My half full glass...

Sometimes when I look at my glass I think that it is half empty. It is only human, I guess. I read about jetsetting people and their lifestyle, their entourage of helpers and aides and thought hard (with self pity fast setting in) and then I look into my mug of Aik Chong teh tarik, yes, my mug is indeed half empty.

But as the teh tarik settled, and with its sweetness still lingering at the back of my throat, I thought – no, I DO have my fair share of life’s blessings.

I’ve read about celebrities and their personal trainers, those hunks with rippling muscles who make sure that the celebs are in good shape and I realise, hey, I too have a personal trainer.

“Mama, I’ve prepared the treadmill (read: cleared the coats and jackets hanging on it) and you should start at 3 and slowly move up to five for about half an hour. I have also downloaded some songs on the I-Pod (read: Alleycats with some of their fast numbers) so that you can enjoy while you are exercising.”

There you go – a personal trainer sans rippling muscles. The same one who makes sure that I don’t slide into a Cleopatra reclining position after a meal, especially dinner.

People have personal financial advisors. I have a few around me who have an interest in my financial affairs. They take a keen personal interest in the state of my bank account almost on a daily basis and especially so at the end of the month.

Mama, says one poking her head into the room, do you have any money?

Mama, says another looking deep into my bag, do you have any change?

And I shouldn’t really be complaining because I have always had a resident dietitian/nutritionist and a physician all rolled into one.

Eat the vegetables, he says. He’s the same one who reminds me ten times a day to take my vitamins and garlic pills for all kinds of ailments, and carefully wraps them in foils for me to take on long journeys away from home. No Maggie mee, nor tuna chunks or farmed salmon. And no anything with colourings and suspicious looking E numbers. He scrutinises all food labels at supermarkets before putting them in the trolley.

My in-house fashion gurus need only to raise one perfectly plucked eyebrow or a tsk-tsk and a click of the tongue to send me scurrying off to change from my usually drab black/brown attire to something less black/brown.

And that is not all – I have my very own GPS trackers: Mama, where are you? Where exactly are you? If you are anywhere near Boots, can I have shampoo, contact lens cleanser, etc, etc…

So, you see, I am truly blessed!

But what about you? Is your glass half full or half empty?

A time to be silly

****I am having so much fun reading all your contributions! Thank you! Still too busy to update but not too busy to read your comments and contributions to list of names parents give their children.*****

So, we now know why Nicole Kidman named her baby Sunday Rose - her father was inspired by artist Sidney Nolan's muse Sunday Reed. So, no more speculations or jokes about it, OK? Well, not until she goes to school and starts having to fill in forms and what nots. Can you imagine telling people, Hi, I am Sunday Rose.

Anyway, this name reminds me of a friend who is no longer with us. We were in the office one afternoon when I heard him arguing with someone on the phone.
He received a call from someone who said he was Rabu. I then heard him say "I am Khamis" as he was indeed Khamis Ahmad, a Berita Harian journalist based in Penang. Rabu apparently thought that Khamis was pulling his leg and was slighted. So, that is just one problem Sunday might encounter.

Do parents really think when they name their children? A neighbour decided to name her son Sirhan after the assasinator and a cousin named his child Hospi because that's his only child born in the hospital.

Well, another one before I go back to my work.

Was telling someone about how in Terengganuspeak, words ending with n, are always pronounced with ng - as in makang, ikang, etc. Apparently the sultans of both Terenggangu and Kedah (this is a long time ago) had a bet and the one who loses will lose the G. Kedah lost and thus we have kucin, anjin, kunin, etc.

But this friend narrated another hilarious story about how the Portuguese changed their mind about conquering Kedah. After they had taken over Malacca, they set their sights on Kedah and sent several spies to do some intelligence work. The report they received wasn't very good.

"It was easy to take over Malacca. They had only Hang Tuah, Hang Jebat, Hang Lekir Hang Lekiu and Hang Kasturi. In Kedah, they have thousands of Hangs!!
Hang Loklak, Hang Bodoh, Hang Samseng, Hang Tak Senonoh...etc!

OK, OK! I promise to come back with a more serious story soon!

A Tragic End...for DS

I give up. I was hoping that Dang Sarat and her dalliance with a leader of a state and her hocus pocus would lure more readers to my blog. But I was wrong – I simply can’t compete with other blogs with more explosive issues and more revealing ends (pun certainly intended).

So it is DS as I refer to Dang Sarat in my work versus SD. And I can’t win, Even as I am typing this, another sms came in about another explosive and damning revelation. DS, about more than a century old can’t afford to compete with real time stories.

But on reflection, and I am not saying that whatever is flying around in the blogs and media; accusations and counter accusations, are true, but there are certain things which I realise, never changed.

In most scandals, there’s always the femme fatale, the monstrous feminine lurking somewhere to make an appearance. And in the case of Syair DS it is the eponymous character herself.

DS was actually an ex-employee of a Singapore ruler. ( Am not drawing any parallels here!) She was in fact recommended to work for the Sultan because of her obvious skills and abilities in certain areas, but she took it upon herself to do more than that. She wanted to get closer to the Sultan. And this, as I had mentioned before, was through the use of hocus pocus.

The dalliance between employer and employee went on for quite sometime under the very eyes of the officials and of course the wife. Now, tell me, which wife could tahan the frolickings right under her nose? The wife here, who happened to be the Queen of Patani, had been so patient and even allowed the establishment of another residence for the other woman. While her own maids smirked and laughed openly at DS’s antics, the Queen, or sometimes known as the Peracau, merely turned away when she saw the other woman with the ugly oversized chastity belt, who at times, demanded her husband to piggyback her. What an ugly sight! But one day, she couldn’t stand it no more and gave these orders:

Menengar sembah segala menteri - wajah bertambah manis berseri
lalu bertitah raja pis[t]ari - ‘Memanda bendahara pergilah sendiri
Dengan segera suruh dikerjakan - Dang Sarat itu PACAK SULAKAN. (OUCH!!!!).

[When [she] heard what the ministers said, - her face became increasingly sweet and shining
then the illustrious Queen said: - 'Please Prime Minister go
and order that the following be done immediately: - Dang Sarat [must] be IMPALED.

And she said all these with a smile!
Many commenters wanted to know what happened to DS – and I can reveal now that her once pride and joy was cut, she was sula’ed – impaled with a rod pushed through her end – a tragic end one might say.
The Sultan then sailed back to his state, with the oversized chastity belt and DS’s hair hanging from the masthead of his boat.

There – I will put DS to rest – for now.

PS - femme fatales come in many different forms. And so do tragic ends.