tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36288210732270118442024-03-06T09:41:30.143+01:00....time and patienceDoduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-18234011128614822962009-08-10T01:09:00.011+02:002009-08-16T10:16:20.036+02:00Randomly in the mood<div style="text-align: justify; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >It was my plan to update my blog once a month. But of late, I have been bogged down with summer visitors and my trip to Sicily. One can easily get sidetracked when there are tons of activities to attend to. My mind was constantly brewing with things to do for the last summer in Italy. Although my husband's contract in Italy has been extended to June 2010, I reckon that there will be no more of those short trips on planet of the pastas. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Contrary to my believe, every good thing have to end eventually. And so is our tour in Italy. I enjoyed most part of it albeit the rising cost of living persistently continues.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >I came back from my one month summer holiday in Sicily about three weeks ago. Time spent with my daughter and granddaughter was so precious. I was saddened when I left them. Nothing I can do to change the situation. My daughter has her own family and I have a husband that needs my presence at home. Beside all of these, there are urgent matters that needed to be addressed. Very little time to keep my little stubby fingers from tapping on the keyboard to update my blog.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >No doubt I have been married for a long time to a US citizen, I never really had the opportunity to sort out my Green card issue. It never bothered me at all since we have been traveling around the world from the day we got married. Who would have thought these things when we were too busy getting settled in another foreign land. Getting adjusted to different cultures and traditions took up most of our time. To make matter worst, we moved once in every two years. Our minds are preoccupied and focused as where the next location might be. This time, we ain't going anywhere but back to the big country.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Evidently I am forced this time to get around with the real thing in life. No time for regrets or wonder why I didn't do it more than a decade ago. No more excuses. I got down to the bottom of it and submitted my paperwork. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >I prayed so hard to get my first step approved by the authorities. My prayers were answered. My petition was approved by USCIS and forwarded to the consular office to process my Green card. Believe me, this is only the beginning. There are few more steps to go. I can't wait to get this pressing issue to be completed. Wish me luck and give me a moment in your prayer.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /><br /></span></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-69617298215348549312009-06-09T16:09:00.018+02:002009-06-09T21:40:21.100+02:00Back for a bit...<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Where did the time flies? I last posted on Feb 13 and left for a sudden trip back to Borneo. My trip was not fun to say the least; caring and babysitting a sick husband. It was a tough one and I almost lost my wit. He practically drove me up the wall ... lol. I would have preferred to babysit a newborn.</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">A three-month of pure dedication to an immobile husband and to top it up, the journey to Sabah Medical Center was endless. I am almost certain that I knew every pothole that existed from Kinarut to Sabah Medical Center. I avoided those potholes because of the condition of my husband's surgery that was so vulnerable from getting ripped. I made it through without any incident.</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">My husband's short-term disability finally ended the first week of May. We headed back for Italy to continue where we left. Our Siamese cat was scrawny but luckily still in good health. Thanks to a good landlord who cared for him while we were away. Both cars are still in good shape. Unfortunately, the house was covered with pile of dust and it took me almost a week to clean the nooks and crannies of the farm house.</span></span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9JvoTXw1sPMYbOTS9Y-CP8CUbyrDonSlGjfUuqGc9dqeM-aXiuyNAe2zHmYIpdJ6MeEwmwmvBT9WqCmFEO3wlRRZhQFxROYX9LWuY5_mTUJ02yoYHiQjNmesVEgVi17ozDQOvMmriQcl/s1600-h/sophia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR9JvoTXw1sPMYbOTS9Y-CP8CUbyrDonSlGjfUuqGc9dqeM-aXiuyNAe2zHmYIpdJ6MeEwmwmvBT9WqCmFEO3wlRRZhQFxROYX9LWuY5_mTUJ02yoYHiQjNmesVEgVi17ozDQOvMmriQcl/s320/sophia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345414947923270354" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Before we even got settled down from the extended time away from Italy, news of us departing the country started looming around us. Its June, and I am on my way to see my granddaughter. This could be my last visit to Sicily to see her. I am going to miss her terribly. Three weeks seem to be short and I intend to spend my time with her as much as I can. God knows, when will I see her again. </span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I am convinced this is going to be very difficult for me having to live further and further away from my granddaughter. Soon after seeing my granddaughter, I will be on my way again; this time all alone for couple of months. The chapter of our life in Italy is about to end. Its time to get packing again for another unknown adventure. Life is full of surprise; it never ceases to amaze me. </span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I dread to think of my impending journey in August .. nothing I can do to change it. Life has to go on for me and my husband.</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">ends.</span></span></span><br /></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-20059040834237296762009-02-13T17:22:00.005+01:002009-02-13T18:56:54.925+01:00Be my Valentine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dsF8iUmvawSnEbxvnzzrgRI5HprRvausU_TpS2rTmGsmPUZWtJPSxtCmaFImlEB797Ac1XQ2K-G3-nqIqQ8POA72uITDR2PPuz12s5AtAaQHsQc2jgpkBRfBwC1A1aF8ss3Sboq-AgSO/s1600-h/heart-shape-valentine-wallpaper.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dsF8iUmvawSnEbxvnzzrgRI5HprRvausU_TpS2rTmGsmPUZWtJPSxtCmaFImlEB797Ac1XQ2K-G3-nqIqQ8POA72uITDR2PPuz12s5AtAaQHsQc2jgpkBRfBwC1A1aF8ss3Sboq-AgSO/s320/heart-shape-valentine-wallpaper.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302326416504955250" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: justify; font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">This wi</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ll be our 14t</span><span style="font-size:100%;">h Valentine's Day to</span><span style="font-size:100%;">gether and we are thankful we have come this far. We look back the good old memories we shared together, some of which are irreplaceable. We are thankful our marriage endured the minor set backs we encountered over the years. Fond memories are treasured in the form of pictures taken from various occasions of our time together with th</span><span style="font-size:100%;">e hope that it will always be remembered for the next few decades to come.<br /><br />Tonight, we plan to dine at a restaurant we both had agreed. It's going to be a beautiful night for both of us as w</span><span style="font-size:100%;">e are expecting more snow tonight. Although we have stopped drinking alcohol, tonight will be an exception. We will remember the significance of tonight's celebration, looking back at what we have achieved together and pray that it will continue for as long as we are together.<br /><br />I remember the first time we celebrated our Valentine's Day together, my husband gave me </span><span style="font-size:100%;">a bracelet made of topaz stones. It was the most beautiful set of jewelery I have ever had in my life. The bracelet sparkled </span><span style="font-size:100%;">in the dark and I couldn't resist wearing it on my wrist.<br /><br />As time goes</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> by, I no longer wanted expensive gifts. The only and one gift I want from my husband is his purest love for me that no expensive gift can ever replace the value. In return, I offer my unconditional love back to him.<br /><br /></span></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-75602225375543666582009-02-08T18:53:00.020+01:002009-02-09T14:19:01.048+01:00Sunday Bliss/Blizzard<div style="text-align: justify; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Not too much of a Sunday for us except small talk between husband and wife. Dave and myself spent the day lazing around like lounge lizards. Little Siamese King thought he was the highlight of the day. Every move we made, he was there. Mostly sitting and waiting under the threshold that leads to his 'dining facility'.<br /><br />Dave got up from the bed while I stayed in to watch the updates on FOX news. He heated few pieces of leftover pizza in the microwave oven and brewed his slurp for the day. The weather outside was gorgeous; breezy and sunny yet chilly. The best time to air out the entire house after a long chilling winter. It was a reprieve. Dave went around the house and opened all the windows to let the fresh air filter through. In a matter of hours, the wind shifted to the north and pushed the darkening clouds toward the south; our brief sunny day came and went. The beautiful day was short lived.<br /><br />Sunday has always been the day for us to discuss matters of the future. Similar topic, any household would discuss from time to time. Today, the topic is mainly focused on our youngest daughter's education.<br /><br />In less than a month, we will be emptying our little nest egg to fund for her education. Emphasis on education for the kids has been the order in our entire marriage. We gave equal opportunity to every kid to succeed in life. We supported and sacrificed for each and every kid in their endeavors. We constantly maintained our watchful eyes despite the fact that we live away from them. It was never an easy job to keep up with them. Its a 24/7 commitment.<br /><br />Chucky, as she is fondly called by her friends and families, had chosen to pursue Broadcasting & Journalism as a career. Her gutsiness seems to meet the criteria. She had participated in many debates and achieved eight credits in her forecasted result in her final year in high school. As parents, we were ecstatic and made plans to enroll her in one of the private universities, Limkokwing University of Creative Technology</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""><strong>.</strong></span><br /><br />We went through our financial situation, added the cost of the entire degree program and decided that we will sacrifice every penny we have to finance for her education. By the time we are done with her, we reckoned that every penny in our bank account would be wiped out! Isn't life is but trials and tribulations? Yes, life never ceases to amaze me.<br /><br />Although the weather changed that day, it did not dampen our spirits from making plans for our daughter's future ~ A commitment of a lifetime.<br /></span></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-91616216322369323832009-02-07T12:01:00.037+01:002009-02-09T14:14:47.229+01:00Trip to the supermarket<div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Weather was not in my favor this morning. Cloudy and windy; it made me feel loony. "Freaking cold weather! When is this going to end?" I mumbled. The Italian weather is very unpredictable to me. It has been gloomy, cold for the past week, and last night, the rain poured continuously. The weather fore casted another snowy week within the next couple of days. Well, I will just have to put up with the weather till spring time. I can't wait for that glorious sun to peep out and shine on my Dusun face. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Grudgingly, I got into my car and drove to the supermarket. My husband wasn't interested to fight with the shopping crowd. He was recovering from a severe chemical reaction caused by some drugs that did not agree with his system. Apparently, the doctor prescribed the wrong medication and caused him to bleed from the nose to the ears. My husband survived the ordeal. Phew! It was a touch and go situation. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Along the way to the supermarket, I made a mental note; I must get myself a hair cut. It's been quite a while since I last visited the salon. The price tag of a hair cut in Italy is astronomical. I was hesitant to get into my purse and shell out thirty euros for a hair cut. My mind is always on auto pilot converting the currency. Great! This is equivalent to one hundred and fifty ringgit. The thought of it made me shiver. Ah, my bangs are getting shabby and split ends are showing at the tip of my shoulder length hair. I had no choice.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Financially, I tend to be prudent in my spending. My husband always complain that I am a 'cheapo'. I compare prices, buy the cheapest and expect it to last. But no manufacturer in his right frame of mind sells good quality product for cheaper price.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Getting back to my trip to the supermarket. Ever since my husband bought us a new car, a Ford Fusion, I have taken over the responsibility of getting the weekly groceries. My husband seems to trust me driving the 'boat' simply because it was ranked as one of the safest cars in America. He wasn't too keen of me driving his manual geared 1991 Honda Acura. Although the car is in a tip top condition, except for few scratches on the body, he was not convinced to release the car to me. Personally, I love driving manual cars because they jump and go when accelerated. Our new car, spacious, comfortable, runs like a dream but the gear operates on automatic. Not my kind of thing. Well, its a luxury ride, so therefore I shouldn't be complaining. The bottom line is, it will still get me from point A to point B.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >I arrived at Ippercoop Supermercato at 3pm. Throng of people were already lined up for the baskets. I had anticipated the madness inside the supermarket. I queued and got myself a basket. The first aisle I attacked was the pet section. Damn cat! He is an eating machine. He eats more than the two of us combined together. What a hog! Pet food are over priced in Europe and our Mr. Cat do not want anything less than the Sheba brand. A can varies from fifty five to seventy five euro cents a pop. Imagine buying 14 cans per week. That amount converted to ringgit is enough to feed a small family in Malaysia for a week. Spoiled brat! Alas, Mr. Cat is my husband's best friend so I can't argue. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Next, I tackled the meat section. I was tempted to buy a good chunk of beef but the price tag was asinine. I settled for some chicken fillets and couple of thighs. Wow! That was a whooping ten euros. I scratched my head; I still have few things in my list and I was already all stressed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >By the time I completed my rounds in getting the necessary items, I felt beaten. My head was about to explode. I went to the check out counter but it was packed with people, some sombre, some anxious and few can't wait to get the hell out of the place. These are the chain reactions of the world economy crisis today. It's prevalent, the bad economy contributed stress and anxiety to every household. The children, the kitties and doggies must be fed and life must go on.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >My turn to face reality. I laid all my items on the conveyor and watched the cashier like a hawk in case I get double charged. All went well and I was prepared for the inevitable. With the last touch on the cash register keypad, the amount appeared on a side screen. Great! A hole in my pocket. Two plastic bags of groceries cost me my arms and legs. One hundred and twenty euros for a week's supply? My heart sank. My mind went on auto pilot conversion. That was equivalent to six hundred ringgit. Goodness gracious! In Malaysia that would have been a month's supply for a family of five. After paying the amount as indicated on the little screen, I hurried away from the counter afraid I might utter some profanity language. I avoided the situation.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >I pushed my basket to the basement of the supermarket and loaded my groceries into the trunk of my car. My intention after the shopping was to get my hair trimmed but after the shocking revelation, I aborted my plan and drove home in silence. </span><br /></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-22696982428862795932009-02-04T14:47:00.007+01:002009-02-04T22:20:45.189+01:00Beam me up Scotty!!! Conclusion<p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">… continuation of my last posting ‘Beam me up Scotty’</span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">After the passing of my mother, I was alone and destitute.<span style=""> </span>How on earth can I manage everything by myself?<span style=""> </span>I needed a quick fix.<span style=""> </span>I approached anyone and everyone in the family that I can depend on.<span style=""> </span>But alas, everyone seemed like they have a lot on their own plates too.</span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">I made the quick decision. I was able to persuade one of my sister-in-laws to care for my baby while I am at work. I promised to pay her some fees for the trouble.<span style=""> </span>In the end, I was forced to postpone my normal school subject classes and re-enrolled for my part-time secretarial course. <span style=""> </span>Money was tight.<span style=""> </span>I did the best to survive the harsh situation.<span style=""> </span>I worked my way up in the hotel line and attended courses from time to time.<span style=""> </span>It was some sort of fulfillment but not as fulfilling as getting the appropriate education. I was utterly deprived.<br /></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Lest not forgotten, I kept that burning desire within me.<span style=""> </span>I promised myself, I will get there someday, one way or the other.<span style=""> </span>For now, work must go on, there were urgent bills to be paid..</span></p><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">ends.</span></p>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-83556629681356874212009-01-31T09:08:00.006+01:002009-01-31T20:02:07.594+01:00The Home Coming 1968<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" >By Dave Holly</span><br /><br />Wow!! Now eight years old now. The memory of heavy rock, long hair, free love and mind altering drugs were the norm in America. Of course, not me. My average day was school, playing football and not doing my homework. My poor mother was at her wits end with us boys. Without my father around, he was still in Vietnam, we ran wild. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >In September 1968, I learned another one of life's lessons. Don't be a show off!! My friend Robert brought something to school that day and gave it to me. Man, this was special. It was a war trophy brought back by his father from the Korean war. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >Robert, a big kid with a short crew cut almost bald head was just of one wild rat pack group I ran with. All of us were wild and got into trouble every single day of the week doing stupid things like fighting during recess outside mostly to impress the girls and to act tough. It was a pecking order, who was the toughest and who was the boss. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >The trophy that Robert gave me was a grenade. Yes, the real potato!! Just pull the pin and throw it. Bang!</span> <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >We were all on our recess break on the play ground and all the rat pack gang gathered around me looking at the bomb. One of my friends spoke up and said, " I saw the show Combat, just pull the pin and throw it. You have 10 seconds once the pin is pulled." Then the peer pressure started. Chicken was called out, I dare you etc... Without thinking, I walked over to the big trash dumpster pulled the pin and threw it in. A huge explosion occurred sending the huge dumpster 10 feet in the air with leftover school lunches spilled all over the play ground. In shock we all ran!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >It wasn't long before one of my so called friends ratted me out. I can remember the teachers and the principle, they were in shock and quickly ordered a full count of the students. My mind rushed and prayed nobody was hurt or killed. Pure luck nobody was injured. Rumors spread fast that I was the crazy one around the school. I was expelled permanently pending psychological evaluation. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >My mother's first brother, uncle Ted, just returning and only 2 days back from Vietnam came and got me and took me to live with him and my aunt Georgia up in Washington, D.C. My uncle was a Lt Col in the army. He was a harden veteran of the Korean war and two combat tours in Vietnam. He suffered what we call now Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSS). Because of his experiences he drank everyday until he was falling down drunk and used to yell and hit me. Even with all of this I loved and respected him,and in many ways felt sorry for him. He was a great person and fun to be around when he wasn't drunk. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >The first day driving in Washington, D.C., there was a huge anti-war demonstration going on with an easy 100,000 people mostly long haired hip flower children. Most were stoned out of their heads. In the distance but couldn't see, I heard a rock song playing. Later, some 8 years later, I heard the same song playing on the radio. It was Jimmy Hendrix. Wow! I remember the song with the excellent rock playing but didn't know or could see him or the band. My uncle was yelling out the car at the people calling them every name in the book. By then, he had already drank a 12 pack from Dover, Delaware, where we started our drive. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >Yes, we moved back east, while my dad was still in Vietnam. My mother's parents lived there. So, for a while I was closed to my grand parents. I was labeled by the so-called expert a disturbed kid and was dangerous. I was then sent to a private military school, one of the last still open. All the others were shut down for abuse. Talk about beating and abuse, it was an everyday exercise. I got used to it. I was in pure hell! </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >One day after being there for two months I was called out upfront. I had a visitor. It was my father. He was so thin and aged so much with now gray hair. He looked bad. On his breath was the smell of 90 proof gin. He was nice to me but he told me he couldn't get me out until a year and another evaluation. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >So, 1968, my father came home from a war, he survived! My hell continued for another not one year but two before they released me to my parents. All this for showing off one day at school. Lesson two for me in life 1968.</span></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-43541936890803515142009-01-31T01:23:00.010+01:002009-01-31T12:04:21.973+01:00Summer of 1966<div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">By Dave Holly</span></span><br /><br />It was the summer of 1966, I was 6 years and time felt like it stood still. The hot July days in Oklahoma lasted forever. Life was an adventure everyday with always something to do. I ran free bare footed, no shirt, short blond hair and not a care in the world. My older brother Steve was only 11 months older than me. We lived in a nice three bedroom, doubled car garage house in a upper middle class neighborhood. It was a time in America where it was safe to leave your doors unlocked. Crime was almost unheard of during that time. All the other kids on the block were of the same age. Yes, we were part of the baby boom. Our school was right down the street where we walked to during the month of late August to late May when school was in attendant.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >My father was an USAF pilot and was always gone it seemed while I was growing up. My mother pretty much raised us kids. Oh yes, I didn't forget, but I had a younger brother also, his name was Scott. He was only two years old in 1966.<br /><br />While growing up, I never went without, always plenty to eat, nice house and plenty of friends. I personally at that age didn't know there were many in the world without good food and shelter. This was the case of my wife from Malaysia who I will meet some 30 years in the future. My brother Steve and I ran free to explore the woods, climbing trees, riding our bikes to eternity and back. It seemed, and depended who we were with that day determined where we eat lunch. All the moms had open doors and plenty to eat. It was a time in America where the women stayed at home and didn't have to work. The man went off to work and made the money. Oh boy! The American dream. It was!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >One late afternoon with the brilliant orange sun about to set, my father seemed upset about something. My mother was in the kitchen crying to herself. I followed my dad out to the garage. We had a storage area above with a long rope that, when pulled, bring down a wooden ladder. Steve and little Scott came out and all three of us wondered and watched our father heading up for the ladder. Later, I found out that my dad was ordered to a place called Vietnam. Man, wheres that and why is he going away. At that age I didn't understand.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >My dad looked from above and told Steve to watch Scott. My younger brother was a climber, he learned to climb before he learned to walk. I went in to watch my favorite evening show on our 13 inch black and white TV. Suddenly Steve was yelling for my dad who was trying to get his gear out from the storage. Scott climbed all to way up to the top of the steps and fell down on the concrete garage floor. He was not moving as my dad quickly tumbled down the ladder to get to him. He picked him up and with my mother rushed him to the hospital. During that time technology and modern medicine was unheard of at military hospitals. They arrived home in the wee hours of the morning and put Scott to bed with a nice bang on the left side of his head. The extent of Scott's injury would not be known until another 10 years.<br /><br />It was about 0430am still awake in my bed, I just laid there unable to sleep. I heard the car started and I quickly went to the window and saw my mother and father driving off. I would not see my father for another 3 years.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >As time went on the reality and understanding of the Vietnam war became very clear. All my friends on the street during that time, most of their fathers were off, also fighting this awful war. The end of the summer of 1966 ended with sad ordeal for my friend, Joe. A taxi came and delivered message that his father was killed in action. Thats the way they did back then a damn taxi.<br /><br />Joe's father wasn't the only one, three other of my friends lost their father before we started school in late August 1966. We all grew up that summer with the harsh understanding that life had other cards in the deck except worry free, not a care in the world's good life. I thought to myself at six years of age that life may be a real challenge in the years to come. That life is going to be a journey of good experiences and possibly some bad. Life's first real lesson, the summer of 1966.</span></span></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-8357826416767638412009-01-23T21:13:00.018+01:002009-01-24T12:59:30.016+01:00Beam me up Scotty!!! Part 2<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >This is the sequence of my previous posting "Beam me up Scotty!!!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >... Both side of the family concurred, the marriage has to end. The burden was lifted from my shoulder. I am free at last! I couldn't phantom myself living with someone I was not in love and at the time I could hardly understand the meaning of a real love. *I was determined to get the monkey off my back. I succeeded. Phewww! What a relief!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >* An idiom: Getting a problem off from his/her back</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >With little education, I seek employment at the only 4 star hotel in town, Kinabalu International Hotel, now known as Hyatt Kinabalu. It was the swankiest hotel in town. Businessmen concluded their wheelings and dealings at the hotel lounge, while the elites frequent the fine dining restaurant in the hotel.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >I was interviewed by the Personnel Manager (later known as Human Resource Manager) and I could only qualify as a busgirl or a waiter's helper. I was overjoyed. I collected my appointment letter the very next day. The terms and conditions of the employment were very basic. Eight hours on shift duty, a day off in a week, basic salary of one hundred and eighty ringgit and 7 points service charge. Each point was equivalent to thirty ringgit. It was a small fortune for me. I was elated.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >Back at home, my newborn baby cried wanting to be nursed. It was an agonizing time for me but I needed to be strong for our future. I pleaded to my mother to care for my baby while I worked. She was hesitant in the beginning but she knew, she had no choice. An income was badly needed to feed and clothe my baby.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >Meanwhile, the burning urge of getting more education kept pestering me. It was eminent in me and I was adamant to continue where I left. Without the knowledge of my family, I enrolled and attended night classes at a private school close to the hotel I was working. With my meager income and a baby to feed, I could only pay for one course. I chose secretarial course as my subject on a part-time basis. I was taught how to write shorthand, typed with speed on a manual typewriter and learned how to comprehend English dictation. The nights that I went for my classes, I told my family that I had to work extra hours. They were convinced with my explanation.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >Deep inside me, I wanted more. More than a basic course. I decided to resit for my Lower Certificate of Education (L.C.E.). It was the best thing I did; I passed with flying colors. I never stopped, I took it to the next level. I reckoned I could do well if I focus on my study. Time was the essence, I had to reconsider my secretarial course. In the end, I forfeited my secretarial course in exchange for regular school subjects. I attended classes on part-time basis. My aim was to sit for the Malaysian Certificate of Education (M.C.E) exam. The burden was heavy to carry but I was certain, it was the only way to progress in life. Waitressing, </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >attending night classes and </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >raising a child were the main focus of my life and yet I rarely saw my baby; I was lost in my own world. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >An unwarranted wake-up call shook my world. Luck wasn't on my side, my only hope and the only person I have depended, my mother, met her untimely death. I was devastated. Apparently, my mother died of broken heart. She regretted the failed marriage I was imposed to obey, took it upon herself and slowly slipped into the darkness of death. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-family:georgia;" >..to be continued.</span><br /></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-22670941199135621192009-01-21T15:46:00.038+01:002009-01-22T15:46:26.260+01:00What a hunk!<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >The road to Kuala Lumpur wealth, affluence, and fame is not an easy road to traverse, and is one often filled with broken deals, hardship, disappointment, and outright failure. Those who made it are able to scratch and claw their way out of the ranks of the masses to realize their dreams are few.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Kuala Lumpur, by and large, is charming, friendly city, where people smile at each other and occasionally greet each other on the street, as is somewhat common among the West Malaysians. I have adopted similar outlook in life after leaving my hometown, a laid back little town, couple of years ago. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Struggling to keep up with the stride of the achievers, I worked relentlessly to improve my status in an ever-changing of the hotel industry. I attended functions, held by the government departments or embassies, entertained journalists for afternoon high-teas at the executive lounge of the hotel I worked; participated in many tourism trade shows; climbed some of the tallest buildings in the city to make courtesy calls to big corporations; all for only one cause, to get ahead in the game.<br /><br />That morning, the city was bustling with activities of all sorts. I buzzed the inter</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >com at the entrance gate of the American embassy building located at Jalan Tungku Abdul Rahman. A middle-age Indian "jaga" (security guard), peeped his head through a small window with no nonsense demeanor. "Ada buat temujanji?" ("Have you made any appointment?")he asked in Malay. I told him I have an appointment with the secretary of the US ambassador at 9am. My visit to the embassy that day has nothing to do with me personally. It was part of my routine job at the hotel to make a monthly courtesy call.<br /><br />Call it my lucky day or was it? I was heading for the secretary's office when I stumbled upon a gentleman in the elevator. He was young, handsome and athletic build. For a second, I thought I saw Richard Gere but I when I did a quick mental assessment, he could be over 6 feet tall. So it can't be him. I couldn't help but just admired his well structured physique and charming look. Too engrossed, I did not realized I dropped few copies of my promotional material, which I had prepared earlier in a folder, on the floor. "Excuse me, you dropped some papers on the floor" said the gentleman. He bent down and collected them for me. I thanked him and was about to make an exit from the elevator when he spoke up again. He requested a copy of the hotel brochure from me and I gave him one with my business card stapled on it. I went on my way and he continued to his floor.<br /><br />Later that evening at the hotel, while typing my press release, the hotel telephone operator buzzed me. "Miss Jessie, there is a call from Mr David Holly for you. Do you want me to put through his call?" she asked. Nonchalantly, I said yes. My focus at the time was on my last paragraph of the hotel press release. I was preoccupied and seriously wrecking my</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9scfQFzW1BnxYp-3-AIRNU5w-SPlZOP2pYohbY14rxvA5Y7tbC17NjmuwmyinoWjm0sZeKU2K6Q5cfK7Bhk3ma0L42QlN5A0q1GSM6xrB_m8_tVSUP7Cm9d5Wl9cFcLvX8WPn0UnNHEp/s1600-h/scan0003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 394px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9scfQFzW1BnxYp-3-AIRNU5w-SPlZOP2pYohbY14rxvA5Y7tbC17NjmuwmyinoWjm0sZeKU2K6Q5cfK7Bhk3ma0L42QlN5A0q1GSM6xrB_m8_tVSUP7Cm9d5Wl9cFcLvX8WPn0UnNHEp/s320/scan0003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294090873020086466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > head trying to come up with a closing slogan for my Food & Beverage promotion.<br /><br />"Hello, Jessie Mambasal? This is David Holly. We met in the elevator this morning," said a man with an American accent. I immediately dropped everything I was doing and just awed in bewilderment. Oh my God, oh my God, that hunk! Yes indeed, that same hunk I was admiring that morning!<br /><br />To make a story short, he invited me for a drink at the Mirage near Ampang Point that evening. I gladly accepted his offer and 3 years later we became Mr & Mrs David Holly.<br /><br />ends.<br /></span><br /></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-45266054424282625192009-01-19T13:40:00.030+01:002009-01-21T11:08:42.287+01:00Okinawa, Japan?<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Monday morning, I stirred from my sleep and turned to my rightside. Dave was gone. "Hmmm.. what time is it?" I asked myself. The clock on my bedside table indicated it was 10:15am. I panicked. I have made a DHL request for pick up between 10:00am to 11:00am two days ago.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Suddenly I heard the phone ringing from the other room. I got up to answer it. "Please call me back" said my husband on the other end. Its a habit Dave practiced over the years to reduce the usage of his cellphone talk time. Brilliant! Good thinking Dave.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">I dialed his number and got him on the line. I asked him whats going on. He said he had just received news from his Project Manager regarding a transfer. I kept silence and Dave went on telling me to be prepared for the move. Deep inside me, I was worried whats the time limit we have before we get into the next shaking plane.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">"When are we leaving and where? I questioned Dave. He told me the report date is no later than the first week of May and we will be moving to Japan. I gave a big sigh. Lucky, enough time to plan things out. There is Ah Choy, our cat, needs his paperwork done, one car to ship back to US, one car to sell, knick-knacks to pack and air tickets to arrange. I felt dizzy. My adrenalin kicked in. Where do I start from here? So many things to consider. Everything was fuzzy.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Something suddenly got my attention. Uhu.. I soon be leaving Italy and I won't be seeing my grand daughter for a long time. Its heart breaking. What do I tell her? Will it make any difference to a toddler if her grandma is on the other side of the globe? Aha, no problem. Modern technology has reached its peak. With one click, one can see the other almost instantly. Webcam was created for that purpose. Yes, a somewhat relief for me.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">As soon as Dave finished talking to me, I switched on my laptop. Stared at the machine performing its tasks while my mind wandered far away. I made a mental note to check on the location of our next posting. I am hoping its going to be a beautiful location and cheaper to live.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">While I was in my deep thought, the phone rang again. It was Dave. "Now what?" I asked him. "Call me" he said. I dialed his number for the second time. "We are not going to Japan. I am turning down the offer" was Dave's answer to me. He told me he would rather go back to the States closer to his aging parents. I think he made the wise decision.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">So, Okinawa, Japan, sorry, we are not coming!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">ends.</span></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-58302823280596349612009-01-19T01:46:00.010+01:002009-02-08T23:40:26.344+01:00Pak Abu pergi memancing..<p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Georgia;color:red;" >.<span style="font-size:100%;">...dapat se-ekor ikan gelama. Hati riang, janganlah risau. Dapat makan bersama sama</span>.</span></i><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"> </span></i><span style="font-size:85%;"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">(A village folk, Pak Abu, went fishing. He caught a little Gelama fish and was delighted to share with everyone without any worries)<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <div style="text-align: center;"><i style=""><span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:11;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-size:85%;" >~<span style="font-size:78%;">The essence of this fable is about how the little things in life are the most important~</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">I hummed to the same tune over and over, gaily hoping along the embankment of paddy fields.<span style=""> </span>Stretched in front of me were miles and miles of green fields; some separated by make-shift picket fences.<span style=""> </span>I could feel the gentle breeze blowing my sun-streaked hair away from my face; the air permeated the fresh smell of young paddy plants.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>If I can, I want to be there forever.</span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Those were fond memories I had while growing up as a child.<span style=""> </span>I vividly remember events like riding buffaloes covered with mud; my legs full of wounds and dried scabs but they never bothered me.<span style=""> </span>I bathed in the creek, <span style=""> </span>I felt clean and fresh.<span style=""> </span>Shoes and slippers were not important items of my daily life as my soles were thicker than those of cowhide.</span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">During school holidays, from dawn to sun down, I wandered to nearby stream, fishing for little carps or collecting wild veggies from the jungle to cook for that day’s meal.<span style=""> </span>Burger King and KFC were never p</span></i><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">art of the bargain.<span style=""> </span>Yet I was a happy child.</span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">Our evening meals comprise of rice, a piece of sun-dried fish (grilled over hot fire, drizzled with lime juice and spiced with chilies) and a plate of home grown vegetables or those from the wild.<span style=""> </span>If we are lucky, we have chicken once a month.<span style=""> </span>Pork was taken occasionally as it was considered very expensive.<span style=""> </span>I am thankful, there's always food on the table.</span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">I did not have new toys to play and new dress to wear but my mother collected used ones from her work place.<span style=""> </span>She cleaned and dusted government quarters that were used to house expatriates, hired </span></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYkhUwnXNVcLbvt9QujhxwsRM-WqHGKU-GDWnn12cmGovgck7kBkaIqq0lvEocsJHAAhUfhZKMKGNBAQ0LCFwMH8f10YnRxuX6N-Ej7k6ksk3_ZdlPqdZJrWFmEGXv8zSt8_ft9mR2ByV/s1600-h/1567832-Rice-Fields-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYkhUwnXNVcLbvt9QujhxwsRM-WqHGKU-GDWnn12cmGovgck7kBkaIqq0lvEocsJHAAhUfhZKMKGNBAQ0LCFwMH8f10YnRxuX6N-Ej7k6ksk3_ZdlPqdZJrWFmEGXv8zSt8_ft9mR2ByV/s400/1567832-Rice-Fields-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292798786042700434" border="0" /></a><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">to run the Public Works Department in <st1:place st="on">North Borneo</st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>I enjoyed all those simple pleasures and I felt lucky to receive hand downs.</span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">I remember once when I wanted a doll, my mother couldn’t afford to buy a new one even those made from <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">China</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style=""> </span>Money was scarce; I ended taking our neighbor’s daughter’s doll. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life but I was only a child who wanted a doll.</span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">“Hurry up! Gather as many as you can and come down quick” my brother hollered at me.<span style=""> </span>I was perched on a small branch trying to grab raw mangoes.<span style=""> </span>I heard dogs barking from a distance.<span style=""> </span>I knew that our neighbor was coming with a cane in her hand.<span style=""> </span>I jumped down from the tree, passed the mango fruits to my brother and ran for my life.<span style=""> </span>There were so many thrills and excitement, I hardly had the time to think, whats gonna be the next day. I ran freely, as free as the wind blows.</span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;">If only I could turn the clock back, even for a day to relive my childhood days, I would gladly part with some of my worldly possessions in exchange for those wonderful moment.<span style=""><br /></span></span></i></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span style="">ends.</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></i></p>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-47494233618316543602009-01-16T21:24:00.031+01:002009-01-19T15:05:35.742+01:00Hold me tight, tight<div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >"Uaaa..uaaa..uaaa..", a shrill sound coming from somewhere. "Where am I?" my sudden conscience zapped me to reality. It was a dream.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><em style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"></em><em style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"> </span></em><br /><br />I tried to move, restricted. I was mummified by my own bed sheet, twisted around my body. How did that happened? Did some aliens came down to earth, did a quick prank on me and then took off in their flying saucer? "Errr..." I shuddered. Unlikely!<br /><br />In fact it was the day my daughter was due for her c-section delivery. I was laden with anxiety. I must have tossed and turned throughout the night. Anxious of the procedure, the safety of my daughter, the baby's health and the thought of holding a newborn baby. I personally experienced 3 c-section deliveries but I wasn't sure whether my daughter was as tough as I am.<br /><br />Eager as I was with my trip to the hospital that day, my mind won't shut off from thinking what its like to be a grandmother. I visualized myself sitting on a rocking chair and singing lullaby to my grandchild. "Hello chipmunk, I am your grandma." I managed a quick smile. I was on cloud 9.<br /><br />The whole neighborhood was still in pitch darkness when I got down to the kitchen to make my coffee. I was</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> careful not to create any noise when suddenly my German cuckoo clock , </span><span style="font-size:100%;">a gift from a good friend, jolted me</span><span style="font-size:100%;">. "Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo" It was 4 in the morning. Dang! Too damn early.<br /><br />I took my sweet time driving towards the hospital. Everything seems to be so fresh after last night's downpour. It was a beautiful clear morning and I could see the pride of Sabah, Mt Kinabalu, standing majesticly</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> in front of me. My beautiful land. Oh, how I love you. I am so blessed to be one of the legendary Huminodun's ancestors.<br /><br />It took me less than twenty minutes to get to my destination. The parking area was quite empty. Cars dribbled in slowly with its passengers still in their day dreaming mode. Nobody was in hurry. It was just another typical day for those who are coming to perform their duties at the hospital.<br /><br />I was not able to see my daughter before she was wheeled into the operating theater at 6:30am. I found my son in-law sitting in the waiting room fidgeting with his handy cam and looking nervous. "Good morning Tom" I greeted him. He looked like he had a rough night. His hair tousled and seemed like he had a few days stubble on his face. He responded to my greeting with a somber smile. "Hey, lighten up! You are going to be a dad in less than 2 hours" I tried to amuse him.<br /><br />Suddenly a nurse appeared at the door and informed Tom to go to the annex room to dress up into the hospital garb. "Sir, please follow me to the next room to put on the hospital dressing before you can enter the operating room" she ordered.<br /><br />Personally, I w</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWOq0Ss-7KsEhFrfBfR1L06H3C_7ZfSICG8wUwWcNqh2mhBpkp8LOQvBAbA5sBo-Zo55kSs5ysGAqJaN-hjcHAHkLgHsEYEHdI-Rhk9JPu7YJUF-eXQp0314Jl56Jq8M-9FpwIScRBqiV/s1600-h/IMG_9805+copy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWOq0Ss-7KsEhFrfBfR1L06H3C_7ZfSICG8wUwWcNqh2mhBpkp8LOQvBAbA5sBo-Zo55kSs5ysGAqJaN-hjcHAHkLgHsEYEHdI-Rhk9JPu7YJUF-eXQp0314Jl56Jq8M-9FpwIScRBqiV/s320/IMG_9805+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292349926809419650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">as anxious and impatient for the moment of truth. Two hours went by, still no sign of Tom. It seemed like the progress of the procedure was painstakingly dragging. I was restless.<br /><br />I was on my cellphone talking to my husband, who at the time was in Italy, reporting the event when Tom entered the waiting room. I saw tears in his eyes, slowly trickling down on his cheeks. It wasn't tears of sadness but the tears of joy. A new life was born!.<br /><br />"She is beautiful and a healthy baby! Alissa is doing fine" he choked. I couldn't help myself but started shedding tears of my own. It was a historical moment for both of us; Tom, his first time as a dad and me, my first time as a grandma.<br /><br />"Dodu, hold me tight, tight" my granddaughter said to me 2 years later.<br /><br />ends.<br /></span><em></em></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-5579982677514031662009-01-16T12:10:00.020+01:002009-01-18T02:44:14.106+01:00Beating a dead horse<div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >Yee ha! No..no..no Silver is dead!</span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >My only son lost his father when he was very young. Life for him was tough without the guidance of a father. He had resented living with his grandparents. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >Life with them was but miserable and restricted. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >He once told me, he feared that he will end up like his father.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3V9swDnSqjS5v6vfLdcUN4fOrrzyyLqXUff9teE1GFAFQ6UW8Cr7NVYOIjRlzAqDmlB544llqt4O0JMrRoPWVJoBPUACobVphOam5Ps68NEx_pkvJHmchcL5VmwztR9mG87y0kWlhuTaj/s1600-h/horse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 110px; height: 90px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3V9swDnSqjS5v6vfLdcUN4fOrrzyyLqXUff9teE1GFAFQ6UW8Cr7NVYOIjRlzAqDmlB544llqt4O0JMrRoPWVJoBPUACobVphOam5Ps68NEx_pkvJHmchcL5VmwztR9mG87y0kWlhuTaj/s320/horse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291970298726537058" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" >There are strict rules to obey, daily tuitions to adhere, chores to perform and extracurricular classes to attend. He was not given the opportunity to spend time playing with other kids of his own age. Regulations were etched on the stone.<br /><br />I felt deeply for him and tried to understand him. I failed. No one can. He had built a raging inferiority complex around him. He feels that no one cares for him. He was a badly misunderstood kid by everyone.<br /><br />One evening, I confronted him for his irrational behavior. I was mad at him for accusing me favoring his two sisters. As a mother, a double-standard treatment is far from my mind. "What is your problem?" I yelled at him. He insisted that I do everything else for his sisters but not for him. I went on attacking him about his lack of confidence, mixing around with people of unknown backgrounds, and to top it up, his extreme degree of laziness.<br /><br />I was out of my wits and clueless how to overcome the crisis. I warned him that I don't want a son for a loser and end up like his father. I repeatedly said it over a period. He soon got tired of my humiliations and stood up for himself.<br /><br />Unaware that I have hurt his feelings, I continued blaming him for all his shortcomings. Suddenly he stood up with tears in his eyes, his whole body trembling, "Enough is enough! Stop comparing me with my father. I am not him and he is dead!" he stuttered. I was stunned and speechless. I felt like I woke up from a bad dream. It made me realized that I have been harsh on him and expected too much from him; a child who badly needed a father.<br /><br />Since that day, my husband, Dave, his step-dad, decided that its time for him to step into his life. They talk on regular basis and discuss what lies ahead. It was in the nick of time, to save, a lost soul of a child. I am so relieved, my bad dream is over.<br /><br />Today, I proudly admit that my son has changed. He has turned into a hardworking lad, self-sufficient, dependable, full of confidence and has nothing but positive attitude. A son, any mother would be proud of.<br /><br />ends.<br /></span><br /><br /></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-44929804668276482622009-01-14T21:19:00.038+01:002009-02-09T13:13:18.884+01:00Hassle of an expatriate<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >"Ola" my new elderly neighbor greeted me in Portuguese. I smiled at her and nodded my head. I offered my hand to shake with hers and she accepted. Ah... the beginning of a wonderful relationship.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Living in a foreign country is a big challenge for me especially when English is not widely used by the majority of the country's population. However, it can be intriguing as well as frustrating.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >I lived in other parts of the world where English is either the main language or easily accepted and understood. Things were easy and one can easily get acquainted to Joe Blow without having to use the universal language.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Portugal, a country that is not an English user-friendly is my first experience as a confused expat. I started my first venture to the immigration office. Phewww.. what a mess but I must continue with my account.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >It was a blustery morning at the train station and everyone shielded themselves away from the unforgiving element. Passengers gathered behind the platform where cubicles were erected to provide protection from mother nature. Among the passengers, a Malaysian, who had just arrived two days ago.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >I was wrapped in a t</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><a style="font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIIQl52O6wp6ImNo7_5sisaD-vdkuB7daQtzusEZLIypc5zRNmwGUtBYLlThF4vHYzF13Dej-9VHYLTtPi0pYN_hdOqBegvuBRjvYbjEPx7ysLTL7zskCD0plU7YKpNg2lvWllQUBgmhd/s1600-h/dumb.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIIQl52O6wp6ImNo7_5sisaD-vdkuB7daQtzusEZLIypc5zRNmwGUtBYLlThF4vHYzF13Dej-9VHYLTtPi0pYN_hdOqBegvuBRjvYbjEPx7ysLTL7zskCD0plU7YKpNg2lvWllQUBgmhd/s320/dumb.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291619274258806802" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >hick couldroy jacket with matching breeches and a Lacoste handbag. I blended well except that I was shorter even with my 3 inch boots. Earlier, I purchased a train ticket to my destination. Equipped with a map, a translation book and a cellphone, I was confident that I could pull through this mission.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >From a distance, I could see a vague elongated shape coming towards the platform. Perfect timing! Just as indicated on the ticket. An announcement was aired but unfortunately everything was in Portuguese. I pretended I knew and as soon as the train stopped, I quickly rushed for the door like the rest of the passengers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Based on my train information pamphlet, I should alight from the beast at the tenth stop from where I started my journey. I was careful not to miss the number of stops. No announcement was made through out the ride. As the train was approaching my destination, I quickly gathered my things and walked to the exit door. Everyone looked at me vacating my seat but I thought that was normal since I am a foreigner. I ignored them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >I waited for over fifteen minutes standing by the exit door but the train did not stop. "Ehhh... can't be that far for the next stop" I wondered. I took the courage to ask a young man standing right in front of me. I spoke in English. He looked at me as though I just came down from the planet of moron. I attempted for the second time but all I got from this guy was an empty look. Hello, is anyone home? The lights are on but no-one's home.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Finally, I took my translation booklet and shuffled to the nearest page for a word that I could use. It took me few seconds and eventually found the word "where". Showed it to the guy and he mumbled, "</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >eu não compreendo". Huh? I cussed in Kadazan, "Bosuon tuhun ngaavi diti" (Stupid people). I was desperate. "Oriente, where?" I almost shouted to everyone in front of me. Oriente was the station that I am suppose to get off.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Luckily a Moroccan man stood up, spoke English and said that the earlier last station that we stopped was Oriente. Boy, I must have counted wrongly. My mistake. I got off at the next station and went to the opposite side of the platform to get into the next available train to Oriente.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Now who is the dumb ass here? Take a good guess.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >ends.</span><br /></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-27307232637832479712009-01-14T13:32:00.024+01:002009-01-17T23:33:30.402+01:00Q-Tips Theory<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Damn cat!!! The abusive word came out from my mouth. I caught him on top of my dresser nudging and pushing a box of Q-Tips. Plop! goes the box and Q-Tips were strewn all over the floor.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Ah Choy, our Siamese cat, enjoys playing with Q-Tips. Why? I don't know. Reasons only known to him. When he was younger, a Q-Tip will entertain him for t</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">he rest of the day. Of late, he had slowed down. But for an eight year old kitty, he is still in perfect health. Possibly this is due to his old age syndrome. Or maybe in his pea-sized brain, he considers himself as a grown up macho male kitty; less play. Who knows the animal kingdom.</span></span><br /><a style="font-family: georgia;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnK1HREeTAcZyusXOHUCqjrIRe58uVQ9g6TouFTXGxAj0ST_5lL_0tKJvIfVlFX4byydJx9vw_NcY1KvdAcRV-vkKHAjt7gOhCJPI7hb0ISdkskrvGAxmZBYaQKFH3w7c0FTwxI7snAgM/s1600-h/Siamese_cat_reclining.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnK1HREeTAcZyusXOHUCqjrIRe58uVQ9g6TouFTXGxAj0ST_5lL_0tKJvIfVlFX4byydJx9vw_NcY1KvdAcRV-vkKHAjt7gOhCJPI7hb0ISdkskrvGAxmZBYaQKFH3w7c0FTwxI7snAgM/s320/Siamese_cat_reclining.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291242171391443122" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Few years ago, Dave was cleaning his ears when he realized that he lost few Q-Tips that he had taken from the Medic Kit. He thought he had taken at least 8-10 pieces. Half were gone. He searched everywhere for his Q-Tips but did not find not a single piece. "Hmmm.. am I going senile?" Dave whispered to himself. He decided to investigate. He came to me and asked whether I took some of his Q-Tips stash. "Do I look like I need it like you do?" I snapped at him.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Meanwhile, inside our bedroom, we heard a commotion; our cat running back and forth. At times slamming his body on to the floor. "That's weird! Wonder what makes him so frisky?" I told Dave. We both entered the room and guess what? Lo and behold!, the mysterious missing Q-Tips were everywhere on the floor. Damn, you sneaky little bastard, you out smart us! But we still love you no matter what.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">ends.</span></span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-76725607347200092142009-01-14T11:02:00.022+01:002009-01-15T12:41:16.106+01:00Beam me up Scotty!!!<div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >Beam me up Scotty! Often used by people who had followed Star Trek, an old television serie. Captain Kirk would frequently yell into his communicator when he needed to get out of a bad situation. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >In my last posting titled <span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">A young bride determined to beat the odds..."</span>, I felt that there is a need to continue the saga. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">...... After the fateful night of my escape, I was brainwashed all the way to the wedding day. My family warned me that I will end up as a prostitute if I defy them. Today, when I recall the incident, it was merely but a bunch of bullshit.</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNyIDKCsrjhqZR3YHdQqCpvmr_po17-T4CXG2sP4uc7ySJ-l71j178kr1qe8cY4vemLVbEvJQenzu3mytIfMxACk5yKZACFZ1SPPCfz4Uw8xGn3XfCcKeJ0UFUAzRT3o851hy-KH_tvQO/s1600-h/distress.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNyIDKCsrjhqZR3YHdQqCpvmr_po17-T4CXG2sP4uc7ySJ-l71j178kr1qe8cY4vemLVbEvJQenzu3mytIfMxACk5yKZACFZ1SPPCfz4Uw8xGn3XfCcKeJ0UFUAzRT3o851hy-KH_tvQO/s320/distress.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291092703596458194" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >I blame myself for falling right back into their trap. What on earth was I thinking? Yeah.. its easy for me to vent this now but it was a serious matter for a child-woman to endure the enormous stress placed upon her.<br /><br />The wedding went ahead without incident. It was solemnized by the Catholic church. One buffalo, a pig and couple of fowls were sacrificed to appease the village idiots.<br /><br />I am the new child-bride. Hooray!!! What do a child-bride do on her first night on bed with a man who is much older than her? I blinked, my eyes were full of tears. Can I do it? Yes, it did happened! I don't have to be graphic in my ordeal. You figure that out!<br /><br />Nine months later, I gave birth to a beautiful baby. I was ecstatic. Life is wonderful after all. Oh, sorry, wrong again. I wasn't happy. I wanted to be with my family in my own village. I bundled up my newborn baby and my belongings. I screamed to the man I was married less than a year ago and asked him to send me back to my family.<br /><br />Help! help! I want out of this fiasco. I was vulnerable and weak. My family was frightened that I will go into a mental breakdown and succumb to a depression. They couldn't convince me to go back to him. They backed-off and allowed me to stay with them.<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >... to be continued</span></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-15167685528273736412009-01-13T14:11:00.017+01:002009-02-09T13:01:03.716+01:00Plugging into a new health regimen.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5_KgWmoB4Q0BxE1h9qTGokFWWpa9LaDpaK7Nm95UPgE14x44wxYgnutvtojZmesYrOhQ8I2NobERNhmVI7mnj4kgU7w__fFPkl6iVya5SlwDKf__q_VuV-PKgNLsYkjGgnC3z9lS1m5A/s1600-h/exercise.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi5_KgWmoB4Q0BxE1h9qTGokFWWpa9LaDpaK7Nm95UPgE14x44wxYgnutvtojZmesYrOhQ8I2NobERNhmVI7mnj4kgU7w__fFPkl6iVya5SlwDKf__q_VuV-PKgNLsYkjGgnC3z9lS1m5A/s320/exercise.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290771620882369058" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;" >One, two, three, four .. One, two, three, four ..</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span>Dave went on and on doing his jumping jacks warm-up. I wasn't impress. On several occasions, my husband had told me that he is quitting from the fag and booze. I had waited and waited. Nothing changed.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span>I counted, today has been his 1st full week without the two. I am hoping that this will prevail as I dread the day when its too late to regret.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span>Its a yearly wish that I long to have it granted. A week ago, I noticed a sudden change. Am I dreaming? Yes, if it is in fact this is for real, I will be the happiest wife on earth. Fantastic! I wonder what made my husband changed his habits.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span>A year before, Dave told me that no one can change him. He is what he is. He said he is a big boy and knows the danger. He teased me that I will be well taken care if he dies young. Come on Dave, thats not the point. I often replied with sarcasms. "Okay, well just make sure that you renew all your policies before you do that" I relented. I have come to a point to let things ride its course till whenever and whatever reasons for them to stop.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span>Two weeks ago, we had a casual conversation covering all issues. I did expressed my concern over his health. I have observed him having difficulty grasping for breath while asleep. I told him of my fear and the implications that could cause his health to deteriorate. He was quiet, tilted his head up and both eyes were focused on the white ceiling. I searched for item of interest on the ceiling but it was just plain white plaster board.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 102);font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span>ends.</span></span><br /></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-41023206545054678362009-01-13T00:31:00.010+01:002009-02-09T13:07:14.115+01:00My wheels are turning.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkZ9O4JTm2NAXuUIYsJAe5E-t6bvtBL9iTbO7lcouU_TjuMYJLes-kWAAYYgZG09fkk8TUmiperuhofg1pdGVqnAap5HXp6InC8BmXuFb_BDESyn980QSfJ645OyJPbDqlsOLbvn-YdDz/s1600-h/dogs04_fs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 168px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkZ9O4JTm2NAXuUIYsJAe5E-t6bvtBL9iTbO7lcouU_TjuMYJLes-kWAAYYgZG09fkk8TUmiperuhofg1pdGVqnAap5HXp6InC8BmXuFb_BDESyn980QSfJ645OyJPbDqlsOLbvn-YdDz/s200/dogs04_fs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290554465219300162" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Every dog has its day.... </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;" >I<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">n the midst of pre</span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">paring dinner, I heard my husband driving through our dr</span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">iveway. Weather was gloomy, still and cold; almost freezing temperature and eerie. I can hear him getting off from the car and stomping his feet for the entrance door to our house. He puffed and huffed like a</span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 102, 0);font-family:georgia;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">n angry wolf.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">"Whats wrong babe?" I said to him as soon as he entered the kitchen. He was real quiet. I did not pursue further. I knew that something was not right. Okay, I pretended to be calm but deep inside me I was anxious. I continued with what I was doing.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">My husband came and stood near the stove, grab a bottle of water nearby and took a big gulp. He looked into my eyes and shook his head. "Honey, we are done here in Italy" mustering the words together. I could hardly hear him. The Italian Peace Ceaser F16 Project is winding down. Lockheed Martin employees based in Cervia, Italy are advised to go for the next available project within the organization. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I knew this was coming but I never expected it to be too soon. Honestly, I am relieved to move on. I had enough of the pizzeria, cafe and mercatino scenes. Another reason that I am all for a change is the currency exchange rate irrational movements. Dave's pay roll is based on the American system overseas tax exempt. Sounds great with all the perks included but it is not so. The euro is gaining strength and the greenback is getting weaker by day. I am getting frustrated with the daily changes. I wonder when is this going to end.<br /><br />Dave explained to me that we have few options. Return to the United States, deploy to Afghanistan or Iraq or sign a contract for Japan posting in Okinawa. It did not matter to me as long as we stay away from this high priced location. I would be happy to just get out of this rut. We spent 6 years in Italy and any other locations would be more than welcome.<br /><br />The eastern block is one of the locations mentioned but I don't see myself living in a freezing, long and cold winter. I love the snow but I don't like to live in it. I told Dave I am not going to be happy if he chooses to go for this location. He agreed and suggested the other options. I beamed with smile on his decision.<br /><br />Afghanistan or Iraq is a temporary posting for my husband. So this might be an opportunity for me to return to my hometown. I have always wanted to spend sometime on our beach house in Borneo and enjoy the sunset every evening.<br /><br />Although we plan our next move tailored to our needs but the final call will depend on location that will need my husband's expertise.<br /><br />ends.<br /></span></span>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-5355286911506483832009-01-12T20:39:00.007+01:002009-01-17T23:49:02.263+01:00Sunday Dilemma<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaOsG7TyTOndn2oRWeUSuUoBjpaDq7NgSBtZiKfmPdePRwimwtfztD4aYtHtGyUXLdZrngw91jVDJlhfLEo1eL9_mxbyxv-D2b4ae9qoP_jQX8kzEKt8aOiGYx9PhNIu1NPBeCDOsC5v-/s1600-h/phone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 161px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaOsG7TyTOndn2oRWeUSuUoBjpaDq7NgSBtZiKfmPdePRwimwtfztD4aYtHtGyUXLdZrngw91jVDJlhfLEo1eL9_mxbyxv-D2b4ae9qoP_jQX8kzEKt8aOiGYx9PhNIu1NPBeCDOsC5v-/s320/phone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290498935644968322" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-style: italic; font-family: georgia;">It was 10:30am on Sunday. I was groggy due to lack of sleep. Suddenly I heard my cellphone ringing. I was too lazy to get up. My husband reluctantly jumped out of the bed to answer my phone.<br /><br />"Hello" Dave greeted the caller. He hesitated for a moment and said " Chucky, your mom is still in bed and did not go to bed till 5 this morning". Dave handed the cellphone to me and left the room.<br /><br />"Yes, what is wrong now?" I asked my youngest daughter. That remarks has been the usual line that I have used over the years to my kids. I fear for emergencies. I have encountered many in the past.<br /><br />My daughter giggled and said she is bored and decided to call to see how I was doing. A relief sigh came out from my chest. My children by now understood how I react when there is a crisis.<br /><br />My daughter mentioned to me that she is doing great in her 3rd week serving the Malaysian National Service. She made new friends from different backgrounds. She also mentioned to me that she is eager to complete her term with the National Service and get on with her life in college. We talked about her enrollment in college and preparations to live in West Malaysia. She was all excited.<br /><br />Suddenly she paused. I asked her what is wrong. She was very hesitant to continue but I persisted to ask her. My mind was racing and shit worried what is going on with my daughter.<br /><br />Out of a sudden my daughter started her mischievous laughs and asked me if it is okay for me to advise her some personal issues. I told her I am fine with it and if I can assist, I will gladly do so. She started asking my opinion if I agree to accept a proposal from someone special to her. I went blank! "Oh, not now mama but maybe 5 years down the road" she quickly added. She continued asking me how much would be the dowry I will be asking from him. I thought to myself, oh dearie, dearie... I am in a big trouble.<br /><br />Oh my God! "Chucky, what is going on?" I asked my daughter. I can hear my husband making his coffee in the kitchen and mumbling to himself. Dave gets very nervous when he hears my voice tone changes while talking to my kids.<br /><br />Apparently, my daughter has never cease contact with one of my best friends' son. They met few years ago and continued a long distance "puppy love" relationship. She also asked me what do I think about him. I was positive with my answers. I told her he is a fine young man and I am sure he will be a good husband for her. "But wait a minute.. why are we talking about this now? Can we concentrate on your college and career first?" I questioned my daughter. "Mama, I understand that but there is no harm in getting prepared for the future and this is part of my future" my little girl added. She said she is 18 and big enough to consider and plan for her future. She needed someone to talk to and share her thoughts. She also made a promise to me that her education is her priority and later establish a career before heading for the aisle.<br /><br />Phewww!!!! At least I am relieved for now. Who knows, what is in store for me the next couple of days.<br /><br />ends.</div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-68505186769558053242009-01-11T20:13:00.026+01:002009-02-09T12:56:36.195+01:00A young bride determined to beat the odds....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYZYeew4fvjHwIhvQXbjE11twnTMZ_T7tfN0Du-I10oYgyBJ08lx1QMHrcNooroeKQLhVYaJfKv-xJ9TE2fFoXdaJhXOtroyJxuKiSYDkHZD0jDUDnSnn6Ae1Hfc40f6WwrBiQUhTIhLI/s1600-h/crying.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 393px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYZYeew4fvjHwIhvQXbjE11twnTMZ_T7tfN0Du-I10oYgyBJ08lx1QMHrcNooroeKQLhVYaJfKv-xJ9TE2fFoXdaJhXOtroyJxuKiSYDkHZD0jDUDnSnn6Ae1Hfc40f6WwrBiQUhTIhLI/s400/crying.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290119116712538498" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Who would have thought that I was persuaded by my less fortunate family to end my schooling years even before I could read and write? Worst of all, marrying a "supposedly" well to do man with the hope of a better future. It was a pathetic ordeal that had happened to me over 3 decades ago. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">I was barely 16 when a gentleman from a neighboring village came to my sister's house for a visit. My family suspiciously gathered among themselves without me and whispered something that I wasn't sure. I did not think much of it and took it lightly until my sister told me the visitor's intention.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Overwhelmed and disgusted, I wanted to run away, far, far away from my family. I was young, dumb and ignorant. Where do I run to? Relatives? Questionable decision.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">My entire family coerced and persuaded me that it was the best for me and my future. I cried wanting to go back to school. But alas, my family had no financial contingency plan to provide for my education. Tears rolled down ferociously that day, my tattered, hand-made pinafore was soaked. My child life ended without any warning.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The youngest in the family, I was doomed to face uncertainties. I don't deserve this. Why me? I soon realized that my family was eager to relinquish their responsibility of raising me to an unknown man. It was a heart wrenching moment.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Not one soul came to my rescue. Let alone my one and only sister. She was powerless and in a worst predicament. Married at 15, she had 5 kids to raise with her meager income. My brothers, aah.... typical "kampungan" mentality</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"> ("kampungan" literally means a simple minded villager). </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">"Buat apa mau sekolah .. sama juga kau kawin nanti" ("What is the use of education.. you will end up getting married").</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">My parents were illiterate. They could not comprehend the importance of education. They were overjoyed with the news. To them, relief has come. "Bah, mokianu no do duvo kalabau, iso vogok om tohu ngoibu oh nopung miampai do balanja," they jointly agreed (Please ask for 2 buffaloes, 1 pig and three thousand ringgit for dowry and wedding expenses). It was a huge fortune to them that came rolling right in front of their eyes.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">One night, choked with tears , I packed my small collection of clothes and sneaked out from the house not knowing where to go. I have been toying with the idea of running away as far as I can and maybe and hopefully I will find that Good Samaritan to bail me out from my misery. My last resort was to run to a Catholic mission home.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Out of no where in the dark, I heard footsteps running towards me. I saw a silhouette, a man, no other than my own brother. He yelled at me and instructed me to stop from going further. He approached me and yanked me by the hair and dragged me back to the house. I did not utter a word but tried to squirm away from him. I was too skinny and under nourished to fight a full grown up man.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">ends.</span></span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"><br /></span></span>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3628821073227011844.post-53287785652072846312009-01-08T12:28:00.008+01:002009-01-13T13:37:44.628+01:00Getting into the New Year 2009... blogging.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGXhyphenhyphen-za0lx9hjHBL-tZw_SV1rOJOFYwkedejyMQoCAcTId7nQ6DQQF5CnLBDih5BTYIvwmi81OosB4Xw4_cPBCejVMm49lr9aL8H-QcNysbsOzkIXeis7Jpe8rewG6cEgAQdMWBtFXXOP/s1600-h/DSC00372.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGXhyphenhyphen-za0lx9hjHBL-tZw_SV1rOJOFYwkedejyMQoCAcTId7nQ6DQQF5CnLBDih5BTYIvwmi81OosB4Xw4_cPBCejVMm49lr9aL8H-QcNysbsOzkIXeis7Jpe8rewG6cEgAQdMWBtFXXOP/s400/DSC00372.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288980658729273298" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:130%;" >Blogging?? </span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">That is unheard of me. Here we go... </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">I have absolutely no clue of what "blogging" is all about but eventually I found time to learn it. I am a little bit late in the game but at least I made the attempt. </span></span><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);font-family:georgia;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span><br />I have never really got into "blogging" until boredom hits me like thunder rolls. I have read blogs from friends but never thought that I would end up doing one for myself. I wasn't interested at all to start with. I consider myself a private person and sharing my bits of life to the world is a no no. Am I being insensitive and selfish? I tried not to.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span><br /><br />I have come to a conclusion there is no harm in sharing and expressing my views. What the heck? Why not for the fun of it! There are a lot of things that I would like to express and share with my friends and family. It seems like this is the only way to rid my boredom beside sitting in front of my laptop surfing the net, waiting for my kids to go on line, monitoring my kids' daily life without me, planning our financial budget for the year, etc etc. The list is endless but I still have plenty of time at hand.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span><br /><br />Some people might say, why don't you hone your cooking? Hmmm.. I'd love to but unfortunately Dave (my husband) is cautious of consuming unknown cuisine to him other than what was provided to him while growing up as a child. A typical American boy who loves his steaks, hotdogs, hamburgers, sandwiches and literally plain pastas. I have tried to maneuver his taste bud but to no avail. I am done with cooking!!!! Guess what? Being an Asian, I cook rice once a month!!! It seems unreal but this is true. Dave would freak out if he has to eat rice twice a month. But the good side, he never complain eating pasta night and day. Good for me! Easy maintenance for a husband..</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span><br /><br />For the past decade, I enjoyed my freedom from my hotel job. But of late, something is creeping within me... I need to do something or I will die prematurely of boredom.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span>As a retired hotelier, I find myself unproductive in life. It was over a decade since I left my last position as a Public Relations Manager for a 5 star hotel. Together with my husband, I have traveled and lived in many parts of the world. I enjoyed it thoroughly but now it is slowly taking a toll on me. Its time to establish in one place for a while and maybe do some menial job. Make a little sense in life and maybe contribute a little to my family or even if it is just for myself. It dawned on me that everyone has a purpose in life. Well, I know that for a fact when I used to be the sole bread winner for my 3 kids before I met Dave. Raising 3 kids is no fun for a single mum.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span><br /><br />Working for a 5 star hotel is a torture yet full-filling. It takes a lot of patience to be in this business. My position in the hotel requires me to put on a business suit, 3 inch high heels (considering that I am only 5' tall), carefully applied make-up and a confident attitude to effectively perform some of my duties. Amongst of which are, meet and greet VVIPs, CEOs of multi-national companies, foreign dignitaries, and at one time, the King of Malaysia.<br /><br />Visits to the embassies was done on regular basis. I had the opportunity to befriend the Cuban ambassador to Malaysia who offered me good Cuban cigars. How cool is that!! Having said that, I have also encountered loads of setbacks. I </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span> </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0); font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><span>sometime feel myself as a slave to the industry but it paid all the bills.<br /><br />Day in and day out, I stepped out of the door by 8am to beat the traffic for my 9am work schedule and leave the hotel door at 6pm. Otherwise, I am stuck with the hotel events till late at night. Sometimes I don't have the time to peep outside to see whats the weather like. On other occasions, when one of our hotel guests become the meanest bitch/SOB, I pray that I don't get an order to appear in front of my Director of Sales & Marketing to be shot dead. It was a hairy situation and it feels like tip-toeing on a piece of a fine thread. The famous quote of the hotel industry " The guest is always right".<br /><br />Of course, I have fond memories of my career and I honestly miss it at times. Socializing among different levels of people from different cultures and traditions is something that I have always enjoyed.<br /><br />Being a pragmatic person, I find myself deteriorating day by day. What do I do now?<br /><br />Nevertheless, I am not complaining about life. I have a wonderful family; a loving and dedicated husband, a son whom I am very proud of, 2 sweetest and loving daughters, adorable grand daughter - my little angel, a wonderful son-in-law and a loyal Siamese cat. I consider myself very fortunate.<br /><br />Human nature has its way to make one feel hopeless and I use this an excuse. Knowingly that at one point of my life, I used to be the busiest person on earth (so it seems). It is a self-righteous proclamation but that was how I felt back then. I thrived on crisis and life was never boring. Never a day was dull to me until lately. Mankind, never satisfied with God's gift to them. And that one of them is ME!!!!<br /><br />ends.</span></span><br /></div>Doduhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11138729069014676785noreply@blogger.com2