you been doing things behind my back again? You know, mothers are a funny lot. I am, anyway. They can't wait for their children to grow up, and when they do, they want them to stop growing, freezeframe them at whatever age or phase of life that suits them. Like a bonsai plant.

When you were born, I was deliriously happy to have another girl so that I could dress you up in those cute frilly frocks. But like your sister, you were born, bald. So, no pretty ribbons, no colourful hairbands. And it seems that skirts and gowns and frilly things are not something you’d have in your wardrobe of tattered, faded jeans and cropped tops.

I remember Tok sending a bagful of floral skirts with frills that she made for her granddaughters. Ah, that look on your face! You could at least wore it once for me to take a photogragh to send home. Oh well, I don’t know what to buy you anymore. Two days ago, I was walking up and down Oxford Street, venturing into stores, displaying what they term clothes, but nothing that would wrap you up sufficiently against the cold. It was easier when I could get all that you need from Mothercare.

When I was your age (here we go again, I hear you groan), flares were in fashion. Yes, I heard your brother’s remarks about how that would help break my fall should I jump off a tall building! Ha! Ha! Very funny. But at least, I was all covered up. Nice floral materials much in trend for those flower power days. And hey, those bandanas that you wear? Been there and done that lah, sayang!

I must admit you are very creative. Last week, my prayers accompanied you to that interview when you carried your huge portfolio of excellent stuff. You have always been creative – those self taught animations, radio and tv interviews that you bullied your younger brother into doing. You play the drums and guitar. And remember how you pulled quite a crowd in Hyde Park when you did about 100 kick-ups with the ball, without once dropping it.

But you surprised me. I have always thought you’d be a scientist – perhaps a microbiologist. I’d be so proud of you. What gave me this idea? Well, on my weekly rounds searching for missing mugs, I’d always find some under your bed. And I looked at the curious blend of fungi like things at different stages of fermentation in those mugs and I thought: Aaaah, my daughter, the microbiologist!

I wasn’t very much into science in my school days, the only excitement I remember being the arrival of the first male teacher - our science master who taught us the subject of reproduction. Can you imagine, a bunch of giggly Convent girls?

And that of course brings us to the subject of the other, er opposite sex.. err, I mean gender.

Of late I see some strange nicks popping up on your Hotmail account. Does this explain your sudden interest in make-up? I supposed its good that you are taking an interest in your looks ... at least there’s some colour in your face. When I see some models on the catwalk nowadays, I can’t help thinking you’d do well marching straight from the bed onto the catwalk. You’re tall, skinny and all bones and that hairstyle is so the in thing on catwalks…no brush, no comb!

At your age, I too experimented with my hair. No more ponytails and plaits. I used to have the fringe too that covered my eyes cos I was so shy. But yours is more like a curtain that makes our communication even more difficult. However, I never touched colour (at your age). I remember your experiment with that. It was at night and you went against my advise. Suddenly there was a scream from the bathroom. What I saw made me laugh and cry at the same time. I do apologise. It was a horrible colour!! Even daddy chuckled.

Now I see that you are into Bo Derek plaits. What can I say?

And another thing, purple lenses do not suit you.

In those days, of course, we wore goggles. And it went well with those Dusty Springfield or Lulu look. The bigger the better. The same goes for earrings. Big round ones. But my dear, we wore both….not just a single dangling earring. Tok would have fainted seeing you with one earring, and one on your nose. I am glad you saw some sense and grew out of that one.

Well, penning all these down makes me feel quite old. It was a mixture of pride and sadness too when I saw you wearing one of my kebayas last Raya. People commented that you look just like me when I was your age. I am proud to have my two girls wearing the kebayas. People in Malaysia think the kebaya is making a comeback. For me it never went away. I was the kebaya girl in campus. I kept all those kebayas so that my girls can wear them. Sad? well, its just me lamenting my lost waisline.

You are one adventurous lass. I know that I am a pain to be with especially on trips to funfairs. I remember you commenting that a funfair would be a bore fair if I am around. No slides, no watershutes, no ferries wheels. Yes, a ride in the whirling tea-cup can also give as much excitement and what's wrong with that? My heart dropped when I saw you hanging upside down on that Aladin's carpet. Do you do these things to annoy me?

I cried buckets when you were away in Spain and now I see that you are researching materials on studies in Japan. When you received an offer from Nottingham university, I sobbed into the pillow. I imagined you surviving on maggie mee. Yes, granted, at your age I too couldn't cook. The kitchen was a no go area cos Tok Wan would rather see us studying than help in the kitchen. But your diet of nasi goreng and mayonaise and strange combinations like that worries me.

And if you are away, who'd be around to scratch your back? And Daddy won't be there to bring your bowl of cornflakes and milk to your room.

By the way, I just got you a birthday card and I hope you find those pieces with the picture of the Queen useful.

With lots of love,
Mama, xxx

STOP PRESS! STOP PRESS! STOP PRESS! STOP PRESS! STOP PRESS!
NONA got the bestest birthday present of all - she got accepted by the Chelsea College of Arts! All that heavy portfolio and the taxi fare that I paid is worth it!One happy MAMA!!