what a trip it has been. sand as far as the eye can see. sand dunes, sand beach, sand in your shoes and socks, sand everywhere. majestic pyramids that has lasted centuries, hieroglyphics that tell stories of a time before christ. tombs of the mummified dead and cruises along the famed river nile. i have encountered many firsts this time round. the first time i've spend the night in a sleeping cart as the train rolled on by. the chug-a-chug makes for a very calming, very comforting lullaby rock. i wake up many times that night, hoping, wishing, that our destination was still a long way away. it was also the first time i had dinner in a tent under the bright starry sky, far from civilisation, surrounded on all sides by sand to the horizon. we talked, we chatted, we laughed under the glow of the flickering candle. it was like a page out of aladdin, or some middle eastern fable. the stories told were captivating, to say the least, of queens and pharoahs long gone, of quells for power and lineage squabbles, of incest and forbidden affairs, stories that we can now only let imagination fill in the gaps of what history recorded. the first i've stepped on egyptian soil, tasted egyptian food and interacted with their people.
i looked at all the sand surrounding us, so parched, so dry, so devoid of anything except more sand, and all i could think of was how could they have let their country go to such waste. a long long time ago, there were trees, there were greeneries. they were a rich powerful country, building huge monumental structures that were simply mind-boggling. their architecture, their medical knowledge were beyond the times. all that is left now are fine grains of sand that slip from one's grasp. awe striking legacies are now reduced to a 'one dollar' nation.
everywhere that you go, everywhere that you turn, everybody screams 'one dollar' at you, almost like it is a term of greeting. hello, good morning, how do you do, one dollar. you will think that it is en egyptian term for acknowledgement, one that sounded so much like our american unit of currency. unfortunately, you listened to what you heard, a request, more like a demand for money. one dollar for whatever they are selling. one dollar for taking photographs of them. one dollar for using their restroom. one dollar for even looking at them! old men with age wrinkling their faces, young handsome men, even healthy decent looking children, all demanding money as if it was their god given right. if you make a purchase, be swift on your feet, for you will most likely be short-changed, deliberately. it is a place where you have to be on your toes.
everyday was an adventure in itself, a page in life.
we were told that they will charge us for taking photographs of them. still, armed with that information, we were not prepared. sleepy, disorientated and exhausted, we clambered down from the bus for our first tourist spot, the pyramid at saqqara. we were hounded almost immediately by the locals working that area. we knew better, or at least we thought we did. we rejected their offer of taking photos. free, no charge, they tempted us. we ignored them whilst they brazenly interjected themselves in our family pose. they persisted. they took off their headwear and placed it on the hubby. thanks, but no thanks, i am not going to be caught dead in some strange guy's piece of clothing. later, he stuck his hand out for some money. i thought you said free, i was screaming inside my head. but i know better than to argue with these people. their hide is as thick as their face. for them it's survival. we gave in, but so many times i had to feign deafness to ignore their demands for money.
when you venture into their markets, they open their prices with the sky. absurd, you say. then what do you want, they ask. it is all a very tiring process of bargaining, of give and take. i am lost in this place, where your words are not your meaning, where manipulation is the game. you think you have won when you bargained to rock bottom prices, then you think back, all the grabbing of your arms, the all-too-close proximity, the shameless request for a kiss or anything else in your bag for that matter. did you win or did they gain the upper hand?
egypt. that was egypt for me. a place full of mysteries and brazen people. a country so poor when it has so much. an experience of a lifetime.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
the story of snow white
i have a story to tell. an epilogue of a story that i have told, if you will. a very long time ago, in another blog, i told of the story of cinderella and her sad forsaken life after her children abandoned her and she went back to her shack to spend the rest of her life. today's story is about her daughter-in-law, the wife of the shopkeeper.
apparently, heartlessness run in the family like an inherited trait. the shopkeeper's wife, shall we call her snow white, has toiled most of her life to bring up her family of 6 children, 8 if you count the passive, indifferent, lazy excuse of a husband and the naggy, whiny and disillusioned cinderella. her life wasn't easy. she cooked, she washed, she cleaned, she looked after the shop, she looked after the old woman, she looked after the children, and she could do no more than close her eyes to the gallivanting ways of her husband. her life was a mindless routine of work, work and more work. how she find joy and the energy to carry on everyday, i do not know. but her hard work eventually paid off. all 6 children have grown up and left the nest, returning once in a while with their palms open for some money to tie over their single carefree lifestyles. yet she gives lovingly, she gives willingly, with nary a complain passing her mouth.
one unfortunate day, she fell down, very much like cinderella did years earlier, and broke her arm. it was most misfortunate, not to mention painful. now was the time for her children, the receipients of all her sacrifice and time, the apples of her eye, to return, to stay by her side and tend to her every beck and call, to return the great love that their mother had showered upon them for decades.
if one were to walk into the scene at the hospital, perhaps one would finally understand that life is definitely not fair. there she was, lying in immense pain on the bed, with one son hanging around like a lost puppy, with her baggages not far away, sorry i meant cinderella and the laggard husband. one son. out of the six children. or should i say one out of 12, since all 6 children were married, betrothed or have a devoted other half. perhaps the situation was dire, maybe it was a last minute thing, surely one can understand that not everybody are able to leave their jobs at such short notice. even when their mother is to be hospitalised.
the doctor came, the doctor saw, the doctor operated. they all visited, her children. though not everyday, though not for long hours, but they all made an appearance during her long stay at the hospital. they took turns to hang around the hospital and keep her company, some more than others. her oldest rarely visited, though that can also be understood, with 3 children and a husband in tow. snow white will understand.
come operation day, 4 turned up. 4 out of the 12. the day to send her in to the operation theatre. the day to assure her that all will be well. the day to see her tears fall from her eyes when the doors of the theatre were closing. the day to see her for the last time for nobody ever knows with surgeries, risk are always involved. 8 were glaringly missing. nice to know that they have such confidence in the doctor and the hospital . nevertheless, snow white will understand.
that is the fact of life. nobody rushed to come forward to pay the bill. cinderella's son-in-law picked up the tab in the end, the one with the deeper pocket. that is the practical side of life. after she checked out of the hospital, on her way to recovery, we hear the chirping of the little baby birds once more, asking for receipts for the hospital bill payments. when snow white was admitted, we hear silence. when she was in the hospital, we hear silence. when she was pushed into the operating theatre, we hear silence. when they need the receipts to claim for insurance, we hear a lot of chirping. if you think for one minute that they are so aggressive in claiming back the money so that they can repay the deeper pocket uncle, you are more naive than you think.
such is the circle of life. an incomplete one.
if families are so cold, how do we face the rest of the world? if love is so superficial, how do we carry on? if life is just these, where is the meaning?
apparently, heartlessness run in the family like an inherited trait. the shopkeeper's wife, shall we call her snow white, has toiled most of her life to bring up her family of 6 children, 8 if you count the passive, indifferent, lazy excuse of a husband and the naggy, whiny and disillusioned cinderella. her life wasn't easy. she cooked, she washed, she cleaned, she looked after the shop, she looked after the old woman, she looked after the children, and she could do no more than close her eyes to the gallivanting ways of her husband. her life was a mindless routine of work, work and more work. how she find joy and the energy to carry on everyday, i do not know. but her hard work eventually paid off. all 6 children have grown up and left the nest, returning once in a while with their palms open for some money to tie over their single carefree lifestyles. yet she gives lovingly, she gives willingly, with nary a complain passing her mouth.
one unfortunate day, she fell down, very much like cinderella did years earlier, and broke her arm. it was most misfortunate, not to mention painful. now was the time for her children, the receipients of all her sacrifice and time, the apples of her eye, to return, to stay by her side and tend to her every beck and call, to return the great love that their mother had showered upon them for decades.
if one were to walk into the scene at the hospital, perhaps one would finally understand that life is definitely not fair. there she was, lying in immense pain on the bed, with one son hanging around like a lost puppy, with her baggages not far away, sorry i meant cinderella and the laggard husband. one son. out of the six children. or should i say one out of 12, since all 6 children were married, betrothed or have a devoted other half. perhaps the situation was dire, maybe it was a last minute thing, surely one can understand that not everybody are able to leave their jobs at such short notice. even when their mother is to be hospitalised.
the doctor came, the doctor saw, the doctor operated. they all visited, her children. though not everyday, though not for long hours, but they all made an appearance during her long stay at the hospital. they took turns to hang around the hospital and keep her company, some more than others. her oldest rarely visited, though that can also be understood, with 3 children and a husband in tow. snow white will understand.
come operation day, 4 turned up. 4 out of the 12. the day to send her in to the operation theatre. the day to assure her that all will be well. the day to see her tears fall from her eyes when the doors of the theatre were closing. the day to see her for the last time for nobody ever knows with surgeries, risk are always involved. 8 were glaringly missing. nice to know that they have such confidence in the doctor and the hospital . nevertheless, snow white will understand.
that is the fact of life. nobody rushed to come forward to pay the bill. cinderella's son-in-law picked up the tab in the end, the one with the deeper pocket. that is the practical side of life. after she checked out of the hospital, on her way to recovery, we hear the chirping of the little baby birds once more, asking for receipts for the hospital bill payments. when snow white was admitted, we hear silence. when she was in the hospital, we hear silence. when she was pushed into the operating theatre, we hear silence. when they need the receipts to claim for insurance, we hear a lot of chirping. if you think for one minute that they are so aggressive in claiming back the money so that they can repay the deeper pocket uncle, you are more naive than you think.
such is the circle of life. an incomplete one.
if families are so cold, how do we face the rest of the world? if love is so superficial, how do we carry on? if life is just these, where is the meaning?
Monday, December 14, 2009
that fat old man in red
this year my daughter realises that santa is really her mummy. she hasn't made any comment about her newly gained knowledge, or showed any signs whether it will scar her indefinitely and turn her into an unbalanced weird lady who is borderline psychotic. she seems to have accepted the fact well, as long as mummy santa keeps on delivering. a wise little girl i have on my hand.
still, it's a little sad for me, and i should think for her as well, that the santa fantasy has popped. there is something very magical about the fat red old man bringing presents for children. i mean, presents from anybody will do just fine from a kid's viewpoint, but nobody beats santa. it brings out the christmas spirit in you, that little spring in your walk, that little christmas hum, that spirit of giving and sharing and that 'ho ho ho'. christmas will definitely be a lot quiter, a lot less cheer without santa.
i had a secret santa when i was a kid too. well, just for one christmas, and i knew straightaway that it was my uncles, but it still felt special and wonderful. and it was this feeling that i wanted to recreate for my kids when i took on the role of santa since they were little wee ones. it wasn't an easy task, worse every year that they are growing older and wiser, since i have to sneak around to get presents, wake up in the middle of the night to wrap them and place them where they will be found, and not forgetting acting very surprised the very next morning together with the kids. they can only be gullible for so long.
the younger one is still lost in his world of dreams. he hasn't caught on to the fact....... i think. unless he has caught on and he has a better poker face than his sister. he's still wishing for psp's and has even got the entire toys 'r' us catalog circled. santa won't bring presents for greedy children, i told him. but i think he's still keeping his fingers crossed. i like the naiveness in him, the innocence, the pureness and i wish i can keep him like that for as long as his childhood lasts.
what i can't understand is why some adults have to be so cruel. during an art lesson last week, we were so engrossed in our paintings and the cheery christmas song in the air, when the teacher said out loud, 'you know that santa doesn't exist and is just your mummy and daddy'. if i wasn't so much in the christmassy mood, i would have very much like to clobber her. to stomp on her a little and say 'ho ho ho'. what did she get for breaking other children's dream? i think she is mr. scrooge reincarnated, revelling in bursting the bubble of little ones and the happiness and laughters that go with it. she had nothing to gain, absolutely nothing. what possible ulterior motives could she have? to do something bad when you have absolutely no benefit is of such low moral character. luckily only my daughter was around, my son wandering a little off hearing distance. i sushed her into silence. and to think, she was this sweet soft-spoken artistic lady, or at least to all outward appearance.
i'll be a little sad when my son doesn't believe in santa anymore, for when santa disappears from his fantasy world, a little part of me will have to disappear as well. that little playful fun-loving happy part. the part that watches her children's faces light up with joy as they open their presents from santa. sometimes it was inconvenient, the secret santa's job, sometimes it was troublesome. but it was worth every minute of it.
still, it's a little sad for me, and i should think for her as well, that the santa fantasy has popped. there is something very magical about the fat red old man bringing presents for children. i mean, presents from anybody will do just fine from a kid's viewpoint, but nobody beats santa. it brings out the christmas spirit in you, that little spring in your walk, that little christmas hum, that spirit of giving and sharing and that 'ho ho ho'. christmas will definitely be a lot quiter, a lot less cheer without santa.
i had a secret santa when i was a kid too. well, just for one christmas, and i knew straightaway that it was my uncles, but it still felt special and wonderful. and it was this feeling that i wanted to recreate for my kids when i took on the role of santa since they were little wee ones. it wasn't an easy task, worse every year that they are growing older and wiser, since i have to sneak around to get presents, wake up in the middle of the night to wrap them and place them where they will be found, and not forgetting acting very surprised the very next morning together with the kids. they can only be gullible for so long.
the younger one is still lost in his world of dreams. he hasn't caught on to the fact....... i think. unless he has caught on and he has a better poker face than his sister. he's still wishing for psp's and has even got the entire toys 'r' us catalog circled. santa won't bring presents for greedy children, i told him. but i think he's still keeping his fingers crossed. i like the naiveness in him, the innocence, the pureness and i wish i can keep him like that for as long as his childhood lasts.
what i can't understand is why some adults have to be so cruel. during an art lesson last week, we were so engrossed in our paintings and the cheery christmas song in the air, when the teacher said out loud, 'you know that santa doesn't exist and is just your mummy and daddy'. if i wasn't so much in the christmassy mood, i would have very much like to clobber her. to stomp on her a little and say 'ho ho ho'. what did she get for breaking other children's dream? i think she is mr. scrooge reincarnated, revelling in bursting the bubble of little ones and the happiness and laughters that go with it. she had nothing to gain, absolutely nothing. what possible ulterior motives could she have? to do something bad when you have absolutely no benefit is of such low moral character. luckily only my daughter was around, my son wandering a little off hearing distance. i sushed her into silence. and to think, she was this sweet soft-spoken artistic lady, or at least to all outward appearance.
i'll be a little sad when my son doesn't believe in santa anymore, for when santa disappears from his fantasy world, a little part of me will have to disappear as well. that little playful fun-loving happy part. the part that watches her children's faces light up with joy as they open their presents from santa. sometimes it was inconvenient, the secret santa's job, sometimes it was troublesome. but it was worth every minute of it.
Friday, December 11, 2009
born like that
...is irritated by how compulsive my personality is. i can't rest easy until i have finished playing that pc game, until all the challenges of each level are met and the screen comes up with 'return to main menu'. it's like i need a perfect finish to each and every task and wrap up the entire thing in a beautifully wrapped package, complete with a ribbon on top. for each and every game that i come across. used to be when tetris was in fashion, i'll play tetris all night and day, until i see coloured blocks falling when i close my eyes for the night. it is weary. yet the compulsiveness is at the very core of me.
i recently did something about my passion for creativity; i joined an art class. but i can't rest easy unless i'm painting every second of the day. long periods of time go by in a flash when i'm painting. i walked in the door at 12pm and the next time i checked the watch, it was 5pm. where did the 5 hours go? i suspected that the venue of the art studio is wrapped in a time-warped zone where time is stolen without one's conscious awareness, where they take your time and give it to others who need it more (like when someone shoot a bullet at you, and you see the bullet whizzing towards you and the 1 second is like 1 minute, frame by frame ala the matrix), but then again that is just my theory. after the 5 hours, i go home and my hands are still itchy. it feels incomplete without a paintbrush in hand. i'm imagining strokes, blending the colours in my mind.
the only thing i can think of, to remedy this diseased mindframe, is to do as much of it as fast as i can so that i can get a burnout and at the very least, slow down. an overdose of sorts. at the moment, the overdosage is not working, i'm lapping all the time i spend on it with much satisfaction. such is the behaviour of one's compulsive disorder. whatever i get my hands on, i need to do it all the time. like the book i pick up, i'll read it to all hours of the night until i reach the very last page, until i know the ending. should i be attending some psychotheraphy lessons? to teach me that it is alright to stop, to wait for another day. virgoans are supposed to be perfectionist, or have an insatiable drive for achieving perfection. it is so tiring, i feel sapped even i as speak, as i recall all the ways in which i am compulsive. a few more days later, or a few more days earlier and i'll be without this obsessive streak. would life be much easier then?
i recently did something about my passion for creativity; i joined an art class. but i can't rest easy unless i'm painting every second of the day. long periods of time go by in a flash when i'm painting. i walked in the door at 12pm and the next time i checked the watch, it was 5pm. where did the 5 hours go? i suspected that the venue of the art studio is wrapped in a time-warped zone where time is stolen without one's conscious awareness, where they take your time and give it to others who need it more (like when someone shoot a bullet at you, and you see the bullet whizzing towards you and the 1 second is like 1 minute, frame by frame ala the matrix), but then again that is just my theory. after the 5 hours, i go home and my hands are still itchy. it feels incomplete without a paintbrush in hand. i'm imagining strokes, blending the colours in my mind.
the only thing i can think of, to remedy this diseased mindframe, is to do as much of it as fast as i can so that i can get a burnout and at the very least, slow down. an overdose of sorts. at the moment, the overdosage is not working, i'm lapping all the time i spend on it with much satisfaction. such is the behaviour of one's compulsive disorder. whatever i get my hands on, i need to do it all the time. like the book i pick up, i'll read it to all hours of the night until i reach the very last page, until i know the ending. should i be attending some psychotheraphy lessons? to teach me that it is alright to stop, to wait for another day. virgoans are supposed to be perfectionist, or have an insatiable drive for achieving perfection. it is so tiring, i feel sapped even i as speak, as i recall all the ways in which i am compulsive. a few more days later, or a few more days earlier and i'll be without this obsessive streak. would life be much easier then?
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
self-worth
there is nothing more humbling, nothing that can bring you down to earth more than the innocence of a child.
he has spent the better part of his life building his empire, dedicating his time, his waking hours, his life to his work to be where he is today. he walked into the room, and a child innocently asked, 'are you the chef?'. in the majestic beauty of his cold hard majestic residence, he was not the master, the king, the supreme but instead, to outward appearance, a paid employee of the residence. yet the little child did not mean any malice, nor did he say it with sarcasm or insult. it was just a naive guileless question. to which brings the question to mind, is it all worth it?
he has spent the better part of his life building his empire, dedicating his time, his waking hours, his life to his work to be where he is today. he walked into the room, and a child innocently asked, 'are you the chef?'. in the majestic beauty of his cold hard majestic residence, he was not the master, the king, the supreme but instead, to outward appearance, a paid employee of the residence. yet the little child did not mean any malice, nor did he say it with sarcasm or insult. it was just a naive guileless question. to which brings the question to mind, is it all worth it?
Monday, December 07, 2009
fear
just when you think you are jaded, just when you think you know the world and it has nothing new to offer you, life surprises you in many ways. i'm trying new things nowadays. it's putting butterflies in my stomach. or is that just my gastric juice acting up again?
finally went on the trapeze, after hours and days of nagging from the little ones. for some strange reason, they want to see their mother, the person who went through much pain and hardship to give birth to them, go through the fright of her life and possibly suffer a heart attack in the process. kids are such little devils.
many will not understand what the big deal is about, but those closest to me know. my family understands, especially since they have been there with me everytime i freeze with fear in high places. i would sooner crawl on the dusty floor of hillside ledges rather than trust my own shaky feet. when people stood at the cliffside of the grand canyon in las vegas, enjoying the beautiful sceneries of the breathtaking gorge, i waited safely in the comfort of the bus, not missing a little bit of the acrophobia that i know will suffocate me.
my fear of heights is quite a strange thing. one day i was leaning over the balcony of the 23rd floor and dropping water balloons without any apprehension about the height and another day, i realised i was terrified of heights. perhaps it's the acknowledgement of mortality in all of us.
anyway, i am at a loss for words to describe the trapeze experience. i was mentally geared up, having been bomblasted for days on end by the kids but that didn't stop me from screaming just as i was approaching the trapeze site, just to let out all the tension and pent-up fear. the people in charge gave me a weird look. what? you never have a crazy petrified woman going on the trapeze before? the whole thing was surreal. it felt like i was emotionally removed from the physical experience, automatically performing what i was suppose to, hanging upside down from the swinging bar. my mind was a blur. i was rambling like some pathetic idiot. when my legs were back on safe ground, i realised my limbs were shivering uncontrollably. i don't know any other idiot who is so petrified of heights who will do such a dumb thing. after that experience, i think i am less afraid of heights. to face your fears, they say. but i am in no hurry to test my new found confidence. not for a very long time.
for now, i am all geared to try more new things. next on my list is roller blading along the east coast in that little island down south. first i have to get over my fear of falling down on my bum and spread eagled on the pavement like an idiot. then again, i'm already used to the feeling of being an idiot. one down, another to go.
finally went on the trapeze, after hours and days of nagging from the little ones. for some strange reason, they want to see their mother, the person who went through much pain and hardship to give birth to them, go through the fright of her life and possibly suffer a heart attack in the process. kids are such little devils.
many will not understand what the big deal is about, but those closest to me know. my family understands, especially since they have been there with me everytime i freeze with fear in high places. i would sooner crawl on the dusty floor of hillside ledges rather than trust my own shaky feet. when people stood at the cliffside of the grand canyon in las vegas, enjoying the beautiful sceneries of the breathtaking gorge, i waited safely in the comfort of the bus, not missing a little bit of the acrophobia that i know will suffocate me.
my fear of heights is quite a strange thing. one day i was leaning over the balcony of the 23rd floor and dropping water balloons without any apprehension about the height and another day, i realised i was terrified of heights. perhaps it's the acknowledgement of mortality in all of us.
anyway, i am at a loss for words to describe the trapeze experience. i was mentally geared up, having been bomblasted for days on end by the kids but that didn't stop me from screaming just as i was approaching the trapeze site, just to let out all the tension and pent-up fear. the people in charge gave me a weird look. what? you never have a crazy petrified woman going on the trapeze before? the whole thing was surreal. it felt like i was emotionally removed from the physical experience, automatically performing what i was suppose to, hanging upside down from the swinging bar. my mind was a blur. i was rambling like some pathetic idiot. when my legs were back on safe ground, i realised my limbs were shivering uncontrollably. i don't know any other idiot who is so petrified of heights who will do such a dumb thing. after that experience, i think i am less afraid of heights. to face your fears, they say. but i am in no hurry to test my new found confidence. not for a very long time.
for now, i am all geared to try more new things. next on my list is roller blading along the east coast in that little island down south. first i have to get over my fear of falling down on my bum and spread eagled on the pavement like an idiot. then again, i'm already used to the feeling of being an idiot. one down, another to go.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
more than a head in the driver seat
who is looking out for you? we never really know the answer to that. until the time counts.
it was haji. we chose to drive ourselves to kuantan instead of getting him to drive us there. it wasn't so much to let him spend haji with his family, for the meaning of the holiday has skipped our mind, but because we wanted to experience driving there on our own. the feeling was exhilirating, the freedom, the control.
before we left, he gave us last minute instructions on how to reach the highway. ha! not surprising he didn't have much faith in us, we didn't have much faith in ourselves either. still, we were armed with a polite speaking gprs lady and the foolish confidence of the youth. youth? we are still young? how else can we explain our baseless confidence.
when we reach destination, my handphone tweeted with an incoming message. have you reached kuantan, he asked? i was surprised. it sounded like he care. true enough, he has been our chauffer for 10 years, ever since the arrival of the oldest. but for the last 10 years, the only times we have crossed words were details of errands for him to run and rebukes when he crosses his line. rarely, though not never, have i asked about his personal life. we have kept our distance and that was the way we like it. i have long learnt that the best relation with employees was an impersonal one, unless you want to court for messy dialogues. they work for you. full stop. they are not your friend. otherwise you'll be hearing all sorts of sob stories on why they cannot perform their work and why they need to borrow more money. complications, i don't need.
his sms took me by surprise. even my parents didn't call me at my estimated time of arrival to check whether i have arrived safely. i replied that i have just arrived. he texted back advising me to leave early on the date of departure so that i will not be caught up in the traffic jam.
i never realised he cared for us. i have always thought that we were his employers and that was that. his duty was to perform his job efficiently and nothing more. when his duty was not required, his ties to us cease. perhaps i have been more cold-blooded than him all these years. unforgiving. walls raised too high.
come monday morning, after the holiday, he was once again the head that was in the driver seat. i see nothing more of him than the back of his head, and we say nothing more. life goes back to normal.
it was haji. we chose to drive ourselves to kuantan instead of getting him to drive us there. it wasn't so much to let him spend haji with his family, for the meaning of the holiday has skipped our mind, but because we wanted to experience driving there on our own. the feeling was exhilirating, the freedom, the control.
before we left, he gave us last minute instructions on how to reach the highway. ha! not surprising he didn't have much faith in us, we didn't have much faith in ourselves either. still, we were armed with a polite speaking gprs lady and the foolish confidence of the youth. youth? we are still young? how else can we explain our baseless confidence.
when we reach destination, my handphone tweeted with an incoming message. have you reached kuantan, he asked? i was surprised. it sounded like he care. true enough, he has been our chauffer for 10 years, ever since the arrival of the oldest. but for the last 10 years, the only times we have crossed words were details of errands for him to run and rebukes when he crosses his line. rarely, though not never, have i asked about his personal life. we have kept our distance and that was the way we like it. i have long learnt that the best relation with employees was an impersonal one, unless you want to court for messy dialogues. they work for you. full stop. they are not your friend. otherwise you'll be hearing all sorts of sob stories on why they cannot perform their work and why they need to borrow more money. complications, i don't need.
his sms took me by surprise. even my parents didn't call me at my estimated time of arrival to check whether i have arrived safely. i replied that i have just arrived. he texted back advising me to leave early on the date of departure so that i will not be caught up in the traffic jam.
i never realised he cared for us. i have always thought that we were his employers and that was that. his duty was to perform his job efficiently and nothing more. when his duty was not required, his ties to us cease. perhaps i have been more cold-blooded than him all these years. unforgiving. walls raised too high.
come monday morning, after the holiday, he was once again the head that was in the driver seat. i see nothing more of him than the back of his head, and we say nothing more. life goes back to normal.
driving to freedom
taking our first road trip in malaysia was an eye-opener. not the first that we have travelled to other cities and towns in this country but the first that we have driven there ourselves. over the past two years, we have made numerous trip down south, whizzing past oil palms and rubber trees, rest stops and open blue skies and most of the time we were catching up on our z's whilst someone was behind the wheels. last weekend, i finally took the steering wheel into my own hands and made our way to the east coast.
the feeling was exhilirating, taking over control of your life rather than passively sitting around until the destination is in sight. this time, the whole journey was an adventure, from start to finish. music blasting away, kids dozing off in the back, a polite robotic-sounded lady reminding us constantly that a police speed trap was ahead, screaming our heads off in unison to the music, the picture painted was at once warm and beautiful. this is what family memories should be about. i was reminded of the times that i took long journeys during my university years, during the times when i was dumb and fearless. i wonder at the audacity of the youth, when you do things because you wanted to, when you don't have to ponder, calculate, plan and strategise, when execution was too long a word and you have gone before you finished saying the word. things were simple. life was simple. you wanted to go someplace, you rent a car, you pack some clothes and you were there. the freedom. that was what i was reminded of on this trip.
when the highways opened into clear blue skies, filled with palm trees and fields on both sides, my heart opened with it. not knowing what lies beyond the next corner, flying past at 130km/h, sceneries so beautiful but i couldn't take my eyes off the cars in front of me, not even for one second. it doesn't matter. i couldn't see with my eyes, but i saw with my heart. perhaps the sceneries were the same as those journeys down south, but the feeling was different. so dramatically different. i was taking control of life in my own hands. i don't seem to have much opportunities for that nowadays. this time the holiday didn't only start when we reach the destination, it started when i laid my hands on the wheel.
the feeling was exhilirating, taking over control of your life rather than passively sitting around until the destination is in sight. this time, the whole journey was an adventure, from start to finish. music blasting away, kids dozing off in the back, a polite robotic-sounded lady reminding us constantly that a police speed trap was ahead, screaming our heads off in unison to the music, the picture painted was at once warm and beautiful. this is what family memories should be about. i was reminded of the times that i took long journeys during my university years, during the times when i was dumb and fearless. i wonder at the audacity of the youth, when you do things because you wanted to, when you don't have to ponder, calculate, plan and strategise, when execution was too long a word and you have gone before you finished saying the word. things were simple. life was simple. you wanted to go someplace, you rent a car, you pack some clothes and you were there. the freedom. that was what i was reminded of on this trip.
when the highways opened into clear blue skies, filled with palm trees and fields on both sides, my heart opened with it. not knowing what lies beyond the next corner, flying past at 130km/h, sceneries so beautiful but i couldn't take my eyes off the cars in front of me, not even for one second. it doesn't matter. i couldn't see with my eyes, but i saw with my heart. perhaps the sceneries were the same as those journeys down south, but the feeling was different. so dramatically different. i was taking control of life in my own hands. i don't seem to have much opportunities for that nowadays. this time the holiday didn't only start when we reach the destination, it started when i laid my hands on the wheel.
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