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Posts Tagged ‘Lesson’

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Kehadapan Abang yang Ida sayangi,
Ida tau Abang takkan baca surat Ida ni sampai Abang dah selesai kerja. Walaupun Abang jumpa surat ni terselit celah pocket laptop Abang awal-awal pagi. Ida tau Abang tak suka confrontation, tak suka complication. Siap buat aksi macho lagi malam tadi tidur pakai sleeping bag depan TV. Pastu buat-buat pejam mata konon dah tidur bila Ida pasang ubat nyamuk letak kat tepi kaki Abang. Nyampah!

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Abang tersayang… yerrr still lah sayang!
Kali ni, buat julung-julung dan jarang-jarang kali nya Ida mengaku Ida salah. Memang Ida ikut hati. Memang Ida over-reacting, over-acting dan Ida over melenting. Dan puncanya memang Ida berjauh hati dengan Abang. Tapi Ida tak nak jadikan itu alasan. Ida dah mengaku Ida yang bersalah. End of story.

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Dengan ini, Ida mohon ampun dan maaf sewangi daun pandan yang Abang letak dalam Sago Gula Melaka yang Abang buat dengan seriousnya minggu lepas, sampai tak bagi Ida masuk dapur. Ida mohon ampun dan maaf dengan hati yang bersih, sebersih kereta Ida yang Abang basuh berjam-jam lamanya sambil pasang lagu Randy Travis ‘I Told You So’ tu kuat-kuat sebab nak perli Ida.

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Randy Travis – I Told You So

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Ida tau Abang marah, disappointed. Tapi Ida harap Abang tak marah lama-lama. Ida tak biasa tidur dengan lima bantal. Nak kena enam jugak. Bila Abang marah, Ida tak ada ilham nak menulis. Sebab tu kena tulis surat ni dulu selitkan dalam bag laptop Abang sebelum Abang bangun pagi. Semalaman Ida menulis dalam gelap, punyalah tak nak Abang perasan Ida mengarang surat mohon maaf secara terbuka, jujur dan ikhlas ni sambil bercucuran airmata. Ida tak lalu makan bila Abang marah, pegi La Cucur pun minum air suam je sambil duduk bawah escalator mengarang pantun.

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Abang yang Ida kasihi…
Dengan hati yang tulus lagi mulus, Ida akhiri surat penuh sesalan Ida ni dengan serangkap pantun khas untuk Abang tercinta.

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Tegap kukuh pohon cempaka,
di anjung pintu teduhkan pagi;
Sedap sungguh Sago Melaka,
di hujung minggu buatkan lagi.

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Salam peluk cium bantal untuk Abang. Sila jangan cemburukan bantal yang Ida tiduri malam tadi ya? Siapa yang beralih kasih kepada sleeping bag lagipun? Naaahh, nyaman rasa tek tido dibaham nyamok.  Meski pun yang demikian bak kata Cik Nan, whatever cinta is… I cinta you.

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Salam cium tangan Abang,
Ida Nerina

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I’m Keeping It

You know how it works with the mind, don’t you? That when we want something so much, so badly… we tell ourselves that we need it. And even after finding out that it isn’t really what we want or need, we tell ourselves we need to ‘finish’ it. We search for reasons. We make excuses.

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At the end of it all, we want to avoid saying, “We didn’t try.” So we keep pushing for the next level. Up or down. We keep hanging on. We keep climbing, saying it is the climb that matters. For whatever it is, we have this profound need in finding proof that it’s worth it. Worth finding. Worth trying. Worth keeping. Or worth letting go.

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And then we make up stories to tell none other than our gullible little self that we need to hurt in order to heal. Some of us hurt others. The rest of us hurt ourselves. We contain that pain as deeply as we want to contain joy. And we list down all the choices we made that have led us to the final chosen pain.

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More often than not we play the blame game. We lose, we lose. We win, we  still lose. We’ll never put back the clock. Nor will we ever walk backwards pretending that we haven’t gone through what we have gone through.

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At the end of the day, it is the climb – and its hurdles, and its steepness, and the height, and the challenges, and the tears, and the sweat, and the blood. And everything else in between finding it and quitting it. Whatever it is.

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And whatever it is I look for… I actually find it everyday. It’s just a matter of keeping it.

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The faith.

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What Lies Beneath

I can handle lies. What I cannot handle is liars trying to convince that their lies are the best truth around.

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C’mon lah.

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On The Road Again

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If happiness was the destination, I would sell my soul to be on the fastest way there. But I learned that happiness is the journey itself. I have to hit the road. And still it buys no souls.

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Berhenti

Sabtu, 22 Mei, 2010: 1332hrs – Palmyra, WA

Cik Nid: Saya yang dulu nakal ni, yang tak reti bahasa setia ni, sebab ingatkan sungguhlah sayang, sungguhlah cinta… dok tunggu, dok tatang, dok setia. Tak pandang orang lain dah. Tak layan orang lain dah. Punyalah! Sudahnya, cinta, setia, sayang… apa ertinya Cik Nan?

Cik Nan: Hmmmm…

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Sabtu, 22 Mei, 2010: 1455hrs – Booragoon, WA

Cik Nid: Yang ini, saya tak nak sayang, tak nak tunggu, tak nak berharap. Tapi dalam pada saya tak nak sayang, dia belai. Dalam pada tak tunggu, dia datang. Dalam tak berharap, dia ada. Apa ertinya ni semua Cik Nan?

Cik Nan: Mestikah mencari erti?

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Enida pun tiba-tiba berhenti mencari erti.

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Change Change Changed

The last visit to Calgary, for me, was between November 2006 and January 2007. So this visit, over three years later is to see a changed woman. A changed-for-the-much-better woman who now knows how to take. I am done giving.

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So give me, Questa è Enida, a big applaud… tuan-tuan, puan-puan sidang pembaca sekalian. Yes, termasuklah Puan Shower Cap yang membaca. Ahak ahak! Sepertilah tidak ku tahu ya?

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I was young and stupid too, once. But I was done being stupid at 26. I suppose some people just began being. Bah!

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Less On

Lesson Number 1

Enida, please have a cup of coffee before taking the Monchies to school. The other day, you really made yourself sound like one of those who solo parlano poco Inglés when you spoke to the Dutch lady who introduced her son to Edrick as Dillan and on behalf of Edrick you said, “Hi Villain!” Bad move, Enida, bad move! On mornings when you have not had your caffeine, just let Edrick do the talking.

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Lesson Number 2

When you do have a cup of Vivalto Lungo before walking the Monchies to school, keep your eyes peeled when you walk by the Sled Slope on your way home. Your daughter might still be there playing with Tia at ten after the bell. Your Monchies are no angels. They’re kids. If they’re not naughty once in a while, they are no good. They would make parenting too easy. And easy is no fun.

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Lesson Number 3

Just because you brush your teeth twice a day and floss every other day, you are not guaranteed to be safe from cavities. When you are rotting, you’re rotting. Be thankful it’s just your teeth, or maybe later your bones. Not your morality. So two visits to the dentist can buy you that Lattissima Nespresso Machine, so what? If you can’t enjoy your coffee, what can you?

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Lesson Number 4

Stop pulling your gray hair out. You’d be bald in two weeks if you don’t stop today. Or tomorrow.

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Lesson Number 5

Make the bed as soon as you jump out of it. If you don’t, more often than not you’ll jump back in as soon as your kids are out of the house.

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Lesson Number 6

Enida, please remember not to leave the adaptor for the three square prongs on the washing machine. Your helper might think you forgot about it and she might take it home. When you call her to ask if she had removed it from where you put it last, she would say that she would come over to look for it and find it for you – she doesn’t understand what you mean by, “I’ve looked everywhere 12 times and a half!”. And she would come when you are not home and make it look like she had found it and could not explain where she found it 15 minutes after she found it.

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Lesson Number 7

Do not wait until tomorrow morning what you can do tonight. Pack those lunchboxes with what you can prepare the night before. Wake up! You are not a morning person. Stop denying that you are not in denial as well. How would you explain that you forgot to pack the kids’ lunchbox until just before you stepped out to walk them to school this morning, then? You were lucky there was Smoked Salmon Linguini leftover you made the other night, and mandarin oranges you grabbed at Tsum Gastronomia for the kids’ quick snack. You can’t grab luck every morning when you forget or when you don’t wake up early enough. Can you?

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Well Made

We have been talking about it for three weeks at least. And it has got to get done this very week. No later. You never know what not-so-positive influence the Russian government has on the way the Canadian Embassy in Moscow works. My Canadian Temporary Resident visa has to be applied today, February the 5th, 2010 – my KaCher’s birthday – not next week, not the week after. It is now or never later!

 

So we looked at the last Canadian TR I had back in 2005-2007 in my previous passport. Confirmed expired. We downloaded forms, filled the forms in, and dug the fire-safety box for passport photos. I had everything ready and lined up to the very boots by the door and to the very watch to wear to the embassy this morning. The alarm clock was set. I woke up before it went off anyway! And oh, my sunglasses are wide awake for me on the kitchen counter. All ready.

 

By ten to seven this morning, the kids’ lunchboxes were ready. I was ready… to jump in the shower. I even skipped singing my morning Siti Payung! I was in such a hurry to beat the Moscow traffic. Alas! Hiccup number one: Emy got in late. Hiccup number two: Be got nervous and stressed out. But I… I got, uh… ready. Yep, sunglasses in my hair and all.

 

Ten minutes on the road, we were stuck on Volokolomskaya. Ahhh great! We’d never make it to the Canadian Embassy at 0829hrs as Be wanted to lead the line-up at the embassy gate. Instead, we were in a huge line up going towards Lenningradsky Prospekt. So I took out my current passport just to check if my memory served me right. I thought it wasn’t that long ago we were quietly making fun at the clerks at the Canadian Consulate in that Tan&Tan Building in KL.

 

Just when I saw the Canadä sticker on page 10, my heart stopped beating. I knew I was going to have a cardiopulmonary arrest right there and then caused by ventricular fibrillation!  (Thanks to Dr. Tranquility for his medical terms that make me sound like I just had an emergency cut-n-paste case from his blog!) All the stress we had had for three !?#$%^&* weeks went from my brain down to my heart and further down and behind to my juboar and if it were a gas, I could have floated the whole city!

 

I just made a good mistake.

 

There, on page 10 of my passport, is my Canadian Visa good until October 15th, 2012!

 

No. We would not have had to talk and get all stressed out about it for three !?#$%^&* weeks if I had trusted my memory of those silly clerks at the Canadian Consulate in the Tan&Tan Building Jalan Tun Razak KL. Silly me! I would not have had to get into a panic mode last night looking for two !?#$%^&* highly specified visa photos for the !?#$%^&* application had I taken the time to admire my passport like I do Emila‘s paintings everyday!

 

Because of the mistake, Be and I had a good laugh and a good kick in the juboars for each other today, February the 5th, 2010. And because of the mistake, we had a good hot breakfast at The Real McCoy this morning… just the two of us, and got something hotter planned for the Chinese New Year.

 

It was a good mistake well made, indeed.

 

Happy Birthday, KaCher! I’m already having a good day. I know you are too!

 

 

 

 

 

Glossary for Neil:

juboar = [a cavity] near the hind end in quadrupeds or toward the spine in primates spelled with the letter ‘s’

 

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Last Last

The last hot drink you had:
Earl Grey with Honey
Thanks to Rozie, for reminding me all the way from Klang, “Sebaik-baiknya di solstis musim sejuk (cikgu Geografi la konon) ini banyak-banyaklah makan madu, supaya badan lebih segar, selain mengurangkan kahak dan selsema.” And I honestly did feel like tea with honey tonight. It at least refreshed my campus memories with dear Rozie.

 

The last ‘I Love You’ you said to:
KaCher, on sms.
If I could make up for the loss of many more I-love-you’s we were supposed to hear from Mom, I would. But I believe that every thought we think and every word we write is an ‘I love you’ tribute to Mom, sis.

 

Me Monchies, after saying good night.
Kitreena would usually say, “Sleep tight Mom, make sure you go straight to bed.” Yeah right! Who’s going to run the dishwasher? Who’s going to refill all the 3 humidifiers? 🙂 Who’s going to post an entry on Questa è Enida? Who’s going to bermimpi bercanda di pasiran pantei ama Kang Broery? And Edrick would say, “Good night Mommy. Don’t let the bug spread! I love you.” Every night for the past 3 months I have been trying to  correct him… bite, not spread. But I think the bug has spread and he won’t recover from his own quote for a long while. Quote unquote.

 

Your last frustration:
Peeling Onions
The skin was unbelievably thin and dryer than the thirstiest nomad crossing Rub’ Al-Khali on kamikaze cum harakiri mode (luper lalu mbawok bochowng air, awok nte). If onion skin can go soft like Nori (sushi wrap) when cooked, I would have gladly stir-fried a full 2 cups of it with my bean curd tonight.

 

The last flattering thing you heard:
Good cooking, Mommy. Deeleeeeeecious!
Edrick would only eat rice if it comes with tofu, or bean curd or fish. Rice porridge to him is only edible if it comes with tokyu (soy sauce), chopped spinach or steamed broccoli. So you can imagine how flattering the word ‘deeleeeeeecious’ is… coming from a not-so-big-of-a-fan of rice.

 

The last smart idea you came up with:
A Krazy Lazy Cooking Method

 

 

 

 

Well, well, well… what can I say. My krazy lazy mind-set has truly plagued me these days. So horridly krazy-lazily lazy, that the only thing I am not lazy doing is thinking of ways to be even lazier. And another thing you have to know about me is, I dislike cooking anything that would make me smell like what I just cook. A divorcee friend once disclosed to me about his ex-wife, “She always smelled like bawang goreng (sautéed shallots/garlic). I don’t mind that smell in the kitchen or dining room. But not in my bed.” Yeeessshhh, crazy but true. A woman is supposed to be tasteful, not tasty!

 

So yesterday, out of desperation to guttle my newly bought salted dried old fish, I came up with this idea: instead of pan-frying or deep-frying the stinky-o-smelly fishies, I oven-broiled them! To avoid from having to scrape the baking pan in case the fish would stick to it, I shaped a piece of baking paper into a ‘bowl’, poured half the amount of oil I usually use into the baking-paper bowl and voila! Into the oil the fishies swam and into the oven they broiled for about 25 minutes at 200°C. No stirring, flipping, flapping, spattering, splattering, and spatula-ing involved the whole 25 minutes.

 

And the tiptop feat of this krazy lazy methodology was not only that I saved the whole house from the smell, I saved myself from smelling like fried salted dried fish! My husband is not home this week anyway. By the way, ladies and some gentle men… did you ever notice that of all that we wear when cooking, the aroma’s favorite part to stick to and stick on is our bra? So ehem, did you sauté any shallots or garlic today? Ahak ahak ahak ahak! *gelak ada makna, tu yang kening sebelah dok teghangkat tu*

 

Your last Facebook status:

 

 

An Original Quote
I know many people who do not share my principle of ‘keeping it right’ grammatically and grammatolatrily. Well, I worship words, alright. While I don’t speak many languages, those I do speak and write in I make sure I speak and write in relatively properly. And that means no saying that’s mean when I mean to say that means. You know what I mean? Whats make it uncorrect and disproper are ones’ attitude towards improofment itself, usualy…………………… Espfcially if 1’s  is rspnsiblty to educates de lang. 2 de yang ones, k???!!!

 

I believe that the beauty of learning (and using) a language is mastering it so one can ‘manipulate’ it while keeping a high respect for the language itself. Of course it applies to learning anything, really. Cooking, for instance – just like a language – is a skill one first has to master before one can create new recipes. Wiz and Lish – language trainers turned bakers  friends of mine – I bet can vouch me on this. (Wiz & Lish, ken lee tulibu dibu douchu, ken? Too loon.)

 

Nobody says it is easy teaching a language, especially a language that should be spoken the way it is written. Nobody. I still keep catching myself making mistakes with the ‘third-person pronouns’ she and he when I speak in English. Not that I have to give this excuse, I know,  🙂 but in my mother tongue (Bahasa Malaysia) third-person singular pronouns are not gender-specific. She is dia, he is dia. So unsuperciliously, I keep correcting myself. Appreciatively, too, I keep being corrected by people who care and who have genuine passion for correctness. Though I don’t believe that I can achieve perfect bilingualism, I do have faith that bilingual correctitude exists.

 

Thus, Enida says… 
“Those who have no desire to learn from mistakes should not fake their passion for correctness.”

 

Eh enough already! I really should go straight to bed before the bugs spread.

 

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Can I?

If I am to be blamed for finding what I wasn’t looking for, then if you ever asked why I looked… I would just give you the answer all fools have given, “Because it’s there and because I can.”  The pictures, that is.

 

If I choose to feel the pain this time and be hurt by what I wasn’t supposed to see, then if you ever asked why I kept picking at the scab… I would unashamedly be that human left with no strength and say, “Because it’s there and because I can.” The wound, that is.

 

If I am cornered, left to deal with this emotion no one dares to call it anything else but anger, then if you ever asked why I couldn’t just forget it and move on… I would with no pride say, “Because it’s there and because I can.” The past, that is.

 

And if I just let me be that weak foolish human being unable to move forward, pulled back by painful reminders I didn’t know I was supposed to avoid… then let me make my mistakes. Because I am just a human. Because mistakes are there and I can make them.

 

I don’t hate many people. But because I am just a human today, I hate you. You keep making nothing but the same mistakes. I don’t hate many things either. But because I saw what wasn’t meant for me to see, I hate your mistakes. They keep bringing nothing but pain. (I called them lessons before, those mistakes. But I wasn’t human then.)

 

If you ever cared enough to ask why the hate now, I would just say, “Because it’s there, and I can choose to either live it or leave it.” The pain, that is.

 

 

 

I have not learned my lessons well, have I?
Maybe I should just walk away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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