lenglui the multi-talented builder

(sang to the tune of bob-the builder)

lenglui the builder
can we fix it?
lenglui the builder
yes we can!

what's everybody's problem anyway? why do they feel the need to ask me to handle everything? do i look like your neighbourhood handyman? hallo? the phone is just right there, pick it up and call whoever yourself.

need to move things? call lenglui lah
need to organise last minute vacation plans? call lenglui lah
need to place orders for $$$ transaction? call lenglui lah
injured and bleeding to death? call lenglui lah
need to co-ordinate any plans, big or small? call lenglui lah
need companionship to visit somewhere? call lenglui lah
need last minute sea-sick pills for child? call lenglui lah
don't know what to eat for dinner? call lenglui lah
need escort for doctor's visit? call lenglui lah
need to get permission to eat snacks? call lenglui lah
need to get permission to go toilet? call lenglui lah
constipated? don't call lenglui!

ya, ya, i know. i'm hugely popular and is very important to the smooth running of the universe.

the story of one bowl of assam laksa

it's been so long since i last indulged in my whims and fancy. that's the problem with growing old up. all of a sudden, my actions are governed by my brain, the logic centre of my existence, as opposed to my heart, who foolishly leads me down paths undefined, with one simple phrase... ' i like ah'. being responsible is so boring.

last weekend, i indulged in a bowl of a hot steaming assam laksa, something that i have given up sometime ago because it ultimately leads me down the path of painful gastritis, the sourness of the soup and all. and you never get full on a bowl of that stuff, satiated perhaps but not full. if anything, you just get more hungry. when growing up, it was one of my most favourite food.

anyway, last saturday, we hunted down this famous assam laksa place along lebuh keng kwee in penang. what would i know, it's the first time i've been there. (by the way, it's pouring over here now and the weather is beautiful. cold, dark, wet. it's days like these that i look forward to). i thought it was packed, being close to lunchtime and all, but a few minutes later, it got even more packed, if at all possible. the peculiar booth seats are slightly bigger than the average one person seater, but yet not quite enough to fit two without engaging into a war of hands when eating. the group of 11 of us had to be dispersed into the far corners of the coffee shop before we can embark on the task of ordering our food.

ah, food ordering. this is my territory, a place where i can spew forth my hokkien lingo which so far has been restricted to only within the four walls of the house. i feel like this place is mine. hitler also probably felt this way when he attempted to conquer the world. ordering from the assam laksa stall wasn't that smooth going though, hitler would also have been cowered. i placed my order for a bowl of their famous assam laksa, only to be met with a 'sit down first, not so fast', which left me very puzzled. does that mean my order has been placed or not? sigh. the complexities of human communication. many minutes later, when no bowl of assam laksa was in sight infront of me, i returned, with a hungry stomach and a undying desire to have a bowl of assam laksa. i stood, i watched, i refused to leave. food can inspire the persistence in me. i told him i'll take it away myself, instead of waiting for him to send to me. that magic phrase earned me an instant bowl of piping hot mouth-watering assam laksa.

need i continue with the story? obviously the assam laksa was the best i've ever had. obviously it was fully satisfying. i can still remember the taste on my mouth, along with the eyes that were burning on me as i was eating, trying to will me to finish faster and give up my seat. it was a pressure-filled lunch, believe me, adding to the excessive acid in my stomach.

the only regret. we only ordered one bowl for two to share. what disappointing responsible adult behaviour. with growing up comes weaker digestive system too. so, even if we wanted to indulge, wanted to gorge until our stomach reaches the point of bursting, our bodies reject. perhaps it was only one bowl that made everything taste so good, the enough-but-not-quite-enough feeling lingering on.

warning: vacations are harmful to health

why am i more tired after coming back from holiday? whoever said holidays are to relax, to unwind, to re-energise? i don't feel any excess energy seeping from my pores. what i wouldn't do to crawl back to bed, turn on the air cond (forget earth hour for a while, when you need to waste the day away doing nothing but sleep, you need the proper ambience), pull the covers over my head and .... zzzzzzzzzz.

holidays are stressful, holidays are a break from your comfortable mundane life, where you seek trouble and excitement. even a 'relaxing' 3 days 2 nights in the beautiful north, frolicking among the waves and lying by the poolside is a strenous job.

i'm back behind my desk, trying to recharge my batteries, after a 'recharging' short vacation.

the smell that evokes a thousand memories

was walking down the hallways when the familiar sterilised smell of the hospital greeted my nose. right, left, front, center, there were many people all around but for a second there, i felt all alone. like the many hours that i have spent by myself in hospitals all over the city, watching over loved ones in pain, anxiety wrecking my body as they are pushed into operation theaters or simply standing beside them as they lay there, motionless, wondering what the future holds. saw them in pain, saw them in fear, saw them in their vulnerability. a phobia is slowly developing inside, of going into hospitals, of breathing in the same familiar smell that tails with it many hours of sadness, anxiety, loneliness and bleakness. a place that could be the harbinger of joyness or sadness, but of recent years, more sadness than joyness. as it stands, almost every famed hospitals in the city already carry my memories within their structures. it's not the how, why, what and when. it's me. i've not learnt how to approach the facts of lives with a nonchalance, an impertubability that will protect the core of me. but how does one become indifferent and at the same time be passionate about life? i don't think i will ever be able to master this.

a whole lifetime

2 weeks. he said it has been 2 weeks. i can hear the echo in my brain, which is struggling to grasp the meaning of the word. 2 weeks? it has only been 2 weeks? seems more like a lifetime has passed. at least one person's life has. a span that has changed everything. and yet, when i wake up in the morning, everything is peaceful and everything is the same. the passing on of someone doesn't seem to have that much effect on the universe. the pilings are still clanging, the horns honking, people laughing, the sun still sets with so much beauty and drama. the sadness has been buried, a mere 2 weeks away. pretty soon, will anybody remember? the detachment of reality seems so cold. the throbbing of the heart already a distant memory. soon, someone new will sit in that chair. and life will go on.

a whole lifetime, and 2 weeks later, all is forgotten and we begin on a new slate. life is so impervious.

wassup?

he asked how was i doing? i said fine, good.

eventhough the sound of the taoist nun ringing her bell, chanting and performing the funeral rites was enveloping the background. not that great actually. but how do i say it when someone asks casually. it wasn't meant to be an indepth enquiry into my life, just a well-mannered way of opening conversation. or maybe it was. i won't know the difference. still, it feels funny to launch into my life with someone who haven't been in my life for quite a while.

***************

he asked what i have been doing recently. i said nothing much.

mum took a fall, broke her leg and is in wheelchair for the last 6 months. i've been designated relieve household-in-charge. my uncle passed on before the new year was over. never knew i cared. i've spent one week clearing filthy, fungus ridden store rooms with historic artifacts dating back to prehistoric era, with the bruises and muscles to show for it. sometimes i'm working the night shift as well as the morning shift. i've won a car. caught up with friends that i have not seen for 25 years and some i have even forgotten about. the mystery of her drastic weight loss has finally been revealed. but she died before it can be known. i've been through the lows and highs of emotional turmoil last week. i hate it when the phone rings at night. was busy trying to organise son's birthday party last month, what with parents rsvp-ing way after deadline. now busy organising daughter's. 2 birthdays, 2 funerals, 1 wedding, 1 birth last month. am tired. physically and mentally. been nowhere for holiday. haven't touched my dslr for months. am uninspired to take beautiful photographs. haven't visited my friend since last year. her mother called. wants to go over, as soon as this dreaded sore throat is over. but the virus is comfortable in the warm dark cave that is my throat, doesn't want to up and leave. have done spring cleaning in house and got rid of a lot of rubbish, eventhough it is not spring yet. still a lot of rubbish in the house. work pile not getting smaller, will never get smaller. handphone is coming apart on me, but uninspired to adapt to new one. need to get inspiration.

i didn't say any of that.

so, just waiting until the next time you go on holiday?

err.....yes.

seems like a habit how i'm answering these questions.

still, it's easier.

introducing......

as i am writing this, and the soft breeze blows through the windows, the wonderful whiff of hamster poo wafts past my nose. yes, hamster poo. not the sexiest scent to begin my day with.

mr pet seller, you lied. you said as long as we changed the shavings that lined their cages regularly, they won't stink like a rotting dumpster. but they do. and now i have to live with that smell as i am typing on the keyboard.

their names are nibbles, the handicapped 3-legged hamster, and echo, the hyperactive convict who is forever trying to escape. i am considering renaming them to 'smelly' and 'poo-ey'. the names fit, i think, but daughter will probably not be too pleased with that. pets beget responsibility, in case you didn't know. and instead of a doggy, which mr condo manager frowns upon, these miniature hamsters, which are smaller than half the palm of a hand, are the next best thing.

they are cute, i give them that much. with their soft golden fur, twitchy nose and inability to bark their heads off or poo anywhere else except their cage. even their habitual midnight run on the threadmill is adorable, once you get past the creepy squeek of the wheels that are turning at supersonic speed when all is quiet in the house and everything is asleep, almost. they do have a strange tendency to decorate their plastic house with poo the very minute that you return it newly cleaned, sterile, sweet smelling to them though, almost like poo is the newest latest interior decoration fad. faster than the speed of light, they will soil it again. hamster logic, i will never understand.

now, if only i can train them to flush their toilet or wipe their bum after poo-ing, they will be the dream pets of all time.

little white lies

i look around, and i wonder, why do some people choose to pepper their lives with little white tales. life seems complicated enough as it is, with all the hurdles and challenges thrown our way, why do some voluntarily choose to weave a complicated web of deceit to surround themselves.

i've been catching up with old friends on facebook, friends dating back to my primary school days. they are a rare commodity, friends that go such a long way back, but i digress. i have trouble remembering their faces, their names and everything else that comes from such a historic era. i can't even keep track of facts, why do others want to embellish it with lies and half-truth? it will be a nightmare just to keep track of what you have said to whom and what you haven't said to whom, or risk losing your credibility altogether. you will need to draw one of those confusing flowcharts in that brain of yours, complete with arrows and lines linking the sequences of events and the people involved. that's too convoluted a life for me.

i'm not a hypocrite and i do not claim not to have lied, ever. i have lied, but most of the time, i was forced to lie. or otherwise choose to expose the lies of others. that much courage i do not possess. when it is under my own control, i prefer to tell the truth, and it is not that difficult considering i have a very simple life. i am asked a question, i tell what i know. i have no qualms about saying i do not know, or that i am not measuring up to expectations. but still, i find myself more and more often being forced to tell a lie. for very silly reasons. because others are unable to tell the truth. how did she die? what happened to their marriage? where is he? things that i know do not duplicate that which others have told. so, do i lie? or do i tell the truth and brand the others a liar? i've learn to answer without answering. to skip around the truths, to give vague answers. that in itself sounds like a lie.

and so, it tugs at my heart. why do people choose to lie? aren't truths much better? so what if you are fat wearing that dress, you have a right to know, and cut that dress into shreds with the garden shears. or pour kerosene on it and banish it into the heaven of ugly dresses. you have a right to the correct information, on which you can form a correct judgement and carry out the correct action. not that we have to stare at our best friends in their eyes and tell them 'you look very fat in that yellow skirt' but perhaps a kinder truth, 'the red one plays up your figure more' or 'yellow is not your best colour'. but definitely not, 'yes, you look beautiful in that (ugh!) dress, dear' and have the poor lady prance around town with the delusion that she looks like angelina jolie.

given a chance, some people will lie about everything. their past, like gordon ramsay did. their actions, like bill clinton did. even what we know to be facts are often distorted truths, like our history books. others lie about the most trivial things. like what they did over the weekend, their friends, their chores, their favourite things. lies that i don't get.

my maid lied to me, my colleagues lie to me, my boss lies to me, my relatives lie to me, my children will lie to me if they are given the chance and i do not delude myself that my husband's english name is 'frank'. but i still think that life is much simpler if we can trust the things that come out from other people's mouth.

getaway

haven't had a decent thought in my gray matters for months now, since the 'death' of the blog. not to say that all my thoughts are indecent but rather that i haven't had time to sit down and muse or form a train of deep thoughtful observations.

it has been a series of very busy months, without much time for reflections or the luxury of indulging in whims. so, it's going to be that type of year is it? sadly, i'm probably the type to compartmentalise my perceptions and classify the rest of the year as 'hiccup-y', especially if the year starts off with two deaths of people i never thought of as affecting me. i take everything too dramatically, perhaps because i am too emotional. but this is not a trait that we can coldly cut off and be done with. it will be a life far simpler if everybody was born without that nasty thing we call emotion but a life far more cold and detached, and perhaps not quite worth living. so, with all these bottled up tears and heart wrenching pains we are stuck with, living our lives the best we can.

life is an amalgamation of sadness, joy, mindless routine and some surprises. hidden within the layers of hustling duties, i visited a place last weekend that brought an unexpected comfort. the klpac. a little beautiful place tucked away in the busy city that appeals to the melancholic side of me, a place that i want to run away and hide from the ugliness, the coldness that is in our life. a place that i can imagine myself wasting time sitting by the pond, legs dangling over the water, enjoying the cool breeze. a place where the blend of glass, concrete, bricks and greens appeal to the core of me. if only i can live there and be part of it.

photos? you have to be there to feel it, not see it.

the perfect man

the bride's maid stood up infront of hundreds of eyes and told the groom that he has to be attentive, caring, sensitive, wonderful, sweet, clean and a whole list of other adjectives that must have been a mile long in the speech of hers. ahhh....the expectations of an unwed woman in territory unknown.

i once was that foolish. i remember eons ago wishing, wanting my future husband to be everything, to be perfect, to be there for me in every way. to be every single wonderful adjectives that can possibly be. but does such perfection exist out there? and in the minute chance that it does, how do we compare with such perfection? us with our own flaws and weaknesses, won't we feel unable to measure up? for something that we are not, and will be unable to achieve in this lifetime, how strange that we expect that of others.

after 13 years of marriage, i finally understand what a marriage means. to be when the other cannot be. sometimes to give a little space, and other times to come a little closer. not to question what he should do for you but rather seek what you can do for him. not to look into his flaws but instead concentrate on his beauty, for everyone has both and everything is bi-faceted. to understand, to forgive and to love. these are lessons that i have not perfected but am learning to practice.

and when even 13 years seem like only yesterday, you know that you've found the one. a love that lasts a lifetime.

not unaffected

sometimes you walk through life not knowing who will touch you....until ultimately you come to the crossroad. who will you miss when they are gone? who will make your throat tight and your heart heavy, your mood down and your sleep devoid? who will occupy your thoughts and your mind? the uncle whom you have not seen for the last few years and have never had much to talk about? or the aunty that you see every so often but have nothing in common to expand on?

life's funny. you think that just because you are not close to them, that in the final event that they do leave this world, that you will be a silent bystander, observing others in their grieve, grim in your mood but unaffected on the whole.

apparently not.