FUNNYACCENT

The Last Day of 2005

                                                                                                                      

I'm one of those people who likes to watch the actions from the comfort of my living room (except marathons). Comes New Year Eve, Fourth of July or any other eves, I would be ready with a bag of Hampton Peanut and bottle water (coffee/tea/hot chocolat) witting on my old raggedy couch.

If I were to go out, I prefer to check out the events or places hours before they started. This morning, after I had my breakfast , bundled myself from head to toes, I took a red line and got off at Park Street subway station.

Outside the train station, four or five vendors were setting up. I looked at the prices put up at the windows. French fries $5.00. Hot Dog $5.50, Fried Dough $4.00.....good lawwwwwwddd.

Anyho, about a two hundred meters from the train station, four ice sculptors (three guys and a girl)  moving their hands and tools expertly on blocks of ice. I cirled around the fenced area a couple of times to snap a few shots.

                                                                                                                   

The second ice sculptured, a short distance from the first group. I liked the third statue they had completed with, a child sat on the stool holding an open book.

I walked up to Copley to watch the third sculptured. By now, the wide sidewalks along Boylston Street were flowed with people.

Wishing everybody Have a Wonderful New Year. May year 2006 be more prosperous and abundance of love, happiness, peace in every aspect of our lives.

Khatijah Ibrahim's Neck

Six years ago when I did my first internship at the shelter for women and children escaped from domestic violence I met this drop-dead-beautiful woman named *Jess. She stood 5' 11" in her stocking feet. Her long, slender neck reminded me Khatijah  Ibrahim's beautiful neck.  Her dark, shapely arched eyebrow framed her hazel eyes, fanned with curly, long eyelashes I thought they were fake.

Her dark brown hair was so thick, if she sold to a wig store half of it, she still had a full hair on her head. Her body proportions spread evenly and generous at the right places, I thought god had nothing else to do when the fetus was growing in her mother's fetus except perfecting her.

I didn't have an apportunity to get to know because she came to the shelter a week before semester break. When I returned the next semester for my second internship she was long gone. She didn't keep in touch with the staff or collected her mails. But one thing I remember about her was she showed us to make a home made room freshner. This morning I made a new set of room freshner for my bedroom. Thank you Jess for your creative idea.

All you need are cloves and oranges. Jess, where ever you are, I'd like to wish you all the best in the world and have a beautiful Christmas.

Have a wonderful Christmas and peaceful holiday.

*Not on her birth certificate.

What's Durian Got To Do With Love?

Dear Abah,

You should've seen me today right after I had a bowl of red glutinous rice porridge with durian. It was about 3:15 pm. "Wasn't it a little early for tea?" You'd probably wondered. You're right, it was early for tea, but you see I didn't have a proper breakfast this morning. While scrubbing the bathtub, the bulb in kitchen department in my head lighted up, and you know whenever that bulb lights up, I have to put on hold everything I do and follow where the light takes me.

And this morning the luminous spotlight fell on the frozen food aisle at Super88Market. I had a quick breakfast, Danon Strawberry yogurt and a second cup of coffee and took a fifteen minutes walk to the store. It was 30 degree outside, the sun shone, the dried leaves sat still on the frozen soil, so fifteen minutes walk did a wonderful job to my heart

Abah,

You must be wondering why did I prepare red glutinous rice porridge when the black glutinous rice that I was craving for? You see, the store only carried 5 pounds bag of all types of rice except for red glutinous rice they have it in 2 pounds bag. I bought red glutinous rice.

If it wasn't for the red glutinous rice I would've had my meal sooner. I didn't know red glutinous rice soaked up a lot more water than regular rice. For a half cup of red glutinous rice I cooked, it took five cups of water to turn the rice into porridge. I was furious at myself for bad timing. It was too late for lunch and too early for tea. What the heck. I scooped the porridge with durian into a bowl and put it away to cool it off.

I wiped the kitchen counter,  rinsed and put away the clean dishes. I'd probably set the Guinness World record under A Malay Woman Who Cleaned Her Kitchen In One Minute As She Was Waiting For Her Red Glutinous Rice Porridge With Durian To Cool Off category. And Abah, you wouldn't want to miss this part. You would be laughing your head off when you read this. You knew that only me your daughter managed to do this dumb thing since I was young, and you  knew that I'm not dumb. After I had three spoonfuls of my creamy and sweet porridge, I noticed the durian wasn't mushy and it was still remained as a whole. Durian should've blended with the porridge. The flesh was still attached to the seed. I picked it up and took a bite. Oh.......my goodness, I didn't remove the clear plastic that wrapped the durian. I was so excited to eat pulut durian, my usual observant mind and eyes were shut down completely. But you knew me Abah, I was the only one in the family who have been always walked into the doors, furniture and cooked frozen durian along with its plastic wrap.

Nevertheless Abah, I enjoyed it very much. I thought about you when I ate it because it was one of your favorite dessert. When ever Mak cooked black rice porridge with durian, she hid it away. Otherwise you wanted to have a dessert before you had your lunch.

Every time I step out the door I never forget to greet the earth, "Assalamualaikum earth, assalamualaikum sky, assalamualaikum clouds, assalamualaikum trees, assalamulaikum birds, assalamualaikum earth worms".  You taught me the first time to greet the nature when we were living in Pengkalan Chepa, Kelantan. I was five years old. And now the snow cover the earth, I add to my greeting, Assalamualaikum snow. I miss you Abah.

Book for Beth

A few of months ago  Beth asked me to write a comment on books I read in my list. I have a hard time to put my minds in writing about books I read or movies I watched. All I could I come up with when people ask me about books or movies are: errrr..interesting, wonderful, boring , I couldn't put it down and..... How pathetic is that?

Anyway let me put down my view in writing about Maximux City by Suketu Mehta. From the first week of November until the last week of the same month I read five books, Maximum City was one of them. Between the trip to the district court to accompany one of The Residents and went to Hari Raya open house a week after Hari Raya, I finished this book in three days.

The first three chapters, I thought Suketu Mehta was going through this hate to love  kinda thing with Mumbai. For a person who left the city in 1977 and returned 21 years later, of course the changes of the city shocked him, he felt like an alien. Even the people he interviewed for this part travelogue part memoir considered him as a foreigner. They told him that in his face.

I think I was hypnotized like the author too with colorful characters and cruel city whose the super rich hold tightly their wealth to their chests, while the poorer than poor live, eat and sleep next to the sewer a few streets away from their mansions. It's about the city where the hatred, race, murders, ethnics, caste and creed blend in one roll and spit them out. Certain parts of the book shuddered me.

He spent a lot of time with these characters and wrote about them: a high rank cop in Mumbai police force,  pimps,  a don, gangsters, transvestite, dancers, murderers and the Bollywood stars like Sanjay Dutt, Amitabh Bachaan, Shabana Azmi and Feroz Khan. He hung out with the slum dwellers, who lived in a make shift living space made of cardboards along the train tracks. 

Suketu shared his two years experience in Mumbai without bias. Many of  the characters in his book thrived by lying, cheating, manipulating even committed murders, but he painted them as he saw not what he thought he saw. He pumped blood in the characters and they jumped out off the pages at me. He didn't offer his opinion. He wondered by their actions but he never judged them.

Beth, you will love this book.

Beautiful, but..................

Despite the snowstorm we had yesterday, this morning the sun spreads the warm and shines.

I step outside to put out my trash. For a moment I thought I am in Narnia. The white snow brightens up Saturday morning. A few of my neighbors are already out shoveling the snow off their cars.

When I go back inside, I make up my mind not to go to the movie as I planned earlier this week. The day is too beautiful to pass. There would be another day for The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. I have a second cup coffee, a slice pumpernicke toast and a banana.

The air is light and crisp. I wonder where the children are. Why aren't they outside building the snowkids or playing snowballs? It's 10:30 am. I've noticed the changes for the past three of four years. The children used to come out and played in the snow the day after the heavy snow. Now I don't see them anymore.

I hear the children voices when I pass by a row of houses. I hear the sound of the tv  from the living rooms.

The grey four stories building is also have families with children in it. I see the children from time to time waiting for the school bus . I guess, the children are too busy to be outside to throw snow balls at each other. Or their parents want them to be in the house because the pedophiles running loose at every corner?

The vast beautiful space lays empty all morning. When I return from my walk the white snow is still there, lonely and deserted.

Winter In New England

The storm warning from last night weather forecast and years of experience of watching the pattern of falling snow in the morning told me today was going to be bad. I put on my heavy duty reversible jacket. I bought this jacket 9 years ago for $210.00. It was one the best investment I ever made. Until today it has been wonderful and loyal to me. It keeps me warm in below zero degree.

I doubt it I would be home by 5 pm. We are having snow storm out there. I went out to take a couple of photos and I almost knocked down by the strong wind and heavy snow. IF I get home tonight I'll put up the pictures I took thirty minutes ago.

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slush time, after the storm at 6:00 pm

Aaaaahhhhhhh...home at last with a cup of hot mocha (fresh brew coffee and a two spoonful of chocolat powder) and jacob cream crackers......

Extra Pounds In Winter

The gutsy December morning wind slapped my face as soon as I stepped outside. I have a burgundy/ blue / yellow scarf around my neck, covered my mouth and lower part of my nose. My five year old blue/yellow wool hat keeps my head warm. Both of my mittened hands deep in my long wool winter jacket.

Every winter I carry extra pounds on me with heavy duty long sleeve cotton t-shirt, turtle neck shirt and fleece vest under my jacket for one reason. They allow me not to scamper along to my destinations. Unless the temperature drop below 10 degree, I would be  as dumb as ass if I do not quicken my steps.

Of course it's not as comfortable as walking in cool spring, gorgeous fall and hot summer, but I have time to listen to crunching sound of dried leaves under my boots. I have time to notice the stiff grass  on the ground. They would be gone eventually in the mid winter.

A mug of hot chocolat with mashmallow is always good at the end of the day in winter.

Can I Trust My Memory?

For a long time I thought the memory of my mother, my little brother T and I sat on the blanket on Sabak Beach on one sunny afternoon was mine. The sun was high in the sky, playing hide and seek behind the clouds and the tide was low. I could hear the wave crawled lazily along the narrow shore, and the air tasted salty,

We sat under two cashew nut trees that grew closed side by side, when I stood between two trees with both of my arms raised, my palms touched to both trunks. The branches and leaves etwined to each other, I thought the tree had two trunks. It was our favorite spot to have our little picnic. While my mother fed T with rice mashed with roasted banana, I would lie down on my belly watching the ants worked their ways from the ground up to the cashew trees. My mother packedd my lunch in an aluminium container: rice, half of deboned fried mackerel and steamed spinach.

The salty afternoon breeze, the heat and full stomach worked their magic to both of us. Very soon both of us fell asleep. My mother picked her needlework and worked quietly until my father returned from workshop. He walked down to the beach from our quarter to pick us up.

My father carried T in his arms, my mother gathered the blanket, her kembai, a little woven box made of mengkuang leaves  where she kept all her sewing tools and empty lunch container. I dragged my flip-flopped feet in white sand trying to convince my mother I was tired, therefore she should carry me too. My mother said, I was too big to be carried, besides I had to carry sleeping Tompok.

"Who is Tompok ?"

"Your stuffed cat that I made for you. Don't you remember?"

Wait a minute, how did I remember all the details from the type of fish I ate and the salty air, but I couldn't remember about Tompok? As a matter of fact I had no idea I ever had a stuffed cat named Tompok. My mother told me I abandoned Tompok after I hit our next door kid with it. The boy tried to snatch a plastic toy truck from my little brother T.

Did I get confused with the story I heard many times from my mother, that I thought it was my memory? I was almsot four years old then. Alice Kaplan in her memoir  French Lesson wrote in detail what her siblings taught her to say when she was three years old. So, may be it was my memory after all.

A Special Package From Holland

I thought it was a long day at work until I went to front door to answer the door and the mail man handed a package from Holland.

"It's about time, I was supposed to get this package before Thanksgiving." I eyed the package like a hawk looking for peeled-off tape or tore off brown paper. None.

"Eerrr....I really have no idea miss, this is not my usual route, but I was told the package was dropped at another zip. You can file a complain if you're not happy with what you see in the package."

"I'll keep it in mind. Thank you and have a wonderful day."

"You too miss, have a great weekend."

I closed the front door and dashed back to my office. I carefully peeled off the tape and unwrapped the brown paper. I've always thought to unwrap a package is like giving a direction to a blind persons. I have to go slow because they cannot see my arms and hands move here and there, up and down, left and right. So, while my breaths  became shallow, my chest was almost burst with desire to see what were inside the box, instead of quick and short rip of the tape, I pulled the tape slowly. I thought how carefully and neatly she wrapped each of little package and a bottle of apple chutney with bubble wraps and topped with burgundy tissue papers.

When all tapes, tissue papers and bubble wraps were put away, I have a bottle of apple chutney, an envelope of dry chamomile flower, a packet of katjang kerrie, a packet of katjang pedis and bedak batu on my desk. The home made apple chutney was super delicious. One third of it was gone before I left the office. I couldn't remember when was the last time I had a bedak batu on. I didn't know they still have it in Holland. Thank you so much Lisa. You are a GEM.