Guess what's my boys' favourite three-letter word?

‘Ibu, adik push me ..!’

‘Ibu … just now, when I was going to sleep, adik follow whatever I say … ‘

‘Ibu! .. Abang Imin poke my eye … !’

‘Ibu … when I was walking just now, adik push me .. at this side (indicate side of body) .. pain, ibu …”

‘Ibu ..!! Abang Imin touch my head .. like this!! .. (demonstrate by vigorous shaking of head) … ’

‘Ibu .. Ibu .. just now (whisper), adik did not listen to Mak … He (describe in detail what allegedly happened) … ‘

‘Ibu! Ibu! .. Abang Imin play with my head!..’

No doubt, I’m the Complain Center to the boys too.

.: In times of peace and quiet ...

I just finished a telephone conversation with Ibu Ros.

It gets me thinking – this telephone conversation. I see Ibu Ros on a daily basis, except for the days when I go back to my own home – 2 days, 2 nights out of a week. Often, during the day of any days of the week, we would call each other. Sometimes, there’ll be no reasons for the call, aside from saying things like ‘Kau buat apa, ah? Aku boring/penat/ngantuk etc. ni …’

And of course, never a day passes, if we are apart, that we do not sms each other.

It gets to a point when my boys notice something – when Hubs is with me, and my phone rings/sms-alerts, it must be Ibu Ros. And when Ibu Ros is with me, and my phone rings/sms-alerts, it must be Hubs (at least, most of the time).

Has anyone out there experience or is experiencing this kind of ‘closeness’ that I do with Ibu Ros?

When was the last time you did something for the first time?

Well, for me, it is earlier today, at 11.30am. When the boys were in school, I went for my very first pedicure! Hee. Well, not much of an experience but it was certainly good having someone to fuss over my long-suffering toes. I had them soaked, buffed, shined (no polish, of course) and had my calf scrubbed and massaged. The salon was located at one of the alleys at Festival Market – pretty secluded – so there were no worries about having to hike my jeans up to my knees.

At the end of the session, I could practically smile at my own reflection, just by using my toes.

Hee. That’s, of course, an exaggeration!

Yesterday, I was standing in the MRT and the same PRIORITY SEAT sign was staring right in my face. Again, I was disturbed by how ‘wrong’ I think the signage was. But as I was looking and staring and reading (to myself, of course), I realized why the sign was written the way it was.

Be considerate. Give up this seat

to a passenger with special needs.

This signage is actually a prose. There is a need to rhyme ‘seat’ with something else, and thus ‘needs’ is chosen. The ‘correct way’ is being sacrificed for this ‘need’ (pun intended) indeed.

Sigh .. got this in the mail, courtesy of Hubs:

You, (my full name), are charged that on XX Sep 2008 at XXX PM along XXX, you did drive a motor vehicle no SJA XXXXA at a speed of 82 KMPH. You are being offered an opportunity to have the offence compounded for $XXX. If we do not receive your payment by 16 Oct 2008, we will put you in jail for a life time.

Somehow, the last 8 words are being tampered with.

There goes 6 demerit points.

Try as I might

Struggling as I am now

The agony of my lids

Threatening to darken my world

The cold engulfs and bites my body so

My toes shivered and my teeth chattered

Oh go away

I am trying

A honest living to earn

 ...

Many people remember this date and would associate it with the misfortune that befell the States in 2001. The mere mention of ‘9-1-1’ or ‘September 11’ would conjure images of airplanes crashing, building collapsing like a deck of cards and people jumping off in an ironical attempt to save their lives.

I’m no different. I can still remember the day (or night, as it was in Singapore, at the time of the disaster) very clearly.

But what I have in mind is quite dissimilar.

I remember, on 11 September 2002, my father was trying very hard to sit up on my bed, which had been moved to the living room (so as to accommodate the many people who came to visit him during that time). My brother was there – he had stayed the night. I was there too, accompanying my father, propping him up with as many pillows I could get. My father – he was so weak, he did not have the energy to sit up on his own, and often the pillows would sag and slant under his pressure. I remember, at one point, my brother, was back to back with my father, supporting him (my father) with his eyes (my brother) closed – he was asleep.

I remember, at that time, I was chatting with my father. But I cannot recall what about. I remember though, I was thinking at that time, I just had to keep him accompany. My father – he could not really talk comprehensively. Sometimes, he would point at the closed door and urged me to open it, to let some imaginary guests in. Sometimes, he would even identify the guests – all of whom I knew at that time had passed on.

So as to keep the conversation flowing, I had the television on. My father and I would look at the screen and I would comment on whatever was showing at that time.

That’s the time, as I was fiddling with the remote, I came across one of those (in)famous footage – that of a journalist standing in front a building on fire and speaking into the camera. I did not realize at that time it was LIVE, and just at that moment, an airplane crashed into the same building behind the journalist. I thought it was a movie.

I remember I pointed it out to my father. At that time, my father could still open his eyes. I cannot recall if he commented anything.

That is what I remember very clearly about September 11. Many the world over remember the disaster – I remember the time I had with my father.

The former, at first I did not know it was for real. But the latter, I know it was for real. It was physical in front of me at that time, and had I known he would passed on five days later, I would have continued chatting him up till his last breathe.

Come 16 September, it would be exactly 7 years. I wish he could have stayed on. I wish he could have seen that his youngest daughter here has married well and I wish my husband and children would have known him the way I did.

I do not know why I blog about this – now and at this time. I think this is the very first time I ‘talked’ about it – the correlation between September 11 and the night I spent with my father.

I guess, in a personal albeit different way, I do share the deep sense of loss each time September 11 comes a-knocking.

I miss you, Bapak.

XX is an excellent grade. It's an A. The passing grade is XX.

This brings to mind a scene from the movie Dangerous Minds (one of my favourites). Michelle Pfeiffer was telling her students: It is EASY to achieve an A, but to MAINTAIN it .. well, that’s another story …

The battle begins.

IKEA (Tampines) is now the new Geylang.

It was very packed - oh, never mind it was the fasting hours - more Malays were seen than at any time of the year. Many were also seen carting trolley-full of home decorations, rugs, lamps etc. Why, do you know that IKEA even stocks Hari Raya kuih? Completely endorsed with the all-very-important HALAL labels. From Sweden? I don't know - maybe. The price? Raja Kuih, go and eat your heart out!

Queues were long and with each consumer’s trolley as big (and full) as a baby elephant, the lines appeared even longer.

Ka-ching! The registers just could not stop singing … all the way to the bank, I must say.

Geylang may be nostalgic and tradition, but if you favor air-conditioned building and the convenience of having child-minders for at least an hour while you go and attend to your shopping list (Geylang can never, ever provide this much-needed-but-much-scarce service), well … you now know where to go.

Last night, I had a conversation with Cactus. We talked ... about many things .. yada yada .. and then, the conversation turned to something and this something caused me to say the following, which I kinda like (what I told her) …  not the content, though. Just how the words came together and held in-depth information while appearing seamless.

diva™ says: there is already a commitment, and so i have to be honorable.

diva™ says: there has been no commitment to honours, and so by then, i have to view my priorities again.