Dancing Queen

Boom-Da-Da-Da-Da-Boom! Boom-Da-Da-Da-Da-Boom!

Beads of perspiration were slowly sliding down her nape. The smoke machine spouted its jet of mistiness.

She closed her eyes and danced, swinging her hips from side to side. She imagined a group of refined and elegant audience in bow ties and evening gowns. But the rave music pounding in her ears simply blew the imagination apart each time she tried comforting herself. This was no Royal Ballet troop performing The Swan Lake before Queen Elizabeth. This was a god damn sleazy, girly bar.

She continued swaying her body to the rhythm of the music. The crowd of men sitting below the stage was getting frenzy. Their breath reeked of booze. From the corners of her eyes, she saw her stage partner gyrating wildly with the pole. The men cheered. They wanted more.

The DJ nodded his head, signalling the end of the first set. They both took a bow and walked off stage. The crowd of men sneaked tips into their lacy brassieres as they walked past. They wanted flesh. They were hungry for flesh. Yes, they were, these men in their un-ironed shirts and unkempt hair. “How much for tonight?” one of them shouted. The rest of his mates cheered loudly.

Her face flushed with fury. Men can be so weak, she thought. But who was the weaker one now? She rushed to the wash closet and into one of the cubicles. Not even time to shut the broken door, she retched into the bowl.

“You better get used to it soon, sister. It’s already been a week. Just treat it like any other job. Don’t get personal. It’s legal and we’re making our living. Look at how much tips you got stuffed in your breast tonight and you’ll come back for more! You said you love dancing………"

She looked at Thuy, powdering herself and re-applying fire engine red lipstick on her luscious lips. Thuy continued talking on and on as she adjusted her breasts into her next outfit. Disgusted, she locked herself in the cubicle. She took out the stash of money from her lacy brassiere and counted them. “500,000 Dong,” she thought. And then she imagined making ten times the amount, if only….

A loud bang startled her.

“We’re up next! Hurry up! You’re not even dressed! Get over it girl!”

She opened the door and looked at Thuy. Thuy was clearly a veteran with this scene. Thuy had no qualms about dancing in skimpy outfits, baring her cleavage for the deprived audience. A mutual friend had introduced Thuy when she was looking for work.

They went on stage to perform their next set. He sat there, amongst the rowdy crowd, watching her. Watching her close her eyes as she swayed, her face expressionless. They had told him this club was worth checking-out. Now, he wasn’t sure if they were referring to the clinically white interior decoration with ultra-violet lights, or the girl on stage with her eyes closed. There was something about her, he thought. She was not a beauty queen, but there was something about her, certainly.

As their final set ended, she braced herself for the ordeal of her breasts being squished by a hundred palms. She thought only of the money waiting to be uncovered once she gets to the wash closet. Suddenly, she felt someone hold her hand. Then she felt a bill being slipped into her palms. She looked at him. She had seen him here before. They exchanged stares for a mere second before Thuy rushed her off.

She looked at the USD100 bill. He had given her USD100 without stuffing it in her breasts. Why? If anyone in the crowd had that much of a tip to be generous with, they would have wanted to tear her flesh away as violently as possible.

“He gave you how much???” Thuy exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. “Oh, sister, he wants to have sex with you!” Thuy continued excitedly about the amount of Mac make-up or new dresses from SXS she could buy with the money. Thuy was different. Thuy loved typical women’s decorative items. That’s her main reason for loving money. She could obtain all these easily. Yet, she will never go the extreme of bedding for money. She looked at Thuy and thought, for all the ways she danced appallingly on stage, she might as well have.

The next few nights, she began to notice she had a fan in the midst of the crowd. She saw him staring intently at her, night after night.

“Meet me outside. I’ll wait for you.” The note had read.

He saw her coming out from the backroom exit, walking down the alleyway. She was out of her skimpy-too-much-lace, two-piece outfit and is now in casual low-cut jeans and a baby-blue blouse.

“Hello. I just wanted to buy you a cup of coffee,” he said as she approached him.

“There’s no coffee place opened at this hour,” she replied him, feeling very nervous.

“Oh, the ones on the sidewalks are still opened, I believe,” he said smilingly.

They sat at the 5-foot way on Nguyen Van Thu street, sipping hot coffee. The chilly air of the night was pleasurable after a night at a stuffy girly bar. After the rainy season and nearing the Tet Festivals, the air was always cooling. I should’ve brought my sweater, she thought. The silence between them only made the surrounding sounds of teaspoon stirring a coffee cup more obvious. Saigon, in the wee hours of the morning, has toned down from blaring honking to soft clinking of a teaspoon.

“Do you have a name that I can perhaps call you, other than ‘em’?” he asked. His hair was slightly ruffled by the winds. His fair skin was a contrast to his dark hair and brows. But he looked pleasant. He looked sincere.

Startled by his question, she answered abruptly, “Hoa Hong.”

“Hoa Hong….. does it mean anything?”

She looked at him. She was growing nervous, yet agitated by the minute. What does he want? She dug her nails into her jeans, trying to calm herself down. Ironically, the soft metal clinking of teaspoon in coffee cup was a comfort. The darkness save for a small light bulb at the stall was a comfort.

“Do you want to have sex with me because you gave me one hundred dollars? I will give it back to you because I don’t have sex for money.”

He eyed her, a little taken aback by her remark. He studied her features. The air carried her fringe softly, toying with it playfully, tossing it around. He blinked once, quickly. It was a memory snapshot. He wanted to remember her that way. His heart warmed at that snapshot. Asian women have always appealed to him. But this one, he thought, had captured every meaning of beauty.

“No, that was not my intention. I’m sorry you felt that way,” he finally said.

She kept silent. She thought of all those times, her mother have warned her against being seen with a foreign man. “You know how those bastards are always after our local whores for a cheap fuck! I don’t want you branded as one by walking next to a white man!” She cringed. “If only you could look at me now, ma. I’m no better than a whore,” she thought silently, of her bed-ridden mother, in their home province, Can Tho.

He saw an entwined mixed of emotions in her eyes. Her face expressionless, yet her eyes, her eyes spelt sadness, frustration. And it seemed distant. He broke her train of thoughts.

“So, tell me what does Hoa Hong means?”

“It means rose, a flower,” she replied, casting her eyes lower than his. He noticed the slight act of natural submission. For a while now, he had thought that the submissive side of Asian women were lost in the throes of development. Clearly, this girl is not from the city then, he thought.

“That’s sweet, really. A rose. I like it.”

“It’s not good.”

“Why is it not good? A rose is a very pretty flower.”

“Because Vietnamese people believe that if you name a daughter after a flower, she will never be happy in this life.”

Right there and then, he wanted to be the one to give her a perfect life. A happy life. Maybe there was something in the air that night that made him want to reach out, to hold her hand, and never to let go. His memory went back to his earlier ‘snapshot’. He knew what was missing from that picture. A smile. Yet, right now, he didn’t know how to tell her that.

“But my mother loved roses, that’s why,” she continued, seemingly unaware of his thoughts.

“Are you tired? Do you want to go home to rest?” he asked gently, realizing it was way past a normal person’s bedtime. He would gladly squat at this miserably shaky table, looking at her for the rest of the night. However, he did not want to keep her out too late.

Once again, agitated by not knowing what was this white man’s objective of pursuit, she questioned him. “What do you want? From me?”

He bade her farewell as she mounted her Chinese-made motorbike. He had wanted to be her friend, he had told her. He walked on down the street, turning into Mac Dinh Chi road to the Somerset Chancellor Court serviced apartments. As he turned his key unlocking the door to his apartment, he made up his mind to look her up every night for coffee, and smiling hopefully, for it to progress to dinner someday.
________________________________________________

He looked at her face, as it rested on his hairy chest, her eyes closed. Her complexion was beautiful and he was tempted to kiss her again. Her skin was almost like soft satin. He closed his eyes, flashing back to the events of the past eight months. They had talked; they had gotten to know each other. So, lying next to him was another typical case of the human flesh, falling prey to social circumstances. Young girl, forced by the conditions of a dying mother and an alcoholic father to seek gold on the streets of Saigon, only to realize, there are much quicker ways of doing so, then to clean some backroom wash closet. But this girl had a dream. A dream that didn’t involve being swept away by a rich knight in shining armour. But just a simple dream of becoming a ballet dancer and dancing before a crowd of sophisticated audience. And she can dance. She certainly can dance. He smiled as he remembered her graceful movements copied from some dancer in the square box. But the dream was shattered by a father who constantly whiled away his time at the bia hois, drinking and gambling.

His arms enclosed around her tighter. He wanted to be her hero. She was not like the typical Vietnamese girl that all his mates talked about. She was not after his money. Hell, she didn’t even know how much money he had. She was just a simple girl, beautiful in her own ways, gentle and kind. She was perfect.

She opened her eyes. Lying under the sheets next to Ian, a sense of embarrassment suddenly overcame her. She was stark naked, next to a foreign man. But Ian was so gentle just now. He made sure she was ready, made sure she was not nervous, kissing her ever so softly, yet passionately. She thought of him, and how he had cared enough to listen. How he had started loving her since the first 5-foot way coffee they had. But where will all this lead? In time, he would have to go, finish his contract and leave her. Vietnam is after all, a place where foreigners make their money and get out. Hardly a retirement ground. She felt sad all over again.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him, as her fingers twirled around the hair on his chest.

“Thinking, I would like you to stop working at that silly bar,” he answered, smiling at her.

Her eyes searched him. Doesn’t he know she needs the money?

“I know what you must be thinking, but I would look after you. And your mother. I promise,” he continued.

“What if you go away? Who will look after me then?” she asked, feeling slightly dazed at his sudden request. Is he starting to feel embarrassed that she is a sleazy dancer?

“If I go away, I want you to come with me. We would live in a house, have lots of babies, and there are many ballet schools in America too, you know. And then you can dance. You can dance for the President! You will charm him, like how you have charmed me!”

“I can go to a ballet school?” she asked disbelieving what she just heard. He nodded.

And for the first time, he saw her break into a real smile. He rolled her over and started kissing her again as he gently pushed her legs apart.
_______________________________________________________________

The bus ride to Can Tho took them approximately 2 hours, with some leg-stretching stops along the way. He was going to meet her parents. This was not his first time in Can Tho. But it was a first time he was travelling with a local girl who hails from the province. He had always thought the sunlight in Can Tho special – like honey but lacked the dazzle.

Lying centrally in the Mekong Delta, Can Tho boasts of rich lands for farming purposes. With its dense canal networks, the city central where the green belts surround it, it is also known as “The Kingdom of Succulent Fruits and Flowers”. He especially loved the tamarinds, which is grown by the people of Can Tho as their livelihood.

He thought that something about the distinct smell of muddiness made Can Tho seemed surreal. As surreal as Hong standing next to him now, as she tried to flag down any willing xe ongs to take them to her humble abode.

“Three on a motorbike, okay?” she turned to ask Ian.

“Um… yea, okay,” he replied, trying to figure out how is it that the Vietnamese people carry so much load on their motorbikes, and yet survive another ride. He had seen them ferrying washing machines, sofa sets, even coffins on their tiny Honda Cups, while zig-zagging through the hellish traffic of Saigon city. But he had also seen a thousand of them, who never did survive another day, even if they did not carry heavy loads on them. The traffic conditions of Saigon were not something that a foreigner can easily understand.

They got on the motorbike, with Hoa Hong sitting, sandwiched in the middle between the xe ong, and him. The air was still cool to the skin. He just can’t bear for the hot season to come around after March. The humidity during then would seem like breathing through a warm, wet washrag. But for now, he will just enjoy the cool air.

45 uncomfortable minutes later, they arrived at the entrance of an alleyway. He had not been to this part of Can Tho. He read the sign above the narrow alley – “Khu Pho Van 4” He looked at the poor, crooked conditions of the houses (if you could call them houses) erected on both sides of the alley. The houses were narrow, as narrow as the alleyway and the fact that it was narrow made it seemed tall, although it was only one-and-a-half storeys. Kids in ragged, greasy clothes were playing catch on the alleyway, laughing, and shouting merrily. Suddenly, the air didn’t smell so fresh anymore. Horribly, it had started to smell very real. Very real indeed for those who hardly gave poverty a thought. It was so easy to brush aside poor living conditions and the arid smell of urination everywhere when one lived in luxury daily. Saigon was not the cleanest city in the world, but where he lived was definitely a hundred times cleaner. And he grew up in a very clean city in the United States. This was a reality slap right across his face. He suddenly wanted very much to hop on the xe ong and ride away from the stench.

She saw his look of hesitation on his face and felt embarrassed. She shouldn’t have brought him here. To show him the filthy condition she grew up in. To further accentuate her poverty level. She grimaced inwardly at the humiliating thought.

“We can go. It’s okay. My Mom is not well anyway,” she said, finding his eyes.

“No, no. Which one is yours?” he gestured vaguely to the houses. If she was embarrassed, he was even more so. Shame on you, Ian, he thought. He lived in a world of difference from this shit hole. He grew up never without enough money to splurge. He forgot reality lurks everywhere around the world. Yet, shame aside, he thought it easier to brush these realities aside than to face them. How much does it take to get rid of world poverty? Easy – a click on the mental “off” button.

He was relieved to find her home far away from the stench that made him want to throw out his breakfast this morning. He was even more relieved when she told him that her mother was asleep when they arrived at the house. But he knew he had to get out of here soonest possible. He couldn’t stay the night as planned earlier. It would be detrimental to his sanity. He promptly asked the directions to the wash closet. There, in the tiny outdoor toilet, he sent one of his mates a text message. Having done so, he got out of the toilet feeling better that in 2 hours, a call to rescue will come through.

Meanwhile, she could still sense his discomfort. She knew he minded the stench, the sights, everything, probably. And now, probably minded her as well. She should’ve came back to deliver the news alone. But, at that time, it had seen such a rude thing to do – to tell her mother she was getting married to a man who was not even going to show up at her home. She didn’t know which was worse now – getting married to a man who never went to her home, or to a man who was embarrassed to be anywhere near her home. She bit her lips as she climbed a steep and narrow staircase that led to the top floor. She remembered how her tiny feet fitted nicely on each step when she was just a kid. Now, half her feet jutted out as she climbed each step. She also remembered how she fell off this very same set of stairs when she was running away from her father. She suddenly became hard at the thoughts of her father. Vietnamese men can be so useless. The women worked, and worked and worked to support the family while the men whiled away their time being useless. Worse – they drink and gamble. Ian would be different – he is not Vietnamese. She comforted herself with this thought. So what if he didn’t like her living conditions? He would be her escape. Her chance of experiencing a new life. He would be her dream.

She changed the water in the basin next to her mother. Her mother’s eyes fluttered open. She wiped her mother and changed her clothes, a chore that was taken over by her aunty when she packed away to Saigon. As she did so, she spoke to her mother.

“Ma, I’m getting married.” She watched her mother’s expression, waiting for a response. Then, she remembered, her mother was too weak to speak. She continued speaking gently to her mother, careful not to disclose that Ian was a foreigner. What would she think? How would she react? She contemplated bringing Ian up to meet her. What if she got really upset and further aggravated her health? Would it be improper for the groom never to meet her mother? Her thoughts were interrupted by a commotion downstairs. “Oh, great,” she thought, her heart sinking lower and lower with each passing microseconds. She could hear her father speaking in a drunkard drawl as loudly as possible. She could hear Ian’s poor response to the foul Vietnamese language her father was spewing out.

She ran downstairs, hopping on the ball of her feet.

“Ian, that is my father,” she told him as she scrambled to his side. The good thing about a small house was that it only took you mere seconds to get you to any spot.

“Okay. Just that I can’t understand what he is saying, you know. My Vietnamese isn’t exactly advanced level.”

“Xin Chao, Ong. Ong khoe khong?” Ian tried to reverse the situation.

Surprisingly, it seemed to calm the old man.

Hoa Hong just watched on, disgusted by the money sign chinking away in her father’s eyes. She looked at her father in the eyes and said “Stay away from him, pa. Just stay out and stay away.”

“What? Can’t share a little wealth with your poor old man? When is the wedding?” her father said unashamedly.

“Just go to hell,” she replied in a low-tone.

Ian watched the fierce exchange of words, not understanding much of the peculiar conversation between father and daughter. Even more peculiar was the language. Although he had been in Vietnam for a while now, he couldn’t master the language, what with their six different tones and missing vowels. He felt even more uncomfortable now, and wished he had told the call to rescue to come in a whole hour earlier. Right now, he didn’t know if he should sit or continue to stand. But the old man helped the situation by walking back out of the house.

“Just ignore him. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard enough for you to be here, let alone see my father this way,” she looked at him, red-faced.

“No, no, sweetheart. I’m just fine. I’m just starting to feel comfortable in your small home,” he lied. He watched her, knowing she would not response. If she sensed the lie, she did not question. That was what he liked about her. She did not question him, and he never had to explain anything twice. He sat down on a stool and felt the dust and dirt transfer to his Guess jeans. He beckoned her over.

“How’s your mother?”

“She’s fine. I told her about the marriage. She’s resting now, and perhaps, there isn’t a need for you to meet her,” she said. After his ordeal with her father, she wasn’t ready to put him through another. Though of course, her mother would be far from having any response.

Moments later, her father returned with a packet that smelled of fried food. He disappeared in the backyard and appeared again carrying a dish of duong nuong. The old man placed the plate in front of him gesturing a thumbs-up sign to show that it was delicious. He looked at the plate, a sudden churning in his stomach. He was not unfamiliar with duong nuong. This was supposed to be Can Tho’s cuisine at its finest.

The duong is a big as a thumb, white in colour and looks like a bee worm. They nest on a branch of the date palm tree and the locals usually cut the branches off and strip it to get the worms out. It is then marinated in fish sauce, and the marination process is deemed ready when the worms start wriggling – a sign that the sauce has seeped in to their bodies. It is then grilled over charcoal till golden brown.

He turned away from the plate and looked at the smiling old man. Then, back again at the plate of bee worms. He had gotten out of this many times. But he had a feeling this wasn’t going to be one of those times. Where was Hong? Better yet, where was the damn phone call? And he remembered – only an hour had passed since his text message. The old man took a seat beside him and started demonstrating the deliciousness of the duong nuong. Should he start shouting for help? It was suddenly very warm in the house, Ian thought. The old man then gestured to Ian to have some. To get it over with, Ian took one and popped it into his mouth. It tasted like fats, but also had a distinct sweetness to it. But Ian didn’t like it. He desperately scanned the room for any signs of water.

The old man stood up and suddenly said “Money, money,” and pointed to the dish and pointed to himself. It was easy to tell what he wanted – money. Not to buy more duong nuong but to supplement his habits.

“Oh, what the hell, “ Ian thought out loud. Just as he reached for his wallet, his mobile phone rang loudly. He never usually set the tone to the maximum loudness level. But today, he had wanted to make sure the ringing was heard all over Can Tho. He picked up the call, his rescue call. Never mind that this wasn’t the intended call which was due in another hour’s time. It was still a rescue call.

He spoke loudly over the phone. Again, something which he never usually did, finding it rude when people spoke loudly over their cell phone. Somehow, Americans the world over feel they have very good mobile phone ethics and as an American, he lived up to it. But not today. He didn’t need to do so today.

Hearing the conversation, Hoa Hong walked in.

“You have to go?”

“Yes, I have an urgent matter to attend to. I’ll take the next bus out to Saigon. No problem.”

“Okay,” she said. She can’t help but feel the call was too well-timed. But she kept quiet.

“Give this money to your father. Thank him for the delicious duong nuong,” he said, waving a wad of cash in front of her.

“No, no. Keep it. He will just use it to gamble and drink more.”

Just then, the money was snatched from his hands, and he turned just in time to watch the back of the old man walking out the door, shouting “Cam On” and tucking the newly found wealth into his pockets.
________________________________________________________

“You’re going to what???!!” David exclaimed, trickles of beer escaped from the corners of his mouth.

“Dude, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. Marry a Vietnamese woman? They’re just good for fucks. Not for real!” Jonah chipped in, knocking his beer mug against David’s beer mug as a sign of being in cahoots.

“Hey, look, Hong is nothing like that, alright! And speaking of which – your call to rescue never did come, you bastard! I could’ve been dead for all you cared, right? So why bother if I am getting married to a Vietnamese woman or not? Ian answered, agitated by his mates’ responses. He looked at them and thought of all the typical stereotyping that has been going on around him – the stereotyping of Vietnamese females, the stereotyping of foreigner males. The stereotypical role is surely not far from the truth, but God willing, he had found someone different, and hopefully, she thinks of it that way too. In some ways, he was simple like her, coming from small Raleigh city, in North Carolina; he certainly doesn’t have the airs of a New York Yankee like his beer swigging mates. Sure, he brushed the realities of the world aside, but at least he was well in control of his manhood. He thought of the conditions he saw today. 37 years of his life, and today, he met with his first reality. He truly led a sheltered life. He shook his head, as if doing that would shake the image out of his mind.

“Yo, dude, they’re always sweet like that until you pop the ring into her finger. And then it is – give me your credit card, give me your wallet, give me your passport. Your bachelor days are over. And if you so much as look at another female, your eyes will be dug out and fed to the crows! Better yet, she’ll make soup out of it and feed it back to you!” David cooed, and Jonah once again took a swig of his beer as a show of support.

“Hey look, one of my office colleagues married one. I can set you two up, and you can exchange some vital information. Really.” Jonah said nonchalantly.

“Look, just congratulate me for finding me a wife, okay? My contract’s ending soon, and I’d sure like to bring Hong with me.” Ian butted in, facial expression looking exasperated in his attempt to stop the way the conversation was going.

“Alright, alright. A toast to Ian and his new wife!”

“Well, Ian, if at all, I can offer you this much of a condolence – at least you’re not stuck at home with a super-sized American woman!”

They all laughed at the remark and made another toast.
____________________________________________________________

“I have to go home to North Carolina for awhile, Hong dear. It’s to make the final arrangement for work and all. I’ll be back next week, and my good friend at the embassy had said the visa arrangement would be all good by then, alright, love?” he kissed her on the forehead.

“What about ma?” she asked, wanting to make sure she carried out her filial duties even though she’s running on towards her dreams.

“Don’t worry. I will make the arrangements for her too. Just that with her, it is a little more difficult. But I promise I will do my best, ok?” he touched her face reassuringly. And she smiled.

That was Hong again, as submissive and as gullible. He had no intentions of bringing an old woman who is on the brink of dying to America. The whole process would be too complicated and would take a hell of a longer time. He can just see the amount of time rushing to and from the embassy just to sort everything out. No, too much trouble. Too much reminder of the real world. He wanted Hong to be beautiful always, without a poverty-ridden past. He could keep things that way. Perfect. He would be a hero in a perfect world.

She watched him. He looked restless. But there was no need to join the rest of the world in tearful farewells at the departure hall. He would be back for her.

He heard the last call for his flight. He held her hands, kissed them and said “I’ll be back.” He then looked at her as he stood up and kissed her forehead. With that, he hurriedly made his way to the boarding room.

She watched him walk away, not turning even once to wave. Painful tears welled-up in her eyes as she realized he had not dared look into her eyes as he said “I’ll be back.”

My Editorial Message in Journeys For Two

It's been a year's work getting the magazine out but finally - it is out NOW and available to all. I am personally very glad to have been given this opportunity by Kris Wong from Weddings Malaysia to work on Journeys For Two - an area which is rather close to my heart (and my work :P) and as Kris had mentioned - we will be brainstorming for the next issue while we sip on Long Island Iced Teas at Maya Ubud this coming October :)

Thanks to ALL!

The Editor's Letter
Considering the effects of the economic downturn, we are certainly very grateful to be back with our 4th issue of Journeys For Two – Destination Weddings For The Stylish and Chic. A big round of applause goes out to all who have believed in us and supported us despite the effects of the economic scenario. I would also like to personally extend my appreciation to Kayumanis Nusa Dua for helping me arrange my once-in-a-lifetime wedding. It was fun and oh-so-memorable for us and our guests. Kudos to the team at Kayumanis Nusa Dua.

In this issue, we continue to bring you fabulous destination wedding locations, ranging from the affordable to the luxurious, from the contemporary to quirky and also adding in some eco-friendly venues for those who would like to make a small difference in the world. Coupled with some views and thoughts on destination wedding choices from vendors as well as married couples, we hope this will help you make a sound decision for your dream destination wedding.


"I dreamed of a wedding of elaborate elegance; a church filled with flowers and friends. I asked him what kind of wedding he wished for; he said one that would make me his wife.” – Anonymous

** snapshot of page 3 of the JFT magazine

The Kingdom of Chaos

I've meant to write this piece but have been putting it off for awhile now simply because it had been a very trying three months in the Kingdom. This week would mark my 2nd year in the Kingdom and last week particularly, had been extra challenging.

I had read back what I wrote 3 weeks after I arrived in 2008 here and I knew that this time around, my tone would sound... well, different. Why? Well, I guess, it is because, living in Cambodia can be trying and challenging at the same time. It does get under your skin.

I admit that with a whole lot of patience, an ounce of aggressiveness, a tonne of hardwork and a dash of luck, Cambodia is truly a place where one can make money. If you remove all forms of morality and conscience, you could perhaps even make loads of money here. And with money, you can practise the all-time, all-accepted and widely used "UTM" concept here - an acronym for "Under Table Money". The Cambodians tell me - "In Cambodia, if you have money - you can do anything you want." Even murder apparently.

Of course, when I first came back to Cambodia, I had this whole load of passion and vision in helping the young generation of Cambodians to elevate themselves and strive for a better life for themselves. Unfortunately, this passion has waned and is continuing to wane further, like water seeping through the gaps of my fingers. Through experiences, some forums, the regular chats with other expatriates working here - I've come to realize and accept two things - that the Cambodian people as a mass - whilst harmless, are generally lazy; and that it is not up to me to "save" them if they refuse to "save" themselves. Excuse me for a second, whilst I do speak of them as a mass, there are a handful of Cambodians who have proved to be hardworking and with lots of heart. Some of them include the team that I have at work :)

My team at work here has been with me since the get-go and whilst it had been frustrating steering them down the right path in the business that we do, I am finally seeing some fruit bearing shape. I always tell them that it does not matter if they are inexperienced, or stupid even, but as long as they are not lazy - they'll make it. Yes. I believe so. It is the "laziness" of the people of this country that really gets to me. In essence - they remind me a lot of some of my fellow countrymen back home. They often use the genocide war as an excuse for their lack of knowledge and poor living conditions. The worse of it is that - in general, the Cambodians are even too lazy to think, preferring to make a fast buck whenever and wherever they can. Or if the job seems too complicated - they would prefer not to make the money at all and go back to complaining about how poor they are and how they live on the streets. Like when we had to hang a wall banner up for a client and the supplier said he didn't know how to do it. If he had just utilized his brains a little more - he would've figured it out. But in the end, I had to pay him AND taught him how to bloody do it as well.

Because of the business that I do in Cambodia, I interact a lot with the young Cambodians and when I actually ask them what are their ambition - they would say "I want to work in the tax office," or "I want to work in the post office." To get jobs within these government departments - and even in the police force, is not difficult. It costs merely USD2k - USD5k to 'buy' your position there. And from here onwards, UTM enables one to further line their pockets. Sometime last year, a friend of mine delivered an EMS package to me. First of all, miraculously - the parcel arrived. Second of all, when I was called to collect my parcel, the idiot at the counter asked me for a bribe of USD10 before he would release the parcel to me. (Of course, USD10 is the charges for a foreigner. The locals get charged between USD2 - USD5). I was fuming. Literally. The fact that me rattling off in English and swearing in between only fell on blank looks added on to the frustrations. You see, my spoken Khmer can only get me by that far. When I'm angry - I tend to think solely in English :P

What about the challenging 'no electricity' situation last week? Electricite du Cambodge, the equivalent of Tenaga Nasional, had accidentally disconnected the electricity to our apartment. We were out of power for a good 30 hours. Boy, was I in a foul mood. And in true Cambodian style, to get the electricity connected again, one has to do the whole UTM thing. In case I really shot anyone down and had no money to UTM my way out of a murder conviction, I told my landlady to settle the damn issue. Welcome to Cambodia, huh? When I greet new arrivals with this phrase - they should really take it with a pinch of salt.

The government impunity practised here is by far - a hundred times worse than Malaysia (still, shame on Malaysia for being compared to Cambodia - I'm telling you Jason) - with the ranked and non-ranked officials doing as they please. I've had my fair share of threats because I had on occasion told some people off - without knowing who the hell they were. I mean, you spit into the damn swimming pool and blow your nose in it - I ain't sitting back and not saying something about it - because I use the pool too! Or the other time when I overtook a Hummer with black-tinted windows (any large vehicles with black tinted windows are often linked to government officials or the mafia) and he stopped right next to my car - believe me, at that moment, I thought he was going to roll down his window and shoot me, so I did the next best thing - I pretended to cry. And the Hummer left me alone. You've got all these So-And-So's wife using the gym and they would actually tell you to get off the machine because they want to use it. And then they get on the machine and yak on their mobile phones at the top of their voices. They may be rich and powerful, but they certainly have no class and in fact, appear uncouth to me too. I've asked the locals time and time again about the whole UTM thing and the impunity and all they ever answer is "We cannot do anything about it." Arse-luck then. Neither can I.

The other frustrating thing here in the Kingdom is the expatriates themselves. For some reason - the moment they arrive in Cambodia, they tend to become "stupid" and "ignorant". I mean, things that they don't normally do back home or they can't do back home - they will start doing here. Like throwing their garbage everywhere or drilling at 6am on a freaking Sunday morning. I'm sorry to say - especially the French - because they seem to walk around as if they own this place. Yes, I know, you used to colonize Cambodia - but hey - stop being delusional - you no longer rule this place! Even at work, you know, whether they be Malaysians, Singaporeans, Aussies, Brits, Americans.... they just tend to get "stupid". Like how much would you pay for service fee in your country? But over here - you suddenly do not believe in paying for service fee? I've once had a major issue with a major client all written here. In a discussion the other day with a fellow expatriate facing the same problems and issues, I've come to realize that in general, the foreigners who are sent to Cambodia have no intentions of elevating the livelihoods of the people here - even though they are meant to train the locals, share knowledge with the locals, help the locals and build sustainable businesses for the locals. It's really quite sad because by keeping the Cambodians down, happens to be their only way of staying on top in this country. No wonder they always rave about Cambodia and how great the chaos of this place is. This is one of the reasons my passion to "save Cambodians" have waned as well. I'm the only corporate fool wanting to make a change. And I simply can't do it alone. Reality bites - I have to feed my team too, you know.

Yes, admittedly, there are a few NGOs doing really good work for the children here - and I especially admire the efforts of Mark Turgesan and friends for setting up Friends and the ChildSafe Network. When I wanted to set up a Youth Social Enterprise, I had a long discussion with Mark and another one with the Director of PSE. Bottomline is - they loved the idea that I had, but to get it all started - is truly another story altogether. So I took a step back and I set-up a tiny training centre for the Cambodian youths instead. Still, it is not up to me alone to "save" them. And I also volunteer at the orphanage for kids with HIV - this experience has been remarkable - seeing myself - from someone who cringed at touching these kids (even though I am educated enough about AIDS) to hugging and kissing these children who so deserve at least some love and attention.

I'm barely keeping my sanity around me these days. Work is already stressful enough as it is (the pace of getting things done in Cambodia is certainly not suitable for those who are in the business of having to deliver deadlines!) What with the French bitch upstairs knocking and drilling for the last 2 months (For this, I am proud to say that I've told her off when she belittled me as an 'Asian' who had never even heard of Europe by saying "No. I've NEVER heard of Europe, but from where I come from, people are A LOT MORE CONSIDERATE.") and the escalating mass stupidity that multiplies by twenty every single day, it's all getting to me and contributing to my bad karma. You see, eversince I came to Cambodia, I've been collecting bad karma - why? Simply because I curse people to death on a daily basis; "I hope you die!" when I drive and you know, ever since the French bitch declared war, I've been plotting at how to get back at her (get MOH to urinate at her door), and whilst I honestly do not mean it nor will I carry my actions out - it's just bad karma even to think about it or curse that way! I mean, back home, I don't find myself wishing death upon someone (ok, maybe one or 2 nasty clients occasionally) nor plotting to make my neighbour's life a living hell on a daily basis!

I definitely have to talk about the medical facilities in this country. Before that, if you were to come visit at my apartment - you would find that I have enough medication to open a mini pharmacy - from diarrhoe to cough to the normal fever and flu. Even the doctors at the International SOS are unreliable. Earlier this year, MOH had Hepatitis and we paid freaking USD350 to do a blood test only to get these on the results "Acute Hepatitis" and when I asked the doctor if it is A, B, C or E his response was "Whatever it is, it is still the liver and best you go back to your own country to get a proper check." I wanted to slap this French doctor. The wedding group who came for the launch of TWP would definitely vouch for the miserable condition of seeking medical help - seeing as one of them had an allergic reaction to spiders and the doctor had to "check the internet" to determine spider allergies as he's never heard of it before and another one had the doctor forcing her to admit that she had running nose and sore throat so that he could diagnose her with H1N1!

All in all, life in Cambodia isn't a bed of roses and because I've been here 3 months in a stretch - it's been absolutely frustrating. So much so that - to avoid blood pressure shooting off the roof, MOH and I have gone the 'anti-social' route of staying in - even on the weekends. We'd much rather cook and have a grand meal at home than to go out and order a Chicken A La Kiev and the waitress just stares at you like you're an idiot thus causing blood pressure to go haywire. Of course, it doesn't mean we've turned hermits. We still do go out. But lesser - it saves money too, since, despite the perception that Cambodia is a poor country, things are pretty damn expensive here! (My normal Cornflakes cost USD6.45 here - which is why, every trip we make back home, we bring back an entire mini-market with us).

So then, what is the balance of living life here? The trick is really to get out of the country every 2 months - which is an advice handed down by all the seasoned expatriates here. For those who can't, then,.... you know, we try to make the best of it and milk whatever good things that are found in this country - no matter how tiny - like the USD6 full body massage at a nice spa  or the special financial crisis set-lunch at one of the high-end Italian joints in town. Of course, looking at my FB photos of life here - with all the home-cooked feasts with MOH, date nights and what-nots, it seems like we're living the good life here in Cambodia. We both enjoy cooking a lot - and weekends are spent cooking and experimenting with menus for the entire week (MOH packs lunch to work) - once again, very cost-effective ;)

My Mom harrasses me about having a maid - but again - another indulgence to balance out the frustrations - although, I have to admit - the maid adds to my stress-levels too. In all honesty, the only reason I haven't fired her is because I trust her as she comes in to clean while I am still at work. In actual fact, I am only paying her to sweep and mop and wipe the dust off tables / chairs,..... as MOH and I do our own laundry, washing, dishes, etc (have long ago given up on her doing these as she is just too damn lazy to do it well). I have another acquaintance who has 3 children and a nanny for each child as well as two maids. She hails from USA and she says the same thing - "This is one of my perks for living in this sad country."

But don't get me wrong - there are a lot of nice people here too that help you get through the frustrations  better and can understand the situation you are in because they are likely to be in the exact same shite. They may be acquaintances or friends - but there are certainly nice people in existence in this country - and they come from all walks of life - from the Cambodian so-and-so who is a Minister at the PM's office who always asks me how am I doing in my triathlon training, to the Hawaiian chef who gives me my cake fix, to the Afghan woman who provides all the laughs and tells me Cambodia is Switzerland as compared to Kabul, to the tuk-tuk driver who whenever I do get into his tuk-tuk, always tells me to pay whatever I like, to the French F&B manager from FCC who has absolutely no airs about him and turns a blind eye to my "free parking" at his lot (the only French guy I've met so far in Cambodia who has absolutely no airs and realistically realizes he's in Asia - and lovin' it), to my local team who despite my Empress Dowager ways in pushing them to excel - would always be willing to help me get through a "Welcome to Cambodia" factor - like ordering cooking gas, to the Cambodian coffee man in the Russian Market who serves the "Best Iced Coffee" in Phnom Penh and is always ready with a smile and an additional free half cup of coffee for me (since the coffee is too strong and hubby and I usually just share 1 cup) right through to the Cambodian celebrity chef who is as humble as can be when he serves me his special jasmine-flavoured pudding (which is like a slice of heaven, by the way) - and there are still plenty of others out there.

Most importantly though - MOH is here with me - otherwise, I would've packed my bags within the first month of landing my ass in this Kingdom of Chaos.

Bitch Says Sorry, Screw You

I read with utter disgust at this blogpost by that "I am different" sourpuss photographer. This time, I shall no longer hold my piece. And with the consent of my clients R&G (the clients whose photos I supposedly "stole") - I shall have my day to speak.

To the sourpuss - first and foremost - had you kept your slander to Eileen Lui ONLY - I would've let this slide. But no, you dragged my company into this, and worse still - you dragged AWP into this. To me, that is plainly tainted with MALICIOUS INTENT. And as what the Japanese said when they bombed the Pearl Harbour - you had awaken a sleeping giant. I ain't taking this sitting down. You want your sorry? Here's your sorry.

First and foremost - let me clarify a few points. I was given permission to use the photos by my clients R&G. R&G did not hire us for the full planning service as they were on a tight budget. When we wanted to start our wedding website, we asked all our clients to allow us use of their wedding photos. We further received permission for the photos to be used by The Star in their wedding pullout. And herein, the trouble started - plain and simple - it was MY MISTAKE. And MY FAULT. I failed to credit the photographer. Obviously, a big mistake. In any case - to clarify again - I'm a wedding planner, NOT a photographer. If I were to "steal" photos, wouldn't I be better off stealing photos of wedding set-ups to showcase my portfolio?? And no, from the get-go till now, there are NO photographers under our payroll. Point made.

But what this sourpuss did to call in on my mistake - with his so-called lawyer friend from a reputable law firm (whose partner ironically, introduced my lawyer to me) was what my lawyers termed as "entrapment" and that lawyer could lose her bar license. Upon advice, a police report, together with a copy of the CCTV security tapes from Plaza Mont Kiara, was lodged at the Mont Kiara Police Station shortly after the confrontation. I was placed in a position of "utter fear and duress" and "threatened" not to mention - shocked that sourpuss demanded a compensation sum of RM40,000 for the use of 8 images without credit. When this sum was revealed to my lawyer - swear to God, the first thing he asked was "Is this guy going out of business or what?" Aside from that - sourpuss wanted a full-page apology ad in The Star.

Honestly, the apology ad - we were all ready to go ahead with. Since it was blatantly my mistake. But upon advise from the lawyers - we were not to do anything except lodge the police report - until we received a proper letter from sourpuss. And the advise was also that - if he had an issue - he should be taking it up with the clients for giving me permission to use the photos (this was where, previously, R&G didn't want to have anything to do with this case and I had promised not to drag them into the mess).

In my profuse apologies to sourpuss over the phone and text messages, I had asked him to please understand that my partners are insisting on seeing the letter - just to make sure that I wasn't in cahoots with sourpuss (I mean, if you think about it - I could be screwing my partners over for the sum of RM40,000 and sourpuss and I take 20 a piece :P) He said if I was sincerely sorry, I should start paying the compensation. During this period too - a formal letter was sent out to The Star's T.L.D. regarding the issue and disallowing them to use the photos.

Anyway, the formal letter from sourpuss NEVER came. But here's what - the so-called lawyer of his, during this period, left the firm and went into a partnership with a local fashion designer in the wedding business. How ironic. Anyway, a chance meeting at a bridal fair at Crown Princess KL with sourpuss had us ironing out our issue - or SO I THOUGHT. We agreed to put this issue behind us and I apologized for the last time to him about it. He said he didn't want to put R&G in a spot either. Of course, maybe he knew too that R&G were very displeased with his services.

Over the next many months, I had been professional - I continued to recommend clients to sourpuss, not just weddings, but also advertising clients for product shoot (since he claims to be a really good photographer), trying to work out packages to work together - but sourpuss was of course, too high up there for the likes of me. In fact, another client of mine - A & T did eventually hire him. Not a word of thanks - it was as if I owed it to him to bring clients forward. But hey - whatever keeps the clients happy, yes? I even recommend clients to that lawyer-turned-wedding gown designer friend of his - C & T were one of the confirmed clients for their gowns. I mean, I can honestly say - I've taken the high road. And not to mention - never ever made the same mistake again. In fact, when I start my computer each morning, there's a pop-up that says "CREDIT PHOTOGRAPHERS" (admittedly, since it's been there forever, it has now become a blind spot!). Anyway, since sourpuss always plays hard-to-get, after awhile, I had a list of other recommendations and in any case, we all heard less of him - except for one round of hate mail about him circulating amongst the wedding industry people.

And then, sometime in 2007, after the launch of Journeys For Two, there was another interview in The Star. Horrors of horrors - they used R&G's photos despite the letter sent to them in 2003! Needless to say, once again, sourpuss was,... you know, sour about it. He confronted me yet again and he said that he had given me a chance, bla, bla, bla and now I am doing it again, bla, bla, bla.... this time, I told him to take that case with The Star - because I certainly would! I had no intention of ever using R&G's photos again. I mean, what for?? When someone says "Put It Behind You" - it means just that! He once again threatened to take this matter further, wanting compensation, etc.... and once again, my lawyers were conferred - my arms were tied till I receive a letter.

And then no news. Until the blogpost which was as recent as last month. To think, this guy spent all of his time and energy bearing this grudge for what? Was it because I was making tiny headways in the industry? He thinks I am minting money? Believe you me, I'm struggling to survive - just like the average Malaysians. I don't exactly drive around in a Lexus, you know.

Apologies - he had received from me - not just ONE - over a thousand - because I do concur - MY MISTAKE for failing to credit the photographer and thus leading it to be misread as MY photos. Once again, if I were to steal photos, I wouldn't steal from him! Duh!

Being in the advertising line as well - every fucking day, we get our ideas stolen by clients and they even implement these ideas right under our very noses. Do I chase each one down with a lawyer's letter and demand for money?? Do I hold a grudge with them forever? NO! What do we do? Sure, I bitch and bitch about it but inevitably, we MOVE ON and continue steering our businesses down the right paths. We will also continue striving to uphold AWP Malaysia's strong code of ethics. I'm sure my President will have something to say about this.

So do I want to take this slander matter up now? My partners are asking. But you know what? Our plates are full. We're better off making proper money than to chase down some old bag of grudge for pittance.

Point made. And once again - thank you to R&G for allowing me to say my piece.

Screwed Over

Yesterday, I found out a piece of very disturbing news. Someone whom I called a friend - and who introduces me as a friend had been doing rather unexplainable evil things. When I say evil - it isn't black magic or anything like that. It is just doing something without a conscience. The persons who told me this were, in their words - "royally screwed over" by this friend of mine. And the question then became - "how the hell can you be in business with her??"

For those of us in the business line, there will be once or twice in which we might be screwed over, whether it be by a supplier, a client (most common :P) or even your own partner. I run my businesses rather conservatively and whilst I bulldoze forward with innovative ideas or sought out a niche market - these are often calculated risks.

I had known this "friend" - and for simplicity sake, let's call her S.O. - for awhile now. Thus, I know her character, her attitude, her behaviour, but I had never known her to screw a friend over. Alas, people change, as they say. You may wonder - why was it that I believed the story of the "persons" who told me about S.O.'s evil deeds? That's because they've happened to me too - in the course of the business partnership. But remember - I take calculated risks in my businesses and I try never to put myself in a precarious position.

So "why the hell am I still in business with her?" I reflected on this question yesterday. I realized that perhaps, I've turned a blind eye to what S.O. was doing all these while and just manoeuvered my way around the 'screwing attempts' because I want to see the good in someone (plus, I'm rather skilled in the manoeuvering :P). But I think what it really was - was that, I refused to believe that someone who calls you a friend would even think of screwing another friend over! And then, I admit - I refused to believe nor admit that I had perhaps made a very wrong decision embarking on this particular business partnership.

Sometimes, I'm rather idealistic when it comes to "friends". I really don't believe a "friend" will screw you over for pittance. But apparently, they do. Hearing what happened to the "persons" who told me their story yesterday, I realize, perhaps, it is now time to open my eyes and accept, as well as admit my mistake. It seems rather clear to me that for a "friend" to be able to screw you over, that friendship is meaningless to him or her. And as such, it is rather pointless that I keep running away from this fact. But I do count my blessings that I had been smart enough to wriggle my way thus far out of any precaurious situations.

I have a number of businesses and all with different partners. I think the ruling point in any partnership is TRUST. Yes, we may all have our differences and we may have major disagreements and we may be bitchy or cross, or have PMS or different moods - but most importantly, NEVER SCREW YOUR PARTNER OVER. That's a big no-no in my books. I believe that of myself and therefore, I believe others will not do that to me. It may be a pain in the ass to adjust yourselves in the partnership, to be patient, to swallow one's pride, to synergize your strengths and weaknesses - but as long as you don't get screwed over, it's fine. I'll put up with that anytime (tiring as it may be!).

While I go lick my wounds now, I shall endeavour to keep this in mind - not to let this one mistake, affect the rest of my business partnerships that does not require me to "bend over" - and for this, I'm a million times thankful and grateful.

My Dad

(a working draft of my novel : "Growing Up A Chinese Daughter")
 

My Dad is almost like 2 different persons to me. One who was Hitler when I was schooling. And the other is Dad the Joker and one who has mellowed with age. But undoubtedly - the number one hero in my life.

Let's talk about my Dad - the Hitler. In the "Hitler Home" - it was always his way or the highway. Even if Mom said yes, I could go to a friend's party but Dad said no, then the outcome was that I wasn't going to the party. The cane was one of his ruling devices. When I didn't come back from school with an "A" on my exam papers, whack-whack-whack on my palms. Oh - but if he didn't like the fact that my shorts were too short, he'd send Mom to do the dirty job. The Thomas Cup 1992 Finals - we were watching the Foo Kok Keong vs Alan Budikusuma match. I irritated him when I told him to stop making comments about the players. He sent me to my room. Boy, was I fuming! But, as he was so engrossed in the game, I was watching from the staircase landing :P  There was also once when he was gambling (yes, my Dad was an avid gambler. WAS being the keyword) and forgot to pick me up from my tuition class. When he finally came, I pulled a face and then as usual - Hitler struck. Dad was never in the wrong.

He was definitely a man of few words then. When my friends came over - they secretly called him "Cannon Face" and we would all laugh about it. There was a period of a fair few years, in fact, throughout my high school and college days where I did my best to steer clear of him. Looking back, you know, it was just the trials and tribulations of growing up, immaturity and both parties having to learn how to deal with each other. I shan't get started on the numerous "why are you so old-fashioned?!" arguments. Of course, there were also the problems with 'boys' during my student days - and then later on in my adult life - the problem with the 'lack of boys' who might lead to marriage :P

Despite all his flaws, setbacks, bad examples and imperfections - why was it that I still gave him the "hero" title? Well, you see, my Dad was what the Chinese said : "Stubborn Mouth, Soft Heart". He was the go-to person for troubles of any kind - except the female ones. I remembered one of my first bad car accident - I called home, and Mom picked up the phone. I had to pretend that everything was ok and asked for Dad instead. You see, if I told Mom, she would just have a heart-attack and faint. But Dad - he came right over and the first thing he asked me was "Are you hurt?" (as opposed to "Did you kill anyone?" :P) And then, confirming that I was really okay, he went ahead to settle the problem at hand.

Another very early childhood memory was when I was still in pre-school. My chocolate and candy ration was frankly, quite miserable, bordering on abuse :P So, what I resorted to was stealing the candies and chocolates when nobody was looking. One afternoon, while Mom & Dad were watching TV, I went about prowling for my chocolates in the fridge. And of course, God punishes all those who do bad things. In my haste, my elbow hit the eggs and *crack* *crack* - two eggs fell and I was almost going to wet my pants with fear. But I had no choice - I went out to the living room and put on my best scared, pitiful face and announced that I broke some eggs. Dad came into the kitchen with me and saw the mess and asked me what happened. I kept quiet and started crying instead. He went about cleaning up the mess and then I picked up the courage to tell him in between sobs.... that.... I.... was.... trying ... to get... to ... the jar of chocolates .... at... the back.. of.. the fridge. Guess what he did? He fished out that jar and pulled out two pieces of chocolate for me! And then he said "Next time when you want something, ask for it, ok?" Ohhh, I see. It was that simple. And then I was confused because later on, in Hitler mode - what I asked for - I never got anyway :P

Oh, I have to tell you about my first ever ice-cream. Dad taught me how to eat an ice-cream. Well, actually, he SHOWED me how to eat an ice-cream. Well, we were still staying in Kepong Bahru then and Dad took me to the park and bought me an orange ice-cream. I was so excited! I had seen how other kids ate ice-cream - just lick it! Soon enough, the ice-cream was melting all over my fingers and hand and Dad, he took the ice-cream from me and said "Haiya... this is how you eat it, you see?" Lick, lick, bite, bite... he finished my first ice-cream.

Dad is in every way a problem-solver. I have never seen him in panic-mode ever. Whilst Mom and sometimes, myself would be "OMG! OMG! There is smoke coming out of the bonnet!!" and our first instinct would be for our brains to die-out for about ten seconds and our second instinct would be to call Dad - if it were Dad, he would be, in a cool, calm and collected manner - going through these exact motions : "Oh, there seems to be a problem. What can I do to get myself out of this situation - firstly, immediately. Secondly, long term solution." There was never a period of panic or brain-freeze. His philosophy was simple : "If the sky does fall down, use it as a blanket". I try to follow this philosophy of his too - but sometimes, Mom's genes are pretty dominant in me :)

The other thing about my Dad was his "never say die" attitude. Most of his skills - for cooking, for electronics, for woodwork, for plumbing and even for computers - were something he learnt on his own through trial and errors. The problem-solver in him will never admit defeat - if a problem cannot be solved. He would always say "How can it be possible that this cannot be solved?" - even if it took him days to figure out a roof-leak problem - he'd get to the bottom of it. The computer - from MS DOS to Microsoft to the internet dial-ups, later on to WiFi, and then Yahoo, and then Google and then Facebook - he sat down and figured it all himself. Such was his perseverance. For me, sometimes, it drives me crazy when I am unable to solve a problem - be it mathematical or plumbing works. So how? Call Dad.

One thing that always left me in awe of him was his ability to tell someone off in a way that made the other person kneel down for forgiveness. (Mom always said he should've been a lawyer and I should've followed suit :P) There were many other stories from his days as a normal school teacher to his days as a Headmaster. But I remember two such occurences. The first one was when after retirement, he went to teach in a private school (thereafter advising everyone who would listen to never ever send their children to a private school) and he scolded one of his students for making noise in the class. The very next day, the mother of the boy - who was a lawyer, came after my Dad and started shouting at him in the school's stairways. My Dad said "If you have a problem, please look for the Principal. I do not appreciate you shouting in public this way." Which she did and demanded the idiot principal reprimanded my Dad. Dad was summoned to the principal's office, in which ended with the mother coming out of the office in tears and sending an apology hamper to my Dad the next day AND even bought him hi-tea at Equatorial Hotel! Apparently, my Dad told her off for being such a bad parent and pointed out the fact that him teaching her son some manners was not wrong and in fact, not even his duty.

Second incident - a very, very recent occurrence - a month ago, my Dad walked the dog and he decided to take a new route. It just so happened that the Idiot who was staying at the corner house saw my Dad and started shouting at my Dad to stop bringing our dog around his 'area' because it was making his dog bark. At first, my Dad just ignored him. And then, when Idiot's wife started in on the verbal abuses as well, my Dad said some harsh words and left, fuming. He got home and related what happened to my Mom and my brother who happened to be around. My brother - who is very similar to my Mom in this aspect (chicken!!) decided to go over to Idiot's house... to do what? To apologize on behalf of my Dad! My God! Despite the sincere words of apologies from my brother, Idiot was still very temperamental. My Dad of course, did not take it sitting down. Once again, he shelled out his affinity to tame even the wildest animal. This time, it resulted in the Idiot apologizing profusely to my Dad. If my Dad had persisted, Idiot would've apologized to our dog even :P When my Mom related this incident to me, we were both laughing - because we surely felt sorry for whoever stepped onto my Dad's 'tail'. It's like - of ALL the people you want to verbally abuse, you picked MY Dad?? You were just asking for serious trouble, mate!

My Dad was a purveyor of the "no-nonsense" concept - meaning - do not give him nonsense. He simply will not take it. However, one can easily sit down and have a man-to-man discussion with him and he would be willing to budge (depending on his mood, though or your ability to create a perfect argument platform & strategy). I happen to be a fighter-cock like my Dad, as opposed to my peace-loving Mom. As kids, we were never brought up to be bullied nor to be pushed-overs. We were taught to fight for what is right and not to take nonsense hurled at us sitting down. Of course, this has gotten me into loads of trouble before since I have yet to master the art of "taming the beast" like my Dad, obviously has. I seriously need to brush up on this skill since I definitely have a lot of sharp things to say to a lot of people who deserves it :P

Dad rose through the ranks - from an ordinary non-graduate teacher, to Senior Assistant III, II, I and finally, got the big promotion to be a Headmaster. As a Headmaster, he was always sent to some C-grade public schools with the objective of making it A-grade. Once A-grade was achieved, he would be sent to yet another C-grade school to do the same thing. But you see, teaching wasn't his passion and he got into it because he thought he had no other options! Yet, he strived to do well in a field that he wasn't even liking - whereas our generation were forever talking about doing something that we like and pursuing our passion, etc, etc.

For this, I truly admired his perseverance : when you set-out to do something, you better do it well, or else, don't do it. One has to understand though, my Dad is a perfectionist. Whether it be a chart that he was drawing for school time-table or painting the walls in the house - if the chart appeared slightly off-centre, he would start a new one, or if the painting didn't look tidy, he would re-paint the walls all over again. Back when he used to cook for us, he even shaped the carrots and cucumbers to make them look good (he always says that he should've been a chef). In a way, I'm a little anal like him. I hate when my powerpoint presentations are not aligned meticulously. I hate when my staff pass me some half-ass, not-well-thought-out proposals. If you want to do something, you better do it well. Or else, don't do it. This, I took it along with me to pass my UPSR, SRP and SPM with flying colours (where on result announcement day, my Dad bought me my first lobster thermidore dinner!), later on, in college and university on scholarships and then later on - with my career and yet later on - with my triathlon races. Sure, I may slack off every now and then, and for sure, I wasn't exactly at the top of my game in every aspect - but I do know one thing - I always give it my 100% and sometimes more.

My relationship with my Dad really soared the year I was in Australia. Because I was a million miles away and often homesick (which was so unexpected since I thought I was dying to get out of the house!), I wrote home very frequently - often carrying tales (and photos!!) of my drunken nights and Mardi Gras experiences. Since I was really nowhere near enough for them to wallop the shit out of me, I wasn't afraid to tell them my "activities". And you know, I figured - they were the ones who insisted me coming over (because I had initially gotten a job offer with one of the 4As agency in town), so I shouldn't get into too much trouble with them. And for some reason, the generation gap between us narrowed. For me, it was like a whole new understanding between us.

When I was so often homesick in my first trip living abroad, whenever I called home, Dad would tell me to get off the phone. He would say "Just get yourself used to it and enjoy! Stop calling home!" I suppose, he wasn't very happy with the fact that I called collect either :P But that was Dad - he encouraged us and gave us the courage to go out and see the world - on our own. Go out there and experience the world. He totally wanted us to be independent (of course, now he regrets saying that I am just too independent and too bloody courageous for my own good). When I was posted to Jakarta in the midst of the racial massacre, Mom was ill with worry at me taking up the post, whilst Dad was like "Good. Go! It'll be a good experience for you!" He was more interested in my negotiated pay package :P

With his confidence - I went to Jakarta - where I had one of the worse overseas work experience of my life. Bombings, riots, curfews, but I wasn't afraid. Because in my mind - I thought - Dad wasn't afraid to let me come, so it's all good. HOWEVER, when the Indonesian political scene took a turn for the worse - my Dad actually started getting worried. And when he got worried - I got worried! When he said "Get on the first flight home," in one of the text messages, I knew - shit, I was in trouble. I had to get out! This was one of the only occasion where I ever saw Dad getting frantic. Mom panicking - that's normal. When Dad panics, people - we're in Code RED!!

Now, let's talk about Dad - the Joker. My Dad is one of the biggest prankster that I know. He would hide behind doors, walls, curtains, whatever he could find and jump out to scare the bejesus out of me or Mom. Of course, the Joker in him had to hide while Hitler was trying to discipline the children :P But the Joker came out after I started my adult life - as I said in earlier chapters - my parents were a bit weird. They never spoilt us as kids - always ruling with the cane - but only when we started working were we well and truly spoilt. Ahh,... maybe it was better this way. See? I turned out alright :)

When I was two years old, Dad fed me with his home-made belachan. The stinging spiciness made me bawl and he grabbed my Mom's glass of water (she used to keep a glass of water in the fridge - a very ugly green glass) and added hot water to it and made me drink it to ease the chilli-pain. Surprise! Surprise! After I recovered, I wanted more of them spicy stuff immediately. And to this day - people say I eat food with my chilli. Not the other way around. Dad calls me crazy - Sheesh, he should just ask himself WHY.

Anyway, yes, so there had been many times where I would chase him around the house because I want to pinch him for scaring the crap out of me. Sometimes, Ah Por would make a comment that I should be respecting my elders and not be violently attacking my Dad. But this was how our bond had evolved - we have become chummy-chummy pals :) And it is something I truly, truly cherished. We even smoke together now (ssshhhh!! OMG!)When he was not trying to play a prank on me, we would both gang-up to play a prank on Mom. Mom was always a good sport, but sometimes, she does get mad and then Dad would be in more trouble than I (hahaha). When he discovered the joy of the "Talking Alarm" in the Nokia mobile phone, immediately, his cheeky mind went scheming. Once, he purposely set the alarm for 6am and hid the phone in the kitchen. Needless to say, my Mom jumped out of her skin when a voice from nowhere was announcing "The time now is six o'clock."

My Dad really loves to kid around and he very often gets on my Mom's nerves. My Mom usually made him breakfast of bread and peanut butter or jam. He disliked this but because of his diabetes, he had to be careful with his diet (he got into diabetes trouble when the year I was in Australia, he apparently waited till Mom went to sleep and then ate chocolates and ice cream every night for supper while watching TV!!). He would bite the bread and shape them into something - sometimes, it was a boy looking over a wall, sometimes, it was a dog barking. My Mom didn't find this amusing. But he would laugh because he had succeeded in annoying her!

He was of course, elated when I finally decided to get married. When Kah Mun, my best friend who was my bridemaid in Bali told me : "So, Richard must be the happiest man in Bali right now," ... I said "No, no! My Dad is the happiest man in Bali!" When Kah Mun looked confused, I explained to her that my Dad had been waiting for this day to come for the last 10 years or so. I think the part about him sighing every so often and laments that his friends were enjoying grandparenthood should be kept for a whole chapter by itself. But he always said he's happy to be "rid of the responsibility" and now I am someone else's responsibility. Hahaha. I do not believe him.

Well, there were many a thing which the family wanted me to do for my wedding and in a way, I kinda didn't get a 100% of the wedding that I truly wanted. I voiced out my frustration in an email in which my Dad actually responded (he never really writes anything - too lazy) in a long reply mail - to sum up, he said he definitely wanted me to have the happiest wedding of my life. 

And then when I had my KL reception and my Ah Por said she didn't want to come because her legs were giving her trouble - the only person I knew to call was my Dad (told you, he was the go-to person in troubles like these!). I called him in tears, sobbing and telling him that Ah Por wasn't going to come for my wedding (I had initially threatened that if both my Grandmas didn't show up for my KL reception, I wouldn't either :P) - and you know, even through the phone, I could sense my Dad's utter dilemma, I could hear his heart aching for me, over the situation. He had a crying bride in his hands! (or he could just be worried that I would do a no-show in KL - which I was fully capable of :P). But remember what I said about my Dad being a problem-solver? And exactly as per the role of my hero, he made arrangements so that Ah Por came for my KL reception. I was elated! And he truly lived up to his words - that he wanted me to have the happiest wedding of my life.

One of the "symbolical rituals" in a Chinese wedding ceremony was the father of the bride sheltering the bride out of the house with an umbrella. Whilst I modernized my wedding and scrapped away all these rituals, I was glad my Dad insisted on doing this - and carrying the umbrella all the way to Bali even. For this ritual symbolized that the Father, will forever be protecting the daughter, no matter what. That umbrella went missing for a few minutes - which sent my Dad into a frenzy, searching for it. I cannot remember who was responsible to help him keep the umbrella - but had the umbrella really gone missing that day, I think that person would be dead meat.

Life for me, wouldn't be the same without my Dad being around and like for every other person I love, I pray that he be around forever and ever and ever.

My Mommy

(a working draft of my novel : "Growing Up A Chinese Daughter")

You know, it is a bit of a challenge to write about my Mom and my Dad individually. Why? Because to me, despite seeing them through all their ups and downs, they are like a match made in heaven (though, I think my Mom might protest against this statement). Very literally speaking - one is half-blind and the other is half-deaf. They need each other! Although they've only had a short 6-month courtship before tying the knot, they are going to be celebrating their 34th year anniversary this December. Writing about them as a couple would probably take up a few chapters! But I did get the very best of both their genes. Thank God for that!

Anyway, I'll start off with my dear Mommy. She's been off the government work-force for the past 10 years. And since then, she's been getting younger and hippier (got rid of her 'teacher's looks' and wardrobe) and *gasp* also becoming a party animal. Some weekend nights, she'd come back at wee hours in the morning! Jokes aside, she's taken her retirement in a very positive stride. Whilst she still works as a home tuition teacher, she has been keeping herself busy with line-dancing and all the parties that come with it.

When they say that grandchildren are the grandparents' best revenge, I'm not sure how far it rings true for my Mom. You see, as far as I've known and heard, my Mom had been a very, very well-behaved child when she was young. None of those teenage rebellion or angst or going out with a string of boys. Por Por and Kung Kung never had problems with her (or not that I know of!). Unlike me, who came into this world after a five-day delay, and being a bundle of joy..... and then as I grew up, gave her an abundance of heartache and stress... and not to mention, heart-attacks too.

My Mom has sacrificed a lot for the family. She may not be perfect, but she is without a doubt, a 1000% excellent wife and mother. Dad & I usually tease her and call her the "robot" at home because she seems to work non-stop. There's always some cooking, ironing, mopping, sweeping, etc... to be done around the house. Whilst Dad is an extremely lucky husband, we are extremely lucky children because all our needs are taken care of. So much so that even after the age of 30, my brother and I are refusing to leave the nest - much to Dad's chagrin. Mom loves doting upon us - even though she complains and nags. But Dad, on the other hand, wants Mom to fully concentrate on him instead! Now that I am married and little brother is working overseas, I'm pretty sure he's enjoying all the attention from Mom :)

She always made sure we had food on the table, favourite snacks in the fridge, clean clothes ironed to perfection, clean bedsheets, clean towels, medication when we traveled, basically, everything. It's quite funny because as kids, we had to do household chores. In fact, Mom sometimes stood there with a cane and bionic eyes to ensure we didn't do a shoddy job! (and I truly resented that!) But when we started working, she somehow reclaimed all the household chores. Yippee!! But it was thanks to the years of being walloped to do proper household chores that I could live independently when I went abroad. When I was studying in Australia, I saw some of my friends struggling with their laundry - and as I handwashed my bedsheet because I didn't want to put AUS2 into the washing machine since I was on a meagre allowance - I expressed gratitude in my heart - that I knew how to do something like this (and I swore that when I grew up, I never ever want to do my own household chores :P).

Mom is the type who remembers everyone's birthday, special occasions, exam dates, school activities time-table, wake-up times (Dad, bro and I all had different wake-up timing and she was our alarm clock back then!), meal times, tuition times, homework deadlines - I'm surprised she never kept a time-table for herself back then. She simply just remembers and made sure we got everything done. In this aspect - it is where she truly spoils us, whereas Dad has a more pragmatic approach. He always said "They have hands and legs - they can look after themselves! If they are hungry, they'll fix their own meal to eat!" Mom would tirelessly chauffeur us to our school activities or friends' birthday parties while Dad would ask if we had fought with the public bus driver. If we had to walk somewhere, Mom would be heartachingly sorry because the sun was too hot, or it might rain whereas Dad would say "It builds character." So one could pretty much see - we grew up with a very good balance in our lives :)

One very funny vivid memory I have of my Mom being that 1000% dedicated Mom was when I was working as an account executive in an ad agency. My Mom was still teaching then. She was still my alarm clock, you know, even though I could very well set my own alarm clock. See, she went to school at 7am in the morning and classes started at 7.30am. I did not need to get up till 8am to get to work by 8.30am. She would sneak out from class to call me from the public phone from her school (back then, she didn't know how to use a mobile phone!) and then knowing I would fall straight back asleep, she would call me again ten minutes later to make sure I was up. Much like that "snooze" button on your alarm clock! When Dad found out what my Mom was doing (because Mom was always worried about not being able to sneak out from class), he chucked a ball. Here's what he said - "If she is late for work, then let her face the music! She has to learn somewhere and somehow!!" She continued being my alarm clock until I got posted to Jakarta :) Now, do you see how dedicated she is? If I were a mother, would I do the same? Without hesitation - NO. My convenience takes precedent :P

Mom is a worry-wart. She worries about everything and she would be extremely stressed-out if not panicked-stricken. I learnt from an early age - she wasn't the go-to person if you're in any trouble that wasn't of the female-kind, know what I mean? If you were in jail (not that I ever was!!) or in a bad accident or in trouble with the law or anything like these sorts - never go to Mom. One of the reasons my Dad wanted us to get out of the house now that we're of age was because Mom never got a good night's sleep when we were around. Even though we no longer had curfews and could very well get home whatever time we wanted, she would still worry when we were not back home. And this, greatly disturbed Dad's sleep. (I'm writing this and I am laughing). If I wrote an email back home to say that I am ill, she would worry for days too. If she didn't hear from my brother, she would worry as well. Needless to say, if I called home crying, I think she would be hospitalized!

Now, don't take that as a sign that my Mom is weak. She certainly isn't. She is a saliently strong woman. She tirelessly strives to make sure everyone else's lives are better. Sure, she complains and complains - but she never shrugs from this responsibility. She took it upon herself that it was her responsibility - and she does it to perfection. Sometimes, doing more than what is required of her - in which, my Dad would call her a "stubborn bonehead". Out of all the family members that I love so deeply, I know for a fact that my Mom is the most reliable person. Unless of course, you are being attacked by snakes - then, sorry, you're definitely on your own because my Mom would already be dead should a snake so much as look at her!

Out of the two of them, Mom is sometimes, the easier one to take for granted. Not sure why. Sometimes, things just cannot be explained! But you see, whilst she may be "half-blind", has a terrible affinity to anything to do with electronics, computers and technology (if the tire is out flat, she'll be in a real fix) and would have a seizure if the 'slithery things' got near her, she is totally independent and strong and just as much as she takes care of all of us so well, she will also be able to take care of herself. Or at least, that is the impression and perception that my brother and I have.

It is my Dad I worry about - should *touch wood* Mom no longer be around because Dad wouldn't be so well-taken care of without Mom around! Right now, all he needs to do is make a remark like "Hmmm... it is 3pm already.... it is time for what? You know?" And automatically, Mom will make him a cup of coffee. Or he would just sit at the dining table and say "Coffee time!" and magically, a cup of coffee would appear in front of "His Royal Highness" as my Mom sometimes called him. Mom knows all of our favourite foods / fruits / snacks / drinks..... but we are not very sure what she likes. She's not fussy with her food and mostly, she eats whatever we all do not finish. Except for pineapple and jackfruit, I'm not even sure what her favourite meal is! I'm sure my Dad has not a clue either :P Get this even - my Dad once commented recently when he observed me being a wife to my husband - he said "You must learn to be like your Mom, you know, take care of the husband very well." He forgets sometimes, that I am his daughter :P 

We didn't come from a well-to-do family. I mean, they were both "non-graduate" government school teachers. The non-graduate part set their salary scale on a different note - one that is lower than their younger "graduate" counterparts, which I personally think is bollocks. Anyway, since I was a kid, I saw Mom as the strong family figurehead who made sure we had the best in life. I had taekwondo lessons, piano lessons, a trip to KFC or Mickey D's once in a while - you know, Mom & Dad would take us to Mickey D's and then they left us there to enjoy our burgers and fries while they went to some streetside hawker to have cheap noodles. This memory always reminds me of the sacrifices my parents had made for me. Which is why, now that I'm pretty okay with my finances, I like taking them out for meals at expensive places or with unique food experiences.

Of all the skill-sets I have today, the one that I am most thankful to my Mom for is my writing abilities (ok, some may snort at my writing "abilities" but whatever!). She instilled the habit of reading and writing in me since I was in pre-school and I've never looked back. Parents - be careful what you instil in your child as it may come back to bite you in the butt. Like the time she caught me reading my Enid Blytons with a torchlight even though I was supposed to be sleeping and in any case, was only allowed to read them after my exams. Or the times I wrote letters to my Mom because I couldn't argue with her verbally - which she commented : "I cannot write like you. Your words are sharp." Ouch. 

But seriously - she would make me write about my holidays on those exam foolscap papers (which teachers do steal from school :P) and she would sit next to me and made sure I did it well and properly. Till this day, I always write about my holiday trips. My first ever article in The Star's 'Starchild' column was about Mooncake Festival and something my Mom encouraged me to write on - and then encouraged me to submit to The Star. After I finished Form Five, I was a stringer for NST for awhile and every piece that I had written - my Mom cut them out and collected them in a scrapbook. Now, I'm also a published writer with Silverfish Books. I did wonder though, if she saw my talent as a kid and decided to hone my talents, or was it just something she drew out of me?

Over the many, many years, my Mom and I have had a rather turbulent relationship. Most of the time, we don't see eye-to-eye. I hated her nagging, her rigid way of doing things, her easily-panicked ways - but most of all, I think I am baffled by how perfect and dedicated she is as a mother and as a wife! Sometimes, I just want her to go abit crazy and instead of doing the dishes, leave it in the sink for one night! (she'd rather die first than to do that, I reckon). But you know, we do share a great many happy, and I really mean, a great many laughing moments, happy moments and joyous moments together. One of the great things about her is her great sense of humour and wit. And eversince she stopped being a school teacher, she is a lot more open-minded too!

They say that 98% of females grow up to be their mothers. OMG. I do already have some of her genes in me. I'd like to think I'm hardworking like her, I'm intelligent like her and I'm strong like her. She is also very inclined towards arts, language, culture, music - which I too, follow suit. Unfortunately, I also have a very bad sense of direction like her and I hate mental calculations - just like her and we both have very bad logical-thinking sense too. If not because of the era in which I was born in, I'd probably be a technology-idiot, just like her! I suppose, when the genes were passed on, I didn't get to choose :P

But eversince I got married, I am relating to my Mom a lot more, because before this, I had only been a daughter. Now, I am also a wife and a daughter-in-law. It took a long time for me to decide to finally tie the knot because I saw the many, many, many sacrifices she had to make as a wife and as I said - the perfection in which she carries out her duties. And would I want to be a mother to further relate to her more? Read above : Grandchildren are grandparents' best revenge. The answer is NO, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

But I sure as hell hope Mom would be around forever. For so many reasons, including - importantly, to take care of my Dad! But mostly, because I know I will miss her as I always do when I don't see her.