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Wannalookiebookie

The Art of Conversation Life's Missing Instruction Manual The Booknotes

When it comes to books, I am GPS. I’m greedy, I’m possessive and I’m super-generous.

Greedy as in, I have to get a copy of books I like, though I know I won’t have time to read. Well, after a few pages when they prove to be good books, I usually discover that I can make time to read. And when I do make time to read, there is this ineffable greed to know the ending (fiction) or to grab all the knowledge offered in the book (non-fiction).

And then there is this possessiveness towards books, the trait I learned from my KaCher. She once got hold of an old book that the school library was giving away to reward librarians – the book was none other than Daddy Long Legs by Jean Webster. As soon as I saw her reading it day in day out amidst chores and school hours, I knew it was a great book and I had to read it too. But we were too much of two-of-a-kind then; she would not let me borrow it even after she finished reading the book. She even hid it from me! I stayed up really late one night, ransacked our room, found it and stayed up ALL night reading it! What happened in the morning when she saw the book on my sleeping face was a World Wide War story greater than Saving Private Lion Ryan.

Super-generosity, the trait that I have towards books, has got me into a mess more than anything. As it is the bloody twin sister to my greed, I have to have books that I have to have! There’s no stopping me. Just like the greed, possessiveness and super-generosity that I have towards souvenirs I buy for other people that I end up keeping. You’re looking at the same gal here! I buy and buy and buy books – reading comes later. I have even made a schedule of what books to read when I am in my 60’s – another 20 something years.

And just in case my memory does not stay as long as my greed, my possessiveness and my super-generosity, I started a habit quite a few years back. That is, for every book I purchase I make a point to write down the when and the where I found the book. And the most important thing, how the book found me. For I believe they may have just one story written, but every book has more than just a story to tell. Someday the story a book tells might write me off, but with what I wrote, I can tell why I read it.

 The Art of Conversation

Life's Missing Instruction Manual

The Booknotes

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Talk To The Hand

Pretty nostalgic it was the other day listening very clearly to an old Iklim’s song. That engkau bagai air yang jernih di dalam bekas yang berdebu song. I could vividly imagine a badly scratched and dusty glass with Evian stall-temperature water in it, on a hot day at a roadside warung (stall) on the way to Dungung. Of course there are rose syrup, jambu juice, young wangi coconuts, cans of Red Bull, Coke, Sprite and Soy Milk drinks soaked in crushed ice in a polystyrene carton on the side. But all my heart desires would be the un-chilled bottled water. And of course, since it is improper for a lady to drink from a bottle, they pour the water into a glass. That badly scratched dusty glass.

 

What I meant to write actually was about the other side of Enida. The in side. The side that cannot be seen no matter how many times you orbit around me. I am likening myself to the Evian water here. You can have me cold, you can have me boiled. But I am, supposedly, transparent. As clear as water. I don’t blame the scratched dusty glass either. You can have your views and perceptions clouded with what you think you see and what you want to see.  After all, blame is not my game. But before I digress another 350km east on this post, let me start with revealing what has never been revealed before.

 

Since I use this Bernard Pivot Questionnaire in training sessions that I conduct, it’s my time to strip myself quarter naked now.

  1. What is your favorite word?
    Perché?
    (Italian: Why?)
  2.  What is your least favorite word?
    Whatever 
  3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally?
    Orderliness and kindness 
  4. What turns you off?
    Negative thinking 
  5. What is your favorite curse word?
    Gawwwdddddd! 
  6. What sound or noise do you love?
    Edrick humming 
  7. What sound or noise do you hate?
    Noisy chewing 
  8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
    Hotelier 
  9. What profession would you not like to do?
    Running a daycare 
  10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
    “There you are, luv!”
  11.  

I have to add some here. I just have to. Especially the ‘turning me on’ question, Question #3. If one ever wonders what turns Enida on in a man – before I reveal my answer, I think it is pretty important for me to stress that this ‘turn-on’ has nothing to do with ‘hard-on’. Okay? Please? Well, here goes… I am always attracted to men with a ‘clean’ aura. And that is physically and mentally. Of course the latter takes a little longer to reveal. But one with genuine ‘cleanliness’, would have it radiating all over his language. Verbal and non. His words and his move.

 Talk to his hand if you can see his four fingers...

Physically, however, if you really want to know how clean a man can be… look at his hands. His fingers can do the talking.

 

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For Old Tongue’s Sake

Kacang Tumbuk

Kacang Bepang

Kuih Ciki

 

I was just amazed they still exist!

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Bagailahmana

Bagaimana hendak kulengat,
Kait-kait dengan padinya;
Bagaimana tidak kuingat,
Orang baik dengan budinya.

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Simple Pleasure

Crocs-n-Role

I, for one, am not the kind who falls into fashion fad very easily. No I am not fashionable and I can say I am fashionably stable that way. But when I do let myself fall into fashion, it’s wayyy away from what you can call a fad anymore. And I let myself fall fashionably, too. Fashionable, in my definition, is being comfortable. Comfortable when I pay for them and when I wear them. Whatever they may be. Clothes, shoes, perfumes, phones. Yes, phone. I wear my RAZR2V9 like a second skin. Comfortably.

 

yellowboots

So steadfast my belief is in comfort that I never joined those bask of crocodiles flocking to Crocs for the love of zeal. Skeptical was nowhere near to describe how I felt about those rubberlike-colorful-good-for-pasar-basah-Selayang (wet market) footwear. As a matter of fad, I was once convinced Pua Chu Kang must have had a fat share in spreading the rage for Crocs in this Southeast Asian region. (Oh! He was so hamsem in Sumolah! His English is like unagi on my tongue! Sukane!)

 

But two weeks ago I had no choice but to borrow Untoo Pet’s orange Crocs to Untoo Mas’s swimming pool. They were very surprisingly comfortable on my feet. For someone who has a lot of issues with her feet, I cannot afford but to be extremely careful choosing my footwear. I have pes-planus feet (fallen arch), a problem that was caused by the weight I gained when carrying Kitreena (pre-natal and extended post). It was worsened by the bunion I had especially on my left foot – a condition that is unfortunately hereditary. 

 

So last week, I comfortably put my foot in my mouth!  

   IMG_4283

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IMG_2270

One thing I like  about  WordPress   is  how simple it is for someone who doesn’t know much about html codes to change blog header pictures – compared to Blogger (Blogspot). Hence you see I have been playing with it… changing the header pictures as often as I like.

 

Today it features the verandah teak swing we had at the corner closest to the swimming pool. Used to be my retreat swing – with a good book or this netbook – on rainy afternoon. I was going to get some padding custom-made for it had we stayed in Malaysia a bit longer (or at one point, I thought I was going to stay there indefinitely!) This swing is now sitting and not swinging in our garage in Pokrovsky. Hmmm…

 

My life had taken a different swing towards a direction I did not believe possible when I bought this swing at Gotic Jalan Ampang. I still do not know what could swing my way, but I have faith I can anytime do the Buble’s Sway and won’t stray. For now, I just let the Marimba play.

 

 

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Cinta Beralih Arah

I have changed.

These days I enjoy sipping on coffee more than I have… tea. There’s nothing wrong with tea. Don’t get me wrong. I am not talking about anything wrong anywhere or somewhere anyway. I am just a changed woman. Like any changes themselves… they are neither good nor bad. They are just inevitable. Tea has served me well.

Tea = Blogspot
Coffee = WordPress

Come sip on Coffee with me. Shall we?

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Beyond any relativity theory, and for no apparent reason at all, I was looking at my hubby tonight and was reminded of Stevie Smith’s poem I first read in 1991, never forgot but never remembered to write about. Until tonight.

Beware the man whose mouth is small;
For he’ll give nothing and take all.

I just looked at my hubby again. Uh… he does have a rather small mouth. I shouldn’t say I had not been warned, eh? But hey, for all we know, Stevie Smith was probably not saying the opposite. Not saying the obvious!

Well, Enida would say:

Beware the woman whose mouth is big;
For when she gets none, oh she’ll dig.

_______________________________________________________

Postlude:
I know you are reminded of that catchy old Santana’s song ‘Black Magic Woman‘ now, aren’t ya?

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Over Easy

It is not overly easy for me to get over with how much easier it is getting now mommy-ing me monchies. I was scared to move away and move on without Bibik, for she has not only been my (wo)man Friday… she has been my confidante, my best friend, my other me. I was even more scared coming back to our House Mumber Firrtee-One to find it is now all up to me and on me – to man and to maid. It was an overly emotional homecoming. For me.

Everything reminds me of Bibik. The kids’ pyjamas ironed and folded neatly in the drawers. The Sunlight dish soap bottle standing upside down by the kitchen sink for its last 10 drops. The Brabantia ironing board she liked so much. The broken hangers she saved for rainy days (when the laundry’s aplenty). The last grocery list she handwrote spelling diapers as daipes. Even the mop and her favorite Apple-scent Daia floor freshner remind me ever so dearly of Bibik.

Me monchies, on the other hand, have gracefully moved on and are getting used to not having Bibik already. They had their induction month in Moscow. I did too. But coming back to House Mumber Firrtee-One seems to have sent me back to square one – phase two. Not only it is a much bigger place than that of my Bukit Pokrovsky, I feel like I am missing out on my ME time now that house chores are back on my KL-Menjerit list. (Jeritan batin di Moscow tak siapa mendengar, no worries!)

Aaannnyways, I am not complaining. It is – no matter how much I kick, scream and yell about it – getting a lot easier with Kitreena and Edrick. We had fun today at Kizsports, the three of us – The Three Monchketeers. We had fun on Saturday at Untoo Ween’s house and later at the hospital visiting with Grandma. It was fun despite Edrick’s teething episode and Kitreena’s constant needs to be physically active – daily swimming, or running, or catching frisbee or Billy… our poor neighbor’s cat.

It is getting so much easier that I could actually start this entry while me monchies were playing at Kizsports! No more stroller, no more daipes, no more milk rations, bottles or bottle-brush, no more car seats even! Yeah we will not leave home without the wet wipes yet. But that is because of my mild OCD mind. Poor kids! I mean, really. Who doesn’t have wet wipes in her handbag? I have long thought that it is the best invention second only to lightbulbs!

I did let my mind go wander there for a bit. I just saw Bibik’s favorite toast-spread in the pantry. Her nutella.

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Picture Me

Dear friends, families, foes and foei gras [fwɑ ˈɡrɑ],
If I am still not on your friends list on Facebook… search me by enida@mail.com kay? I have uploaded new pictures by the kilotons for you to see how deliciously tastily spicy my life is now. Not.

It’s as stinky as my Kangkung Belacan, as fishy as my Sambal Ikan Bilis, as greasy as my Roti Canai and funny as my supposedly Indian curry that had gone to Hadyaai but ended up in Kecamatan Manggis in Bali. Oh these Russians!

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