FUNNYACCENT

Beat the Eggs on Autumn Snow Day

I'm watching the snow falling outside my kitchen window as I'm stirring a combination of corn flour, milk, eggs and sugar in a copper pot. I'd just talked to my sister KN this morning after bersahur. She was in the kitchen making  nasi kerabu. Ohh....lord, I could smell delicous aroma of roasted dried ikan talang and roasted rice. These two ingredients are important to get an asskicking nasi kerabu.

My previous effort to make Sri Muka was disaster. I added too much coconut milk for the top layer and and the glutinous rice was soft and mushy. I used a spatula to take out one piece onto a dish. The top layer collapsed and my sri muka looked more like Shrek's food than sri muka.

KN pointed out few important tips to get creamy and delicious top layer.

She said prepare the bottom layer by: 1.Steam the glutinous rice. Steaming glutinous rice is much better than cooking. You can control the outcome of the rice. 2. Add coconut milk into glutinous rice, small potion at a time. 3. A pinch of salt. 4.Use spatula to mix evenly the rice and coconut milk. 5. Flatten the rice in a pan with wooden spatula. 6. Put aside.

Top layer:

Blend together 4 eggs, 2 cups of milk (or coconut milk), 2/3 cups of sugar (or more if you have sweet tooth), a pinch of ground roasted anise seed (jintan manis),  2/3 cup of corn flour,  3 or 4 drops of pandan ( screwpine leaves) flavor for coloring. If you have an access to pandan leaves, you can  blend pandan leaves with 1/3 cup of milk (coconut milk-out of two cups of milk) Stir gently the mixture over a medium heat.

Do not attempt to do other tasks when you have a top layer mixture on a stove. If your little ones needs a bottle, let him/her holler for a while. Voice exercises is good. Who knows she/he would become Malaysian/American (insert the country you're from) Idol in fifteen years. Leave him/her in soiled diaper for a few minutes. It won't kill them. Your Sri Muka is more important. Unless it is a matter of life and death, continue to stir the kepala (top layer).

Preparing and cooking some old Malay dishes need our full focus. After all every food we cook it has to be prepared with love. It is not like when you prepare tuna casserole,  dump everything in baked dish, you can make out with your loved ones on a kitchen counter while the tuna casserole in the oven. No....no....no.... no hanky panky when you're making Sri Muka. Other wise the top layer will turn out lumpy and eeuuugghhhh....

Back to the stove, when mixture becomes thicker, lower the heat, keep stirring. If you think it needs more liquid, add your choice of liquid, milk or coconut milk. When it looks glassy (not glassy eyes, mind you), it is ready. Remove it from the stove. Pour the combination onto the bottom layer evenly. Leave it cool on the kitchen counter. Now you can go back to whatever tasks you put on hold.

My Sri Muka didn't look as good as it tasted. But, I'm telling you , it was heaven. I used red glutinous rice instead of regular glutinous rice. As usual, I like to improvise my cooking.

Seven Wonderful Things About Us

Bilakausenyumkugembira Bilakausedihkumenangis  Bagaitamanrindukankembang  KurindupadamuohSayang

It's time to do this tagthangthatbeennaggingme: To Nurelhuda, Frankie and Anisah.

7 things I plan to do.

• continously working on my humility
• explore every state in Malaysia, Turkey, Scotland and Madagascar with Buu, KN, MN and PaU .
• learn to play saxaphone
• get a collection of my personal essays published
• earn my living with my quilts and writings
• get to know a Native  Indian Shaman
• find ways to work with orphans in Malaysia.                                                             

7 things I can do

• stay calm when dealing with rude and insensitive individuals.
• read and write jawi  and good at it.
• take offensive/insulting remarks without getting angry.
• act silly (but not an inappropriate) without getting embarassed.
• sit, split my legs horizontally and lower my face flat on the floor.
• laugh at my own stupidity.
• hold mouse, earthworm, snakes, frogs with my bare hands.

7 things I can't do.

• swim
• rollerblading on the sidewalks
• tolerate loud music.
• be around loud individuals.
• get in any room without bumping or knocking furnitures or people!
• sleep in unmade bed.
• be in a messy room/house

7 things that scare me

• hit by a car
• deep water
• small space
• isolated place
• pitt bull
• slippery (black ice) sidewalk
• not be able to fulfill my heart desires.

7 random things about me

• I enjoy long distance run
• I saw a ghost when I was fourteen
• I can climb trees.
• I went to five different primary schools in six years.
• I was chased by a cow when I was six.
• I had an ugly bad temper in my younger days.
• I read carpetbaggers in the class when I was thirteen. The book was confiscated by an ustaz.

7 things I say the most.

• beghok makye
• bummer....
• Tuhan Maha Kaya
• come again?
• mak ooiii....
• shoot.......
• really?

7 celebrity crushes (Anisah and Frankie)

• P. Ramlee
• Laurence Fishburne
• Daniel Day Lewis
• Viggo Mortensen
• M.Nasir
• Slamet Rahardjo
• Christine Hakim

7 off repeated words of the moment (Anisah & Frankie)

• Godwilling
• bismillahhirrahmanirrahim..
• alamak
• take
• adeep
• breath
• puhleeeaseee (rollmyeyes)

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex (Anisah and Frankie)

• well taken care hands and feet
• mind stimulator
• well read
• has sense of humors
• musical/artistic talents
• humble
• wise

7 people I want to tag. I leave it open.  I'm left behind by a train again.

Dimanasajakauberada Kukantetapbersamamu Walaupunjasadmujauh Namunhatimudekatselalu

All He Wanted Was to Be a Batman

One of the mothers at The House refused to let her son to participate in Halloween party we prepared for the children. She went up to the Director and told her it was a devil worshiping act and as a church goer, there was no way in hell she would let her kid to get involved.

Fine, said the Director. We respect your decision, but I don't agree with your statement about devil worshiping. What we do here is trying to make the kids feel at home, to help them have sense of belonging.

Most of the children in the program have been living in the shelters, foster houses or on the streets all their lives. They are homeless like their mothers. Some of the children have been living with foster home under DSS monitor since they were born. When the mothers stay sober and clean for certain time and prove they are capable of taking care of themselves and their children, they would be allowed to reunite with their children. But, it's not that easy. It's a long and painful process. A numerous court trips with their, lawyers or  probation officers or Social Worker, counseling with therapists or psychiatrists before the decision is made.

Sometimes they overwhelm and crumble under pressure. They afraid they couldn't take care of their children, they afraid the children wouldn't want them, they afraid if they were going to be a good mothers. It is a crucial moment. A moment that push them to relapse: heading to a nearest bar or a puff.

Anyway, let me get back to Halloween party. I was in the Director office when the mother came to protest about the party. I stayed on the back ground. I admit I don't much about a Halloween nor that I ever participate in a costume dressing. But I always give a hand and come up with some learning experience games for the children. The mother's protest lasted about 30 minutes.

She let her son to joined us. All of us gave a huge whoop and highfived when he put on a Batman costume. I could see his smiling face behind his Batman costume.

Five volunteers (3 colleges students and 2 working women) set up sotry telling corner, face painted booth and puppet booth. Candies and food and laughter, everybody had a wonderful time. I broke my fast with a date and my first Dove bar. It wasn't bad, not bad at all.

Mak ...oh....Mak

Dear Mak,

It has been a year since you left us. I still remember the day Kak N called me at work on Friday afternoon that you'd just left to meet Our Creator on the first hour of Friday morning. I came home in dazed, sat on the couch and kept telling myself, it was a dream and I would wake up soon. Of course I knew it wasn't a dream. Of couse I knew when the time come and all of us will leave this earth and begin our final journey. But, I cried all the same, because I knew you were not going to be there to pick up the phone every time I call you. I knew when I called out your name, Mak, you wouldn't be there physically for me.

But I know you are here . Always.

Mak,

It has been year, I don't cry anymore when I think of you, but I miss you all the same.  How could I cry when I have a lot of wonderful memories when we were together. Mak, do you remember when I was home on the last week of Ramadhan many years ago?After the meal before morning prayer, every body went back to bed except us. You were sitting on the floor taking out the dishes and glasses from the cabinet. They needed to be washed and rinsed. I helpep you carried the dishes to the kitchen sink.

As we worked quietly in the early morning, we discussed the best time to get young coconut leaves for ketupat from the vendor. Then we heard your beloved cat, Cik Puan Gebu's voice (Lady Pluffy) funny voice outside the kitchen. We knew the voice. Then another cat's voice responded from next door's neighbor. That was Tin Tin's voice. Tin Tin and Cik Puan Gebu were lovers. And it was a mating season.  As you passed the a stack of dishes into my hands you said in throaty voice but flirty.

"Cik Puan Gebu, I've been waiting for hours in a cold out here, where are you, sayang (my love)?"

I responded to you in a high pitched voice. "Oh...baby, I'm here under the mango tree waiting for you all night. Don't you know we were supposed to meet here?"

"Oh...we did? I'm sorry sayang, I must've forgotten. So many things on my mind."

"So many things on your mind? Like what? You have a second wife somewhere? You dirty old cat!!!"

"Sayang...sayang.....don't get jealous. You're the only cat I ever loved. I love you with all my paws."

At this moment I couldn't hold any longer. I burst out laughing so loud and you joined me. We laughed and laughed on the kitchen floor.

Ohh...Mak, I miss our dramas.

I have three photos we took on three different ocassion on my bureau. The first photo was taken when we were in Medan, the second photo was during our trip to Langkawi, the third photo was just the two of us. I was sitting on the cement slab outside Kak N kitchen, and you were standing behind me, your hand rested on my shoulder. We were standing next your dwarf banana plants.

Mak,

The weeks, the months followed your death, I always dreamed about you. You were always had beautiful white baju kurung on, white lace tudung on your head. You never talked to me, but you had this serene and peaceful expression. Kak N dreamed of you more often, she said when she woke up she cried, sometimes she called out your name when she was by herself. I know Kak N misses you more than anybody else. She said when Adik was at work and you wanted to take a break from reading the Quran, you went to her living room and sat on the sofa. She sat at her sewing machine stitching somebody's  baju kurung  or kebaya and you watched tv. As ususal you always saw something in humorous way. Both of you laughed your head off.

Every Ramadhan since I've been here, I remember the time we read the Quran together when I was home. You read one surah and I read the interpretion and you continued to the next surah. After an hour or so, I said :

Mak, lets go to the kitchen, the pengat is calling us.

Let's finish this page, a few more lines and we're done.

And we did.

Ohh.........Mak, I miss you. Tonight , after I had my dinner, I read your favorite surah. Alfatihah.

Tag Me No More........

Back in June  20, Lisa tagged me with book meme, in September 13, Sunflora tagged me with 20, 10 years meme, in October 15,  Frankie  tagged me with Puteri Gunung Ledang's  request ( 7 this and 7 that), in October 11, I got a second PGL's request from Nurelhuda , and the third PGL's wish from Anisah  on October 19. I owe big one to these wonderful and beautiful blog friends. Thank you for thinking of me.

While other bloggers have moved up to another level, I'm left behind by the train.

So, lets get down to it.

How many books I own?

About 900+ .

The last book I bought?

Book? I always buy books. Never mind, I'll pick out one. It was A Bed of Red Flowers -In Search of my Afghanistan by Nelofer Pazira.

The last book I read.

Rational Recovery - The New Cure for Substance Addiction by Jack Trimpey (I'm on one-third of the book).

Five books mean a lot to me.

When I was ten years old, I read a book called, 1) Tiga Beradik ke England (Three Siblings Go to England).  I couldn't remember the author's name. It was about three siblings traveled to England with their parents. I borrowed the book from the class library- it was a book case with not more than two dozen books at the back of the class room. I borrowed this book many times, the library card at the second page was full with my name in it. Anyway, TBkE stirred my firs desire to travel to far places and exploring fields, stairways, lanes, roads, beaches and buildings.

2) Apa Daya Ku Kerana Aku Perempuan by Nur Sutan Iskandar.  I was home during second semester school break. I was bored. I opened my father's green wooden crate where he kept most of his books. It was an Indonesian novel, a collection of my father's books. It was about young woman grew up in a close-knit family in a strong Minangkabau tradition.  Her day was like any typical young women in her village, she cooked, cleaned the house and took care of her younger siblings while her parents worked in their rice fields. Her world fell apart when her uncle arranged to married her off without even asking her . It wasn't unusual in her time (and present) and space for a girl to have her future being discussed and tossed around as she was merely an object.  As I read her longing to be freed like her brothers, to be able to chase a loose kite, I'd learned to understand a double standard from her eyes as she sat on in kitchen doorway watching the sunset dipping into a horizon.

When I finished the book I promised myself that I wasn't going to let anybody to dictate my future, let alone to choose the man I wanted to be with, not even my parents.  In the kitchen as I was flipping mackerels in a wok  I asked my mother, 'Mak, will you and abah force me to marry some one I don't know?" The sharp knife in my mother's hand sliced through layers of red onion in her left hand. The blade ended with a thud on a cutting board. "Do you already have somebody on your mind......? You're only thirteen!" My question threw her off. As far as she knew I couldn't stand boys. I always said to her in my snorting way, "I can't stand boys, they're so stupid, they're so stupid they don't even know they're stupid."

I told my mother about the book I'd read. I said it didn't make sense when an uncle was more powerful than a girl's father. Well, my mother said, what made sense to us it didn't mean it made sense to others. But, don't worry assured my mother, nobody was going to force me to marry anybody.

3) On My Own by Rosamunde Pilcher. I read this book when I was 18. I was working as an assembler at Nasional Semiconductor in Penang Malaysia. I think NS was the only semiconductor company had their own library in those years. Like Tiga Beradik ke England, both sides of On My Own library card had only my name stamped on it. On My Own was about young woman in London whose mother died and left her three younger siblings. Two of them were still in elementary school and a younger brother who was a couple of years younger than her but was lack of responsibility. It was the first Rosamunde Pilcher's book I ever read. Joanna's strength and her committed to her family inspired me to be like her. She had fear of the uncertainty of the future, and yet she put aside her fear for the sake of her siblings.  Everytime I read this book I saw myself in her character, her strength and her determination. And most of all the beauty of Devon and the cottages near the sea in this book embedded in my brain all these years.

Many years later, I read all Rosamunde Pilcher's books but I couldn't find On My Own anywhere. I never stopped looking for it and I began to wonder was I hallucinating about Rosamunde Pilcher authored OMO? I googled her name, all her books came out on the screen, but not OMO. I went to different bookstores and asked them to look for all Rosamunde Pilcher's book. Everything came back except OMO. One day while I was looking for an old book, I saw a site for an out of print books site.  And oh my gawwwwwwwwdddd....... I almost fell out of my chair when I saw the price . Well, maybe one day.

4) Sandera by Arenawati.  You have to read the book yourself to know how brilliant Pak Arenawati is.

5) Motherland by Vineeta Vijayaraghavan.  All I could say about this is, five years ago I read   this book  in bed, when I got to second chapter I went out to sit on my couch and read it all night. I went to bed at 3:30 am. The next morning, when I woke up at 9:30 on Sunday morning, I said to myself, I want to write a book. I've been handwriting personal essays since then, and who knows...........

There Lisa........read and weep :))

Five people I would like to tag.

Well, I'm not going to tag to anybody. As usual, I am left behind the train.......but if you feel like to do it, you're more than welcome. Lemme get a cup of chai.

Where Are the Children?

A couple of nights ago I watched a Japanese movie on DVD, a Suicide Club (Jisatsu Club), written and directed by Sion Sono. It was one of disturbing, gruesome and gory movies I'd ever watched. The opening showed 54 high school girls in their short skirts school uniforms and high white socks stood on Tokyo bound train at Shijunku Station. As the train approached the platform, these young girls chatted and laughed as they were ready to get on a roller coaster, stood side by side, held their hands formed a long chain, crossed  the yellow line and threw themselves on the track.

The next few minutes,  I sat on the edge of the couch, watching the blood splashed and soaked the horrified commuters on the platform, not to mention the sound of the human bodies being ran over by a bullet train. The blood flew on the track like a river. I shook my head a few times as I watched the movie rolled hoping I could shake off the gruesome scene from my mind.

On the same day, another bizarre but similar incident from a different part of the city reported to a team of detectives  who are working on this case.  I do not want to reveal more about this disturbing but interesting movie because I've talked to five people who watched it, and all of us have different theories.

The movie wasn't about adults committed suicide because of health reasons, depression or losing billion of yens or an embarrassing affairs. It was about adolescents who seemed to have a normal life, but somehow there was a link missing between them and grown ups. It was about us the grown ups have detached ourselves from the children. I watched this movie for a second time trying to figure it out why and who behind all these suicides, but I think the director simply left an open-ended ending. Either he wanted us to find ways to rebuild grown-ups/children relationship or he has a sequel coming.

Her Time, Our Time

Pray and al-fatihah for Endon Mahmood. My deepest condolence to Pak Lah.

PUTRAJAYA, Oct 20 (Bernama) -- Prime Minister's wife Datin Seri Endon Mahmood passed away at 7.55 am Thursday at the Prime Minister's official residence Seri Perdana Putrajaya, Datuk Seri Abdullah Ahmad Badawi told Bernama.

-- BERNAMA

Copyright © 2005 BERNAMA. All rights reserved.

Two Puddles Chatting

                                                                     Two Puddles Chatting

                                                                     It rained during the night

                                                            And two puddles formed in the dark

                                                                            And began chatting,

                                                                                     One said,

                                                     "It is so nice to at last be upon the earth

                                                                        And to meet you as well,

                                                                     But what will happen when

                                                                      The brilliant Sun comes

                                                          And turns us back into apitir again?"

                              

                                                                                  Dear ones,

                                                          Enjoy the night as much as you can

                                                     Why ever trouble your heart with flight,

                                                                   When you have just arrived

                                                    And your body is so full of warm desires,

                                                                            And look:

                                                        So many meadows of soft hair are

                                                                           Planted upon you.

                                                      Why ever trouble yourself with God

                                                                 When He is so unjudging

                                                                             And kind

                                                        Unless you are blessed and live

                                                                         Near the circle of

                                                                          Perfect One?

by Hafiz (The Great Sufi Master)

whose given name was Sham-ud-din Muhammad )1320-1389.

Freckles Faced Angel In the Rain

The rain hasn't stopped since this morning. It was a light rain, but without a raincoat or an umbrella, one definitely would get wet. After five minutes watching the squirrels playing hide and seek up and down on the oak trees from my living room window, I decided to walk up to a Community Health Center for my dental appointment. On a fine weather I took 15 minutes to walk to the center from my apartment. But today's weather factor would lengthen my steps.

Today was my second dental appointment since fasting began 12 days ago. I have another appointment next week. What a bummer. I was supposed to have  these dental works done in July and August, but due to unforeseen events, I had to reschedule my appointments. I had two choices, October  or January 2006.

I sat on a dental chair in a third room at the end of corridor. The room faced a spacious parking area which had become a little lake. As the anesthesia numbing my tooth, and my upper right gum, I watched men and women got out of their cars, walked on their toes like a ballerina looking for waterless spot to land their feet.

The procedure took less than ten minutes. The next thing I knew, the dentist waved my wisdom tooth in my face.

"Wow........that was quick."

"That's because you're a good patient."

"Oohh.....I'm too old to be a bad patient."

"I have grown up patients who react like they were going to get their tongues extracted  instead of their tooth."

"Are you serious?"

"Hmmm...hmm....."

It was drizzling when I left the center, there were  small and big puddles along the street. I crossed the street to walk against the traffic flow.

I was grateful to considerate motorists who reduced their speed when their four wheels cut across the little seas, and we the pedestrians had no where else to turn to except kept working ahead. But this morning I witnessed a bunch of motorists weren't aware there were people out there in the open space.

When I crossed the green light, a young mother pushed a stroller past me. A little girl not older than three years walked beside her.  The little girl had two sizes too small neon pink rain coat on. Half of her face was completely hidden behind the hood. Her long braided red hair sticking out from the hood. The young mother wore a black leather jacket. She carried a folded type of umbrella that wouldn't stand a chance in this weather. The stroller was covered with a clear plastic . The overstuffed diaper bag and a few grocery bags hung onto both of stroller handles made it difficult for her to walk faster.

I moved away from the street side as we approached the biggest puddle. Ahead of us, I saw a red car coming toward us. I knew I would have made it if I lengthened my steps, but when I saw a grocery bag fell from the stroller, and out for a grocery bag  a can of formula rolled down on a slant  sidewalk toward a puddle, I knew right there staying dry wasn't an option.

I quickened my steps and picked up the can while the young mother squat down to put baby shampoo and lotion back into the bag. She had one hand held on to the stroller. The little girl stood next to me,  shivering. The zip of the rain coat was broken. She only had a thin white t-shirt on. I peeked into the hood, and angel face full of freckles stared back at me.

"Hi." She said shyly.

"Hi sweety." My eyes moved from freckles faced angel toward the car less than fifty meters from us. It didn't seem to slow down as a few cars did before.

"Ohh...ohhh... we're gonna get wetttt..." My voice drowned under the sound of the splash of water hitting two bodies, umbrellas and strollers.

I didn't realize when did I pulled the freckles faced angel into my arms and turned my back to the street in squatting position.

The young mother swirled in a flash the front side of the stroller away from the street. She used her body as a shield. We looked at the back of the car thundered away on the wet street.

They young mother was soaking wet from head to toes. My rain coat protected the upper part of my body, but from my thighs down to my feet I was wet, it looked like I'd just waded an 18 inches of water.  The water dripped from the hem of my denim jeans.  Slowly the freckles face angel came out of my arms. She was in dazed.

The mother looked at her daughter and looked at me for a few seconds without saying anything. For the first time I had an opportunity to look fully at her face. She was freckles face angel's mold. Red hair, freckles face and square jaws.

Aside from are you okay baby ? and thank you very much for helping us out from the young mother and you're welcome and let's keep walking from me, none of us said anything about the incident. Both of us lost in our thoughts. The freckles faced angel held my hand and we walked in silent until we stopped in front of gray building.

"My apartment is on the second floor."

"Are you all right? Would you like me to come up with you?"

"I'm fine, thank you again for looking out for us."

Say thank you to the lady she told freckles faced angel. Freckles faced angel looked up at me and thanked me. Then she made a gesture as to hug me. I lowered my body, both knees on the sidewalk held opened my arms. She put her arms around my neck and kissed my wet face. As I held her closed, I wished she would forget the incident she witnessed this morning. We said good bye and I walked back to my apartment.

Despite of losing my third molar  and splashed from the puddle I had a wonderful day. We broke our fast with papaya   and  cempedak fritters . What more could I ask for?

Unlearn of What I Had Learned

My first six months working with clients of substance abuse overwhelmed me. The years I worked with women and children of domestic violence  didn't prepare me to work with aggressive, manipulative and angry population of substance abuse. They enter the program with thousands of reasons. Some of them enter the program on their own free wills, or the courts send them, some of them lose their custody over their children to DSS (Department of Social Service) because of their addictive habit. They have no other choice to get back their children but enter the program.

Working with them is like peeling an onion. When I thought I finally got to them, I found out I only peeled off  a second layer. Layers and layers were still hidden underneath, buried in a dark pit. Six or seven out of ten stories they told me were fabricated. When I found out, I got upset and angry. Angry at them, angry at myself.

Over the time I have learned not to take it personally, I've learned not to angry at them either. I've learned to continue to work with them, look for their unique talents, their good sides, their creativity, their passions and their strength.

It was wonderous and humble experience to watch their transformation. A little here, a little there, they gradually shed their coccoons. It wasn't a week or a month or two , but they started to build their confidence, their trusts and their hopes. It was amazing if not magical what a person could do when she started to see herself with different view, when she started to love and respect herself.

It is so easy to pass a judgment , to make a conclusion, to give them up when I had no idea what were their previous life like.

I didn't know most of them came from alcoholic parents.

I didn't know some of them were molested by their grandparents or uncles, fathers  and father's friends when they were just a little girls. The grown up were to high or too drunk to notice what happened to little ones.

I didn't know her dad had beer at seven a.m, her mom gave her a sip to quiet her down because she was hungry. If she didn't stop crying dad got angry and beat  mom until she passed out because he had spent all his paycheck on beers.

I didn't know she had to feed her little brothers  instant noodles soaked with hot water from the tap  while he parents, uncles, unties and cousins  snorting coke in the dining room.

It was so easy to pass a judgment, so easy to give them up until I learned to unlearn. And I am still learning and it's not easy.