Beginnings

It has been exactly a week since I came down from Fraser’s Hill after a four-day English language workshop with 37 personnel of MINDEF. Going down was much less taxing on my nerves as the road is wider and the curves broader, so I could take in the rustic sights and colours with keener appreciation.

I can still feel the cool crisp air against my face and see the huge yellow hibiscus flowers and roses just outside the house I stayed in. The prettiest birds twittering, colourful butterflies fluttering here and there. There was an owl hoot-tooting to us on our way to class one night. Fresh in my mind, most of all, are the faces of the course participants, their smiles and laughter, their serious attention, anxious looks, witty and naughty responses…yes, except for the usual few dozing off in the middle of my sentences now and then, they were a very attentive lot. So much so that for the first time, I gave away a prize for the ‘most attentive student’. I didn’t know what was inside the package as it was provided by the training company that engaged me. I wish I had bought him ( and at least 5 others) a pocket dictionary or a book of idioms. I can usually spot a good listener from where I am standing.  

They were from branches all over the country doing different jobs. Such an interesting cross section….front liners, administrative staff, chef, nurse, health officer, drivers, human resource executives and more, at various levels of seniority. The youngest was a sweet 23-year old freshie…what an induction session for her meeting and mingling with colleagues of all ages from various departments and different walks of life. I remember how overwhelmed I was, intimidated even, at her age in such a situation. But she was fine, responding rather shyly when called on and participated well in the group projects. Thanks to the supportive team…brothers, sisters, uncles and aunties…with their many skills and experiences which they shared happily in the discussions and their presentations. During the group presentations on the last day, I always find myself letting the Manglish go as the floor is theirs then, unless I really don’t understand something they are trying to put across. But most of the time everyone seems to understand and after all, Manglish can be quite charming and on top of it all, fairly communicable. The confidence to speak while knowing your weaknesses where they are and practice, practice, practice…..is the surest way to ‘better spoken English’. And of course, listen and imitate….why, the last group that sang “Insyallah” understood what they were singing and their diction actually sounded good, clearly better than their spoken English. With two veteran crooners injecting colours and crescendos into the song, the group was received with ‘sing like an angel’ and ‘old tai, old tai’! 

While some may actually enjoy the brief stints in public speaking and are quite natural at it, I hope I have helped others to overcome their fear and anxiety over it to some extent. Seeing them make their small beginnings this way gives me my moments of joy on these occasions….because I was there once and I know how arduous the feat can be. 

As for grammar and sentence construction, except for quick refreshers on basic rules and patterns, I have yet to find a creative way of teaching grammar effectively within two to four days ( practically 8-12 hours maximum), without confusing anyone even more. My general advice is to read regularly and let the sense of grammar seep into your system naturally…then only can you fully benefit from my refresher and drill sessions even if it is for an hour. Read voraciously and you will be able to construct sentences with irregular grammar patterns which you yourself will not be able to explain, but know are perfectly right and appropriate. Because much of it is all about knowing instinctively what sounds right…instincts developed from familiarity with different styles of writing. Only if you choose to teach the language do you need to know the technicalities of the underlying grammar rules. I have to refresh myself on these from time to time to find even more effective ways of making them understood. That is the less fun part about my job, but not all English teachers will agree.    

    

I had an equally great time with the DBKL group the week before. There was great sharing between the staff who` came from varied units….library, finance, HR, facilities, sports (ex national footballer), enforcement and surveillance (horse rider), cultural group (dancer) and others. The training centre though was within easy reach of the offices they came from, so several participants were called back to attend to urgent tasks at random times, missing sessions or ending up staying for only a day or two days. They were sorry and so was I. Nevertheless, just like with the previous workshop, it was an enthusiastic group with a positive outlook. They would all have gained a lot more banded together away from the city. 

So yes, I’ve retired from regular work, the corporate world and the daily routines that go with it, but I’m far from retiring. Sometimes I feel that I’m just beginning…. to do the things I truly love. And to make new acquaintances who may pass my way but once and briefly, yet adds richness to my days. Insyallah, our paths will cross again.

Alman was asleep when I got home from Fraser’s Hill. I’m seldom separated from him, even for a day. When he woke up, he bounced over straight to me and clung tight while we swayed to ‘love song’ playing on my mobile, from beginning to end. Being there to see Alman make his small beginnings and holding his hand while he takes his little giant steps, makes ‘retirement’ a most rewarding period of my life. Alhamdulillah.  

Musings

These days I barely manage to flick through the newspapers to catch some bits of news and articles interesting enough to take up my precious time. Sometimes I put these aside in a ‘to read’ folder for a more relaxed time. What’s obvious is the crime desk reporters are not short of assignments, giving us our daily dose of shocks and warnings to be alert and cautious in and out of our homes.

Marina Mahathir’s column, “Musings”, in ‘The Star’ is among the items I usually do not postpone to read and I am so glad I did not miss it yesterday. I read it again this morning. For someone who is generally a cool observer on the fence on the country’s political matters (though I never fail to cast my vote on election day), I am moved. She certainly sounds like she is in her element in expounding her views on the case of the demolition of the surau in a resort in Sedili Besar, Kota Tinggi. I’ve read other like opponents’ opinions on the case and am totally in sync with their call for forgiveness and tolerance. But this one is brilliant, for one thing, reminding us of the history of the Kaaba and for another, appealing for the protection of the “voiceless and powerless”. I take my cap off (I sometimes do wear one in the sun) for the writer’s vehemence. When I first heard about the demolition of the surau, I found my mouth agape for a few minutes, then I kept it shut. Thanks, Marina, for shouting!! So eloquently that many, hopefully, will be shocked into listening for the betterment of their souls. For as I see it, at the core of the issue is the question of spirituality and humanity. And if her father were still the Prime Minister, I know he would have taken his stand and stopped the ruckus right there.

The picture of the excavator and the tumbling-down surau is not a pretty sight. Has it struck a raw nerve in the lifeline of  1 Malaysia, I wonder. Dichotomous as it may seem, perhaps the government should attempt to define the grey areas underlying the precept of 1 Malaysia so people could be more astute in making  decisions in religion-related matters and not simply follow their hearts.   
  

I still have my librarian’s habit of filing newspaper cuttings in folders under various subject headings, mainly as resource material for my English classes. I haven’t filed away this article yet. I’m not sure in which existing folder I should place it….’religion’, ‘writers/books’ or ‘miscellaneous’. Perhaps I should open a new folder and label it ‘religio-politics’ to borrow from Marina’s vocabulary…’religio-politicians’. Of course, not for teaching material but for my own musing. We do not discuss politics in class, just the semantics…sometimes.

       

  

Uncle Ta

 It was pouring down in torrents when I woke up at 4.45 this morning and peeped into the small adjoining bedroom to see my eldest son, Idzfan, doing his last bits of packing for his journey back to Sydney after a 3-week holiday. There is never enough time to complete the ‘to do’ list on holidays like this, he said, and even some important discussions had to be put on hold. But I’m completely contented with our early morning tete-a-tete in the kitchen (before Alman came down) over honey lemon tea , teh susu or mocha and toast. And so thankful he was going back in good health after a week’s spell of cough and cold during his second week home.

The deafening downpour lent an air of solemnity to the occasion as we moved about quietly  getting ready. His cousin Shahril was downstairs by 6.15 am as promised to drive him to the airport. The two are such compatible buddies. It was drizzling by the time we bade farewell at the gate.

Whenever the boys are home, they occupy my so-called day room and I would remove my personal things from there. This morning after I had put them back in, the room still looked empty, even emptier than before. The space and ambience resonate with the void in my life that has been inevitable since the boys left home. Thank God my daughter chose not to further her study overseas and has made good of her career here too.  I left the room quickly, after deciding to let some items lie where Idzfan left them…the kain pelekat and sejadah neatly folded on my bookshelf and his coins on the computer table. And I will leave the neatly done bed as it is too. At least his aura will still be there and I’m reminded that my sons are just 8- 9 hours away and do come home now and then.

The sun came up by mid-day, but it was still raining in my heart. But being able to visualize his life over there is such a great comfort. We had walked along his route to work, his jogging track, visited his favourite grocery store, coffee spots and eating places in the neighbourhood, just as Izaz had done with me in Melbourne. Growing up at home, they had always been pampered and waited on by ‘kakak’ and mama dearest, but they have quickly learnt to clean and keep house rather well on their own, and even cook decent meals. In fact, Izaz has acquired quite a reputation for his culinary skills. I must have done something right, Alhamdulillah. 

Though I miss them all the time, deep in my heart I’m happier knowing that they are where the pastures are greener for them. And there is always hope that the right time will come for us to live together again, in the same city or even at least in the same country. For now, family reunions are such a great blessing for us, especially now that Alman is in his tender formative years. He had called Idzfan “Ankevar” during the first week he was home, then later “Abang” and for 3 days before he left, “Ta”!

Putting his bath towel and red & white Lego football jersey (IDZFAN 10) in the wash, nostalgia gushed in too quickly. As for the bed sheet, pillow cases and quilt cover, they are Izaz’s favourite. I shall wash and put them back on just before he comes home next month.

Speaking of family reunions, I would like to thank Jijo for being our angel on our last trip to Melbourne…for lending us such a warm home in the cold season. And Zul and Oki too for adding to the gracious hospitality.  Wonderful memories of South Yarra are forever etched in our minds and I’m sure Alman will get recurring dreams of them as he grows up! I truly apologize for this late gesture. I had wanted to write as soon as we returned to KL, but daily routines leave me breathless most of the time and there is just too much to write about….the home, the company, the reunion, the animal farm, long walks in the city, the books I managed to read…that I kept postponing it for lack of a long quiet block of time. I may just get around to it one of these days. Selamat Hari Raya, maaf zahir dan batin.

  

Male role models

Conducted another 3-day workshop at JKR 2 weeks ago. More charming personalities and more remarkable moments for my treasure trove of memories and I thank God again for the opportunity, at this stage of my life, to experience the expandable joy of teaching. It is work and it comes with the necessary amount of stress in any objective-driven task, but it revs up my energy to design and perform. To keep myself stimulated, I need to not only dig into my stored resources, but also to stay current and replenish. So giving back doesn’t deplete but adds fuel for regrowth.

I’ve always noticed how mothers become the recurrent subject when we discuss vocabulary on character and personality. Usually 70% of the class (ages 25 and above) are women. When writing or talking about role models or one’s most unforgettable personality, they are quick to cite their mothers and would go into vivid details about their mother’s qualities and sacrifices with genuine pride. Some of the men do too. Like one wholesome character in this JKR group, an engineer in his early 40s, who reminisced being “a dark-skinned unattractive boy running around the village, fishing and rearing ducks and chicken with my mother, and gardening too”. All of which has nurtured his love of nature, being today ardent about bonsai gardening, scuba diving and fishing. No mention was made of a father figure. I guess he used to go fishing with his friends. In one workshop, after a round of praises for mothers, I even asked all the men which parent they were closer too. All of them said they were closer to their mother, though one retracted to say he was equally close to both parents. Of course there is the occasional tribute to a father or an uncle.

Given the typical scenario where fathers go out to earn income and mothers stay home to rear the children and keep house, it is hardly surprising that the men and women in my class have their mothers closest to their hearts. Bless them too as “syurga terletak dibawah telapak kaki ibu”. However, it has been at least 2 generations since double-income families have emerged as women too leave home to work, leaving the children with their grandparents, maids or other child-minders. Yet I know I will continue to receive more endearing poems and stories about mothers, rather than fathers, from my students.

Obviously the children acknowledge the multiple roles their mothers take on. Gloria Steinem, writer and feminist activist, have been quoted..”I’ve yet to be on a campus where most women weren’t worrying about some aspect of combining marriage, children and a career. I’ve yet to find one where many men were worrying about the same thing”. She has been criticized as being deluded in thinking that she represents the views of all women, but it is hard to dismiss most of what she says, for instance, “Some of us are becoming the men we wanted to marry”. Was she also alluding to something like “Some of us are becoming the men their husbands are supposed to be”? 

Lamenting on the rising social ills like domestic violence, child kidnapping, incest and rape, Asha Gill in her column “A singular life” (Star 2, Wed 6 Feb, 2013) appealed for good male role models for our boys, “someone around regularly enough to imprint the value and importance of becoming a real man…to teach them to fight, protect, laugh, cry and love..” She suggested the need for more men teaching in kindergartens and schools, more male nurses and community counselors, for our men to devote more time and energy in parenting. Echoing Steinem, she said “The Women have struggled for too long alone and now we need our Men to join us”. At the centre of her concern is her son LM (Little Man). My heart goes out to her and what she wants for LM, I too want  for Alman who is turning out to be a strong willed little man himself.

My own father was a man of substance who lived a simple life. He taught me the meaning of sacrifice and everything I stand for today, he instilled in me. While mother nursed the younger ones and did the household chores he was around to teach and watch over as often as he could. I am glad I was inspired to preserve my memories of him in “Abah’s legacy” as Alman needs to know his great grandfather, my beloved role model.   

   

Road less taken

On his second day home for holidays recently, Izaz came back after a ‘minum’ session with his bosom buddies (most likely at Susie’s corner, Red stall or Kadiaq) looking somewhat down. In his usual straightforward manner, he told me that his friends gave him an earful about his plan to stay on in Melbourne for another 2 years. At the moment, it would mean continuing on as a barista at 2 specialty coffee restaurants, jobs that he had taken during his final semester and that have given him his first sweet taste of financial independence. He first got his barista training and stint in KL while on a year leave from studies and has acquired a passion for the coffee business since.

   

‘When are you going to be serious?’

‘When are you going to join the corporate sector like us and start building your career?’

‘Don’t you think about marriage and having children?’

‘Don’t you think you should start networking?’

These were some of the questions lunged at him without any hint of curiosity about his work and what his actual plans were. I guess he was taken aback by their lack of interest in how he had fared in the last 18 months since they parted as, in actual fact, the period marked a significant milestone in his life. Amidst the completion of his degree studies, he had learnt to earn a living and to understand the meaning of self-empowerment. 

He could understand their point of view and the trappings that go with it. Such are the normative expectations at home immediately after one graduates…..get a regular job, a car, get married and start a family and so on. And soon enough one would be caught up in the rat race. He appreciated their concern, but I guess he wanted so much to share his recent experiences with them. The way they have shared the discoveries of their childhood and adolescent years.

It always tends to get lonely on the roads less taken. You’d have to have self-conviction and a strong resolve to meet the challenges of going against the flow. You have nothing to prove to anyone but  yourself of the worthiness of your venture. You may have clearcut objectives and ideas of what you want to achieve along, or at the end of, your journey. Perhaps you’d leave it to serendipity to lead you to new shores, greater heights. A corporate job would be more stable, more predictable. 

I was recently drawn to a recent article in the newspaper in which the writer pointed out the importance of knowing which doors are open and closed to you, and when, and which doors will never be open for you due to lack of talent, money or social capital. And that one should walk away from closed doors and move on. If passion had led Izaz into that open door on which he knocked many times to enter, now he knows that the blood, sweat and tears from that passion are making him stay inside. For he is immersed in everything behind the coffee culture – the beans, the recipe, the business, the work ethics, service quality, customer relations. And he has spoken to me about the career progression and options in the profession. Customers decide your rise and fall, so you are on your toes all the time. A corporate job would be more comfortable, more accommodating.

There was a time when Izaz was too shy to even give his orders to the waiter and he’d get nervous each time one of us would be up on stage singing or something. He’d grown out of that, of course, but is generally more introverted than otherwise though he can be a good conversationalist when he doesn’t mind talking instead of just listening. What he says, and how he says it, can make me burst out laughing sporadically. Working as a barista, he seems to enjoy seeing his customers return and getting to know them. As he told cousin Izi who was contemplating on taking a waitressing job…’Go for it, it will improve your communication skills.’ Companies pay a lot for staff training on communication skills in the corporate sector. The courses run from a day to two usually.

As long as you don’t dread that 20-minute train ride in the cold morning, anxious to be at work on time, do not feel the muscle strain in your arms while churning out the orders and appreciate the workout you get from carrying the hefty coffee bean bags, you know the adrenaline’s flowing. Just as I knew you’d never lose the gumption for computers when I saw you once, at 14, lying face down sideways with tears streaming to the floor in frustration over not being able to grasp C++ programming on your own. I had bought all the books you wanted and sent you to courses what-have-you. You would complete a story book in a single night just so you could get the latest issue of ‘electronic games monthly’ (our deal). You were fascinated by William, my office IT administrator, and wanted to know his profile, what kind of problems I would go to him for and how he would answer me, even his favourite colour, etc, etc! Gosh, you were hilarious…we had a good laugh in the office over that. Talk about passion…you had ground that out too. So I know the IT degree will find its place in your life someday. You’ll know when to enter that open door. Perhaps now you need a break from it all. As long as the happiness in those cuppas you serve bounces back to you, stay. And whatever career you eventually choose, I pray that it would indeed be your vocation too so the commitment would be total.  

So take only the positive side of what the critics have to say and rebut when you are not in your laid-back mood. A debate can be healthy. Staying mum is ok too…..’silence is golden’, says the wise one. The important thing is to live our moments consciously. Meanwhile I look forward to sms on your little coffee shop anecdotes. My favourite is about the Italian guy who drank your espresso silently and left a twenty dollar bill for you. Yeah, silence is golden….more often than not.