FUNNYACCENT

I Did It My Way

The sun showed up late today, not until around noon. It wasn't as warm as yesterday but it was still mild for mid winter. When I left the gym, the sky was bright, the wind whipped past me. As usual, weekend gives me a serene thought, a warm feeling that I would be home all day, doing what I enjoy: long run, cooking and reading. This morning before I left the house, I soaked six dried bean curds, three different shapes: folded, fan and knotted. During Ramadhan month while shopping at Ming Supermarket when I found cempedak, I also bought a packet of dried beancurd. My plan was to cook Masak Sayur Pucuk as my mother used to do, but I never came around to do it.

After the breakfast, before she stepped into her little garden, my mother would soak dried bean curd, dried glass cellophane noodles, dried monkey ears mushrooms and dried lily bulbs in a bowl of water. Then she peeled off six or seven potatos, rinsed them and put in the same bowl. Lilian from Penang Faces wrote an entry in May 2004 about fresh/dried lily bulbs .

When she was ready to cook, my mother rinsed all the ingredients, put in a pot and added light coconut milk and cooked it with a low heat.

For lunch today, I didn't prepared sayur pucuk but I added dried beancurd which I soaked it in the morning into spinach/cabbage/red pepper stir fried.

I didn't exactly followed the nasi briyani original recipe. I prepared the way I liked it. I used ground cardamom, ground fennel seed, corriander, cinnamon stick, star anise seeds, finely sliced ginger, raisins (I'm a sucker for raisins) and shallots. I added 1/3 of water and 2/3 of evaported milk. when the rice was scooped into a dinner plate I sprinkled roasted almonds.

When Live Becomes Evil

This is a month old article, Right Islam Vs. Wrong Islam , but it's excellent piece  and excellent writing doesn't fade away.

Mr Abdulrahman Wahid wrote:

"All too many Muslims fail to grasp Islam, which teaches one to be lenient towards others and to understand their value systems, knowing that these are tolerated by Islam as a religion. The essence of Islam is encapsulated in the words of the Quran, "For you, your religion; for me, my religion." That is the essence of tolerance. Religious fanatics--either purposely or out of ignorance--pervert Islam into a dogma of intolerance, hatred and bloodshed. They justify their brutality with slogans such as "Islam is above everything else." They seek to intimidate and subdue anyone who does not share their extremist views, regardless of nationality or religion. While a few are quick to shed blood themselves, countless millions of others sympathize with their violent actions, or join in the complicity of silence".

Read on.......

TanjungKatungAirnyaBiru, TempatMandiNakDaraJelita,SamaSekampungHaiLagiDiRindu..

Prosperity and Abundance

from all-yours.net

The left over snow from Monday snowy day on Washington Mall, downtown on my way to the gym this morning.

This Is Not a Kodak Moment

I was taking off my boots when the phone rang. I kicked the boot aside and dashed into a living room.

"Miss Thang, do you wanna go to the store with me?" Mari doesn't greet when she calls me.

"What store? Target? Stop & Shop? Ming? BJ? Walmart? Market Basket? Shaw? StarMarket ?"( I said starmarket with bostonaccent).

"Girrrrlllll, you must be working your ass out at the gym today, let's go to Shaw. Wanna go?"

I was out of oranges since this morning. "Yes, I'm leaving right now."

"Stay right there, I'm coming to pick you up." She hung up before I could say anything.

Whenever Mari says I'm coming to pick you up, it means she would walk over to my apartment from her place which is about five minutes walk. And the Shaw Supermarket is closer to her apartment than mine. But when she asks me to go with her to the Shaw, she would walk over to my place, knock on my door, and  wait outside.. We used to argue over the phone for at least ten minutes because I thought it was ridiculous for her to walk over to my place and both of us would walk past her apartment to the Shaw. I learned not to argue with her.

Each of us grabbed the green basket and headed our ways. She's on apples  bins, and  mine was citrus/oranges bins. The plantain was on sale, five for a dollar: I picked three green plantains and the other two were yellow but firm. As I putting them in a plastic bag, I felt something hit my shoulder blade, like a pebble. Before I found what hit me, a raw Brazil nut swooshed past under my earlobe. I picked up the  nut and turned around.

Mari was standing right in front of mixed nuts bin. She had a handful of nuts in her hand. She was looking right at me, with her forefinger she signaled me to go over to her. I knew it she was up to something because she wore  this mischievous expression.

"What's going on?" I looked around trying to find something unusual.

"Look at the guy in black beret at orange bin." A row of citrus fruits/orange bins was about ten feet from where we were.

It was an easy find. Two middle aged women were selecting Navel oranges, a man in gray sweatshirt was at tangerine bin and the man in black beret was at minneola orange bin. He was a big man, a six footer. He stood about 45 degree facing the bin.

He didn't seemed to be in a hurry like most shoppers who stop at the store after work. He held a briefcase in his right hand, his left hand was holding an orange, hung on his side. We could seehis left side profile. He stared at the oranges in the bin unblinking. Slowly my eyes went back to his left hand. He held the orange upward in his palm.

"Ohhh.....my godddd...." I sucked my breath, "do you see what I see?"

"That's why I threw you the damn nuts. Motherblip thinks he's caressing a nipple ". His big hand wrapped around the orange and his thumb moved up slowly, down and circled the top part of minneola orange. He was caressing the damn orange.

"This is a kodak moment,"

"Uh...uh...."Mari shook her head, "This is what the blip moment. Do you still want it? Let's go over and surprise him."

We walked to the bin with our eyes glued on his thumb. He didn't hear us until Mari noisily dropped the basket on the floor. The noise brought him back to the produce section. He knew we caught him in action. He tossed the orange back into the bin in a flash. He missed it. The orange fell on the floor and rolled away. His long strides took him to the cold cut in a jiffy. We looked at each other and burst out laughing. I couldn't wait to go home and share this episode.

When Questions Are Not Necessary

Last week I ran into Nal at Rodney Bookstore in Central Square. I was at the cash register when I heard a voice called my name. I turned around and there she was armful with books up to her chin. It has been a while since we talked. We were in Addiction class at BHCC. We met again at UMass in spring 2004. After the long weekend of holiday , Nal didn't return to the class. Nobody heard anything from her.

You could imagine how shock I was when I saw her standing right in front of me. She moved forward, dumped the books on the glass counter and hugged me. She had myrrh body oil on her, "...And you're still with Tunisia Sandalwood,"   I pushed her gently away from me and looked at her in amazement, "My goodness, I was thinking about your myrrh."

It was good to see a familiar face.

She quickly paid for her books and we walked into Au Bon Pain, two doors  away from Rodney.

We carried our trays and chose a cozy spot at the far corner. I sat at the end of two small tables that put together. I sat against the wall. Nal sat on my left, facing the street. Both of us got the full view of the side walk and Massachusetts Avenue or Mass Ave. as Bostonians are fondly refer to.

"So, where have you been all these times, Nal?"  I dunk my biscotti into my coffee.

"Ooohhh.....it's a long story, but I'm glad I'm back in Boston. It' s funny though, I wasn't really happy when I was here, but you have no idea how much I missed this city." She tore off a small piece of her croissant. She looked ahead, but her expression told me her mind eyes looked beyond Mass Ave., away from where we were.

While I've gained a few pounds for the past two years, Nal lost a considerable amount of weight. The last time we were in the class, she told me she wanted to lose at least twenty pounds. Her aunt spoiled her with her favorite Moroccan dishes every other day. That was the second time Nal mentioned about her family. She told me once she was born and raised in Rabat. She lived a few years in Deauville, a seaside town in Normandy with her aunt and her aunt's husband before they moved here.

Her high cheekbones, once her prominent feature looked out of place because of her sunken cheeks. She had a dark circles under her big eyes, but the twinkles were still there when she smiled,  so she still had her sense of humor. She cut her thick, auburn hair short, just above her shoulder. Once, in the class I teased her about her thick hair. I told her if she accidentally drop a hair pin in her hair, she wouldn't be able to find it. She laughed so hard.

She doesn't have the physical beauty like other Moroccans or Middle Eastern women I've met before. But she carries this pleasant aura around her, when she talks , her eyes penetrates right through you. She doesn't walk, she glides gracefully as a dancer does, straight spine, erect eyes look ahead.

She's staying for good this time. She's just moved into one bedroom apartment in Cambridge. "No matter what happen this time, I'm not going to listen to them anymore. I've been doing that all my life. I'm tired of being told what to do. I'm tired of being told when should I get married, who should I marry to, what should I do with my life. I have to take care of myself. I owe it myself. I owe it to my parents." She ripped the croissant into halves, put the bigger piece back into a tray and spread the butter on the smaller piece with a plastic knife. She pressed the butter so hard with the knife, she flattened the ripped croissant. She put down the knife on the napkin. As she picked up the buttered croissant, I put my hand on her right arm.

"Nal, don't eat it." I looked at her flushed face.

"What?"

"Don't eat it. There is so much anger in that piece. Don't eat it. Lemme get you a new one." I walked up to the steel baked goods rack across the dining room, grabbed a tissue paper and picked the most beautiful croissant in the basket. I paid for the croissant , picked up a few pieces of mini butters and walked back to our table.

"Ana, thank you for not asking me questions. I don't realize how angry I was at them until I looked at the croissant." She wiped her moistened eyes with the tips of her fingers. Darn.......she was still graceful even when she cried. I would be wiping my nose and eyes with the back of my hands or my shirt sleeves.

We sipped our coffees and watched the people walked outside the cafe' and traffic flows on Mass Ave. Contend.

           Malam ini kasih,  Teringat aku pada mu, seakan kau hadir menemani di sisiku

Penang Malaysia

I knew it was going to be a warm and sunny day, but to be out in the open without a wool hat, glove and heavy winter coat in the middle of winter in New England was a superbless. 61 degree all day. Tris and I met outside Macy's in downtown after the workout.

To celebrate the warm winter weekend, we had lunch at Penang on Washington Street. We ordered Char Koay Teow and Buddha's Basket, taro roots, mashed and deep fried in a basket form. Inside the basket, chicken,  green/red peppers, snowpeas, mushrooms, onions  and plenty of roasted cashewnuts, prepared in ginger sauce. So much for the workout.

When Looking Is Not Seeing

After we passed through a metal detector at a district court house,  LK's Probation Officer told me I wasn't needed there after all. "Wonderful," I clasped my hands together, beaming at her.

"Great, I thought you'd be upset". All these past weeks when we talked on the phone, her bubbly and girlish  voice painted her as in late 20's, medium height, athletic type body and friendly face. Boy oh boy, was I wrong.

She was in  late 30's or early 40's, light brown hair with streak of gray, out of shape even for a six footer, one hell of a menace looking woman.

"Upset? It's gorgeous outside. I'm going to walk across the  Garden before I head back to work."

We talked for a few minutes, and I was trying very hard to shake the image of Bengal Tiger in front of me, and when she opened her mouth, all I could hear was......."meowwww," while she was praising LK's positive changes since she entered the program.

I crossed Tremont Street walked past Park Street toward Boston Garden. Today was the kind of winter day everybody wanted to be outside.  Mid 40's and a few patches of clouds in the sky.

A couple of runners in a matching Nike blue/white tights ran past me.   A true runners, not like me who put away my running shoes during cold weather. Maybe I should give it a try next week.

My thought about running this weekend paused when I passed this strange looking tree. I stood and looked at it in amazement. It looked like a giant had pulled out a second tree from somewhere, shook out all the leaves and soil, and put it upside down on this tree. Then the giant flattened the roots with his huge palm.

This was not one of my usual running routes, but I've ran and walked many times  this way in the past. How could I missed it? How could I have not noticed there was another tree on top of the tree?

Space Invaders

I didn't plan to write this entry, but what the heck, respect should come both ways. Some old folks think they can get away by embarassing, humilating and disrespectful to the younger generation. They expect the young people to respect them just because 'I'm older than you' mentality but at the same time they choose to ignore the rules they make.

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Two months after my mother's death in November 2004, I made a long list of all my mother's siblings and relatives who were at her funeral. My sister KN and my baby brother's PaU put together their names and addresses or phone numbers and e-mailed it to me. I divided the names into two groups. Names with their addresses and names with their phone numbers.

I went out and bought a few dozen blank cards, wrote thank you  notes and mailed them. It was easy, but nobody ever told me making two or three phone calls in one day to thank your relatives who live twelve hours ahead of local time was emotionally exhausting. My first call to my cousin Abang Dan in Sungai Petani lasted 40 minutes. He passed the phone to his wife, a soft spoken Kak Seha. She wanted to know if I ate hamburger and hot dog everyday? Don't I miss sambal belacan?
"No, Kak Seha, I don't eat hamburgers and hot dogs. As a matter of fact I never had a hamburger or a hot dog since I've been here."

"Huh?....Hang tak makan hamburger, habih tu hang makan apa?" -You don't eat hamburger? So, what do you eat?

"I eat different types of food, but I cook Malaysian dishes every week."

"Ohhh...betui ka? Pasai apa hang tak masak haghi-haghi? Aku masak haghi-haghi hang tau ka. Abang Dan hang bukan nya nak makan gulai semalam. Mana hang dapat ghempah ghatus? - Ohh really? Why don't you cook everyday? I cook everyday you know. Abang Dan (referred to her husband) doesn't eat a day old curry. Where do you get all the ingredients? I kicked my socks under the coffee table and took a deep breath.

"There are many Asian stores which carry Indonesian,  Cambodian, Vietnamese, Phillipines and Indian products and......"

"Really? So you have no difficulty to prepare our food?"

"Not at all."

When she stopped to breathe, I told her I have to hang up. I have more names to call.

The second call was quick and smooth.

"No, Mom isn't home. She is at Kak Lela's house. She's having a baby."

I told her I wanted to thanked her parents and asked her to give my regards to them.

The third call answered by a young man. He was my second cousin, the sixth son of Abang Malik, one of my many cousins whom I met when were in the late 20's. He must be in an elementary school when the last time I visited his family.

I introduced myself  and told him the reason I called his parents. He didn't believed me I called from Boston.

"Boston kat U.S kah? Ellehhh......Ulu Selangor kut." He laughed at his joke.

"Ulu Selangor pun Ulu Selangor lah, please tell your parents I said thank you. Assalamualaikum."

The next five months I made 24 short, very short and medium length calls. I treasured and enjoyed some of the chats I had with Mak Teh, Mak Long, Tok Lang, Tok Ngah, Pak Ndak, Pak Itam, Mak Uteh, and all the names I couldn't remember, but a few of them  I wished I never made.

The last call was to one of my mother's younger brothers who has been living in Singapore for more than fourty-five years. He wasn't home when I called, but his wife was. I met her a few times when I was working in Bukit Timah many years ago.

Before I even finished my well rehearsed thank you speech, she shot me with series of questions. Pop..pop...pop...pop...pop...pop..pop...like kernels popped in popcorn popper.

1. Why can't you live here (Malaysia)?
2. Why do you want to live so far away?
3. Is your husband White or Malay? Laki kau orang ape?
4. What do you do? Ape kau buat kat sane?
5. How much do you make? Banyak mane gaji kau?
6. How much does your husband make? Banyak ke gaji laki kau?
7. How many children do you have?
8. How much do you make a month?
9. What does your husband do?
10. Why don't you have a child?
11. Who's going to take care of you when you're old?
12. Do you and your husband make a lot of money?

She asked me all twelve questions without giving me a chance to answer none of it until she got to number twelve.

Out of respect I answered her first four questions. And for the rest of her fuckup mentality questions, I told her in respectful manner the only person I answered those questions was my mother. It took her for a few seconds to absorb the shock. It was a long ackward moment. Finally, I repeated my heartful thank and wished her and her husband  a blessed trip to Mecca which would take place in  three weeks. The were leaving on the first Hajj flight from Changi Airport.

After I hung up, it occured to me that while  I was listening to my Singaporean uncle's wife interrogated me over the phone I kept hearing the sound of a sucking noise coming from her. It was the kind of noise you make when you eat an ice cream Malaysia. I wonder if she was still having those lips blisters that she used to have fifteen or sixteen years ago.

I called my sister KN and asked her about it. Yes, KN said, she still has it.

Do We Have the Same Dream?

Lets us continue his  legacy.

Don't Be Skurred When You're In The Kitchen

Jade and Kris have a four year old daughter who asked for a pancake three or four times a week for breakfast. Jade and Kris run out of idea to improvise their daughter's craving for pancakes. Their discussion over their daughter rarely escaped me because they sat right behind me in the class at the university.

"How about banana pancake?" I turned around to share some ideas.

"We  already did it. Kris sliced a banana and topped over pancake." Jade answered for Kris.

"No....no, I meant banana pancake is when you mash the banana and add it into pancake batter, then you get banana pancake." My kind of banana pancake.

"Can you do that?" Jade was skeptical.

"Why not? We eat the food, not the other way around.  Or you can try fluffy pancake."

"Fluffy pancake? Do tell us." They looked at each other as they'd just hit a jackpot.

So my fluffy pancake became a hit in my class last semester. I shared the recipe with my fellow classmates. They oohhh and aaahhh when they looked at my first  fluffy pancake.I learned about it which was called David Eyre's pancake when I was surfing The Food Section. Then I read NotMartha's pancake experience in her kitchen, I knew I had to give it a try. My first  attempt of experimenting fluffy pancake came out better than I expected. I had to pat my back for my effort.

one minute out of the oven

The following week Jade dashed toward me as I got off the shuttle bus inside the campus.

"It didn't rise." She looked at me with an accusing eyes.

"What was it that didn't rise?"

"Your pancake."

"My pancake?"

"Yeah.....your pancake."

"Excuse me ma'am, my pancake rose all right. It was your pancake that collapsed, I believe." Jade must've had messed up the ingredients. Since I shared the pancake recipes a few weeks before, two of classmates told me their pancakes didn't come out the way they should be. They 'forgot' to include the fact they altered the recipes. Either they added the flour, reduced the milk or open the oven door too soon.

"I told her not to add the flour.....," Kris elbowed Jade's rib fondly, "and she took a peek fifteen minutes after she put the pan in the oven." Jade glared at Kris with her steel blue eyes.

"Aaahhhh.................you forgot to mention that."

"Well......one third cup of flour, one third cup of milk and two eggs  seems too much for Isis."

"Why do you want to feed her the whole pancake? It's a lot of pancake, I can't even finish it myself."

"Oohhh....do you mean it's not for one person?"

"It's up to you. But fluffy pancake easily fills you up. I tell you what, why don't the three of you come over to my place this weekend, we can do it together in my kitchen?"

Jade and Kris said yes before I sealed my offer.

On Saturday morning at 10 am sharp, Jade, Kris and Isis stood outside my door.

While Isis in the living room rearranging my bookshelves, three of us set up to work.

Before noon, a little piece of pancake left on a plate Jade and Isis shared.