The Accidental Prisoners

I have been neglecting this blog for more than 2 years.  The last post I wrote was in 2016.

I thought I would never write again.  The crazy hours of my work in accounting filled my brain with numbers and graphs.  All forms of letters are reserved only for reports or texting in chat group and social media.  I have forgotten the joy of writing.

A few weeks ago, an old friend asked me about the address of my blog.  She said she wanted to show her friend about my blog. Honestly I was flattered but at the same time, I was super embarrassed. I have not taken care the blogspot for years, everything here is totally out-dated.

It feels weird to write again.  I am not even sure if I should.

But then I remembered the many thoughts I had in my brain that were locked and left to dissipate into thin air. Many of them have the potential to make people laugh, making one less miserable soul. Many of them have the potential to inspire people, making one less pessimistic mate.

So today, I forced myself to write again, digging my noisy head to get an idea on what to write.

The freshest one that popped up is my balik kampung Chinese New Year trip to Bandung.

Going back to Bandung on Chinese New Year is an annual affair that I can't miss.  While most of the time I was very excited to go back but there were times when I had to drag and force myself to book flights for this trip. 

When I had piles of work to do, I hesitated to go back, thinking of all the accumulated work I would have to finish after coming back to KL.

When I gained many kilos, I had to force myself to ignore the "you look fat" remarks during reunion dinners and family gatherings.  Just the thought of having to fake a smile and pretend I was not annoyed, is enough to delay booking the flight tickets.

But the last Chinese New Year was different. I was excited to go back home.  It was a trip I had planned for months.

In the beginning of 2018, I reached the heaviest weight of my life.  I was heavier than when I gave birth to my second daughter.  I did many things to lose weight but for every 500 gr I lost, I always gained it back and sometimes doubled it within a week.  My friend told me that it's the side effect of menopause.  I blamed it to my husband who constantly asked me to accompany him for nasi daun pisang sessions.  And as a good wife, of course I obliged to do it :)

I had my early menopause 3 years ago.  Close friends and relatives who have known me for more than 20 years would know my lifetime struggles with hormonal issue, abnormal ovaries, irregular period, massive bleeding, etc. My doctor told me that my previous medical conditions would send me to early menopause and I should not be worry about this.  He said many people have menopause as early as 40 years old.  So I learned to accept the fact that I would have menopause in my 40's.

Although I accepted the menopause part, it was hard for me to see my weight climbing constantly every month. I didn't eat as much as I used to be.  For years I didn't eat a full plate of rice or pasta or noodles.  I ate less than half portion of carbs. I stopped putting sugar into my black coffee. I admit I had sneaked some mille-crepes or stroopwaffles with my black coffee in the morning but it was just once or twice a month. I also tried to walk with my husband to the park on weekend mornings. I even limited my nasi daun pisang (half portion) session to once in three months.

Despite all those efforts I kept on piling kilos into my body.  My round face looked closer to the Chinese Prosperity God Julaihut. I hid behind the crowds everytime we had to take group pictures and selfie is the most taboo thing to do.

I felt hopeless and miserable.

But I was determined not to hear anyone told me "you look fat" on 2019 Chinese New Year. I was determined to go home without my Julaihut face.

Well, guess what?

I managed to lose 7 kg by the time I went back home.  I spent money, time and efforts on this but it's worth every cent. It's such an exhilarating feeling to be able to fit into an old pair of jeans again. It's fun to go shopping at H&M and Uniqlo again (I just hated the boring designs at the plus-size shops).  And it feels so nice to wear cotton T-shirt again (not the outdated loose tops).

The reunion dinner went as expected, seeing the same familiar faces, hearing the same noises from the Lion Dance and eating the same food at the same hotel.

On the Chinese New Year Day, we also had the same 100+ people in the house at night, kids still running around screaming and crying, the men chatting, drinking and gambling, the ladies laughing and talking about everything and everybody eating non-stop.

Throughout the night I was waiting for people to comment "you look slim".
But nobody did.
Til the last guests left at 1am, nobody said I looked slim.
My hard work in slimming down went unnoticed.

I left Bandung on the second day of Chinese New Year. I didn't feel excited.  I felt rather disappointed as no one noticed my hard-earned 7 kg loss.

When I reached KL, somehow I saw this one quote on my phone:

Suddenly I realized how stupid I had been.  All those time I tried my best to lose weight just to "show off" and to avoid negative remarks from others.

I forgot that I needed to lose weight for my healthier self.
I forgot that I needed to lose weight for my own happiness.
I forgot that I needed to lose weight to avoid going to plus-size section.
I forgot that I needed to lose weight so I can  borrow my daughters' clothes.
I forgot that I needed to lose weight so nobody told me I am fat.

I didn't hear anyone in Bandung saying "You look fat" during my one-week there.

It was an "Aha!!!" moment for me.

Mission accomplished. Big smile on my face. Ready for selfie.

Never Too Old

She got married when she was fifteen
She was constantly scolded by her mother-in-law because she couldn't do laundry properly
She once slept on the sidewalk street because her in-laws chased her away from the family house
She worked more than 12 hours a day to help her husband support the family
She gave birth to her first born when she was seventeen
She lost her 19-yr-old eldest daughter to heart disease
Then she also lost her 40-yr-old eldest son, also to heart disease
She was hit by a motorcycle which left huge ugly scars on her leg
She lost her husband when she was in her late sixties

Only a mother knows how terrible and painful it is to lost a child
Every mother wants their children to outlive their lives
Losing two children in a lifetime is too much to bear

She is a woman who has plenty valid reasons to be bitter and sad
She is a woman who has gone thru hell and come back

And yet....
She chose not to be broken
She chose to smile and laugh
She chose to be happy
She chose to raise her six children to be successful
She chose not to give up on life

She learned to drive when she was 70
She learned to dance when she was 76
She mastered tango and salsa when she was 77
She danced 3 solid hours when she was 80 (on her 80th bday)

Her hair is always salon perfect
Her nails is never without color or glitter
Her dress is never black or plain
Her face is always made up

She is still smiling everyday
She is still laughing when I tell her I can dance better than her
She is still complaining about my floppy hair
She is still wearing bright flowery dress
She is still doing her yoga three times a week
She is still beautiful

This one-of-a-kind woman is my grandmother
My mother is very fortunate to be her daughter
My siblings and I are very lucky to have a living example of a fun grandma
My children, nephews and nieces are blessed to have a loving great grandmother

Be good to your mother, your grandmothers, your mother-in-laws and the mother of your children.... You may not know the pains and struggles they hide from you...

Happy Mother's Day Everyone...

Insult

I went back to Bandung to spend some time with my family a few weeks ago.  On the way back to Kuala Lumpur, the flight was delayed.  Fortunately I brought my laptop with me so I could spend some time working on my second book project while waiting.

I had never imagined that I would be able to write and publish an ebook, more so a book on how to open a restaurant in Malaysia.  I am trained as an accountant who is supposed to be boring and befriended with numbers. Typical accountants love numbers and hate letters. Yet, here I am making good friends with words and thesaurus instead of numbers and spreadsheet.  

I remember the first time I entered the F&B world as an "Indon" accountant. Being an Indonesian in the land where most of their illegal immigrants are from my country is not that pleasant.  While some Malaysians know about Indonesia and its people, a lot of people still have the thought that "Indons" are poor illegal immigrants who come to Malaysia because they can't find a job in their country.

When I walked into the office for the first time, a chef talked to me in Cantonese, thinking that I was a Malaysian Chinese.  When I told him in English that I couldn't understand Cantonese and I was Indonesian, he gave me "the look".  It's the look of insult.  "Ooh, Indon," he said.

He asked me what position I was hired.  I told him that I was an accountant, recently hired by the owner to fix the financial problem of the restaurant.  He was surprised but didn't say anything because his assistants called him to the kitchen.

While I was working, my colleague ordered a plate of Spaghetti with Seafood and Olives from the kitchen for lunch.  She was kind enough to share the spaghetti with me.  When I tasted the dish, I could taste that the spaghetti was still raw, not cooked properly.  I could see the white flour inside the pasta so it's definitely not al dente.  When the chef went up and asked how the pasta was, I told him that the pasta was undercooked.  I showed him the spaghetti and asked him to try.  Without trying it, he said, "You don't know how to eat pasta.  This is al dente in Italian."

It was my first day and I didn't want to pick a fight with a 28-year-old executive chef who had been with the company for four years.  I let it go.

The next day, the chef came to my office asking me to order a jar of winter truffle. I could not understand him as his Chinese accent was very strong.  It was very difficult to understand any English word coming out from his mouth.  When I asked him to write down the brand he wanted, he became furious and asked," You Indon, go to school or not?"

I was beyond furious.  I don't get offended easily but that remark really set me on fire.  I could feel my face turning red. People can call me fat or ugly or unsophisticated or poor but I am most offended when they think I am stupid.

I tried to calm my tone and asked again properly the brand that he wanted. He repeated the same question, "You go to school or not? Until standard what?" 

I don't display my certificates nor boast my degree to anyone but his insult just pressed my snob button.  Since I was also managing the HR department, I read all the staff files, including his.  I read his file that he finished his elementary education in Singapore then went straight to work in kitchens of several restaurants and hotels in the republic.

"Just so you don't ask me again, I actually finished my high school in Indonesia then completed my bachelors in accountancy in US before taking a master degree, also in US. So, if you think I don't know pasta or Italian food, you are so wrong. I had eaten pasta and cheese before you could even spell your name in English."

"So, please write down the brand that you want so I can order it. Or actually, do you even know how to write English?" I stared at him with burning fire on my eyes.  

He was shocked. I could see he didn't expect my response.  He then wrote down the brand of truffle he wanted and left.

I was also shocked.  I never thought I would be able to speak as loud as that. But that moment, something in my brain lit up.  I had to prove to everyone in the company that I was not dumb. I may be wearing high heels and lipstick but I can still kick some ass. I had to learn everything about the F&B industry and work very hard so nobody would insult me any more.

Although I was hired as an Accountant and Human Resource Manager, I volunteered to do other things in the company.  Within six months I knew everything about the restaurant operation, from purchasing, costing, stocking, bar operation, arranging wedding and company functions to managing frauds.

When I looked back, I had to thank that young chef for pushing my button. Because of his insult, I pushed my self to excel in the F&B world. Because of his insult, I fell in love with the industry. Because of his insult, I forced myself to accept the challenge of (financially) managing a few restaurants at one go. Because of his insult, I could write my ebook on restaurant business.

After a few years working together with him, I understand better how chefs and cooks think. I understand why he was always grumpy.  I understand why he was always irritated when things were less than perfect.

Fast forward to now, I made peace with that young chef.  We became friends who could talk about food for hours. He knows that I am not "just an indon" but a woman who will kick his ass when insulted.   I learned a lot from him.  He taught me the difference between a cook and a chef. He made me understand the importance of discipline, hard work, attention to details, system, cleanliness and shouting in a restaurant.  He even shared some of his recipes with me.  I owe him my skill of making a perfect steak.

Thanks to the Food Network, the restaurant business looks glamorous from the outside. But when we are inside, things are not as glossy as it looks. Same thing with life.  A girl may look pretty and glamorous from the outside.  But she still farts smelly gas.

People say when life throws you lemons, make lemonade.  I say when a guy throws you lemons, squirt them in his eye..!!

Fireworks

I closed the last few minutes of 2015 by the road side, near my old house, waiting for fireworks display from nearby malls. This has been our rituals since the kids were toddlers. Inem always the one who is very excited about the fireworks, comparing which mall displays the best fireworks.

This year, as I looked at the firework, a sadness crept into my soul... Something I didn't feel in the previous years. The faces of my friends who passed away in 2015 came up. As I looked at the brightly lit sky, I saw their faces, I remembered of their smiles, their laughs, our conversations.... and suddenly I missed them. I wondered if they could see the fireworks from their place too.. I wonder if the fireworks sound louder from their place...  I wondered if they could feel what I felt.. 

While everyone "ooohh and aaaahhh" at the firework display, my mind raced back remembering the unforgettable moments I had in 2015. Slowly, the sad feeling subsided. I had many sad things happened in 2015 but I also had a lot of unexpected blessings and beautiful moments.

Allah called back three of my friends last year but I met many new friends in 2015. New friends can never replace the old friends but I hope one day these new friends will be my "old friends" too.. Not just old acquaintances.

I attended my high school reunion last year and re-acquaintanced with my old friends. It is really fun trying to match names and faces of old friends. I have always been terrible at remembering names. It embarrassed me to forget the names of friends who used to be in the same class with me. However, the embarrassment turned into laughters as a lot of them were also as bad as me in the name game.

Last year I had a chance to meet, chat and laugh with a few of my BFFs who were separated thousands of miles away from me. The meetings reminded me that no matter how far apart we are, how different our lives are now, when we are together, we are still the same crazy talkative women who think too much about everything and nothing. 

I also attended the wedding of my parents' BFF's son. My parents have been friends with them since their primary school days. I used to hang out in their house and have family vacations together. Their children become our best childhood friends. I admire and treasure this friendship. I don't see this kind of friendship everyday.  When my father was unwell, he cheered him up. When my father was too lazy to exercise, he picked him up and brought him for a walk. Last month, one of his daughters even bought a user-friendly smart phone for my father. The other daughter came to our house to set up and teach him how to use whatsapp and facebook.  (My parents love their Nokia phones.  My siblings and I bought them Blackberry and iPhones but they are hardly switched on.  We tried numerous times to teach them how to use smart phones but they insisted it's too complicated). My father listened to them and started using the new smart phone.

I feel so blessed to witness this kind of friendship.. I feel so blessed to have them in my life...: Ko Nam Seng, Ci Cen Mey, Nana, Fin2 and Raymond... You have touched our family's hearts more than you know. We are forever grateful.

I don't enjoy small talks and meaningless conversations with random people. I don't feel comfortable surrounded by acquaintances who may not remember me six months from now. I don't like attending parties where I know less than 50% of the party goers.

I need months and sometimes years to develop a friendship with someone. 

Because of that, I take friendship seriously. I take relationships seriously.
Because of that, my reflection of life in 2015 is about my friends and families.

Last night, after the fireworks died down, I saw the sky full of smokes. 

This morning, I woke up to a bright sky.

Last night, I let go all the sadness I had in 2015. I said goodbye to the heart-wrenching, tear-jerking and heart-pounding experiences. I let them disappear into the smokes.

This morning I woke up to a brand new page of my life. I pray to Allah to grant us colourful pages in 2016. I hope Allah bless us with more beautiful and meaningful moments.

To my readers... This blog is not an open blog. You read this because you are my friends, either on Facebook or Google+. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your friendship.

I wish you all a very Happy New Year... 

I wish you 365 days of happiness...
May God bless us all...

Telegram from Heaven

I had a very bad food poisoning last week.  I have had several food poisoning before but never this bad.  This time I had tummy ache for 3 days.  It was so painful that I cried every time the spasms hit me and it hit me every 2 minutes.

After I went to the doctor twice, finally the pain subsided but my body was very weak. I couldn't even walk. I spent my days on bed, exercising....

Yes... Exercising....

I exercised my fingers and brain by texting, chatting non-stop on Telegram.

My high school friends are planning to have a reunion in December.  Because of this, a dear friend set up a whatsapp group to gather some ideas.  However we had more than 100 people, so whatsapp can't accommodate our needs.  We migrated to Telegram that allow up to 200 members in a group. While most of them live in Bandung, some of us live in Jakarta, US, Malaysia and China. Telegram really suits us well.

Initially we tried to remember which friends were which. Remembering 200 people that we met 25 years ago was an ardent task for us..... the 40+ years old who always forget where we left our keys.  If I can't remember what I ate yesterday, imagine trying to remember a friend whose front teeth were missing when he was in high school or a friend who sat next to this so and so. Those are the descriptions they gave when I asked them who is this guy and who is that gal.

Some uploaded blurred old high school pictures (and their current looks) but I still can't remember a lot of them. I only remember some friends who were very naughty in class. I remember friends who always cheated in the exam and got caught. I also remember friends who used to be punished by teachers for always came to school late.

Although I don't remember some of them, I managed to chat and re-acquaintance with them.  The chat was mostly in Sundanese, mixed with Bahasa Indonesia.  After a day or two, we got so comfortable with each other.  We felt like we never parted. The chat room was ON all the time. When I had to sleep, I would wake up to see 1500+ unread thread. If I didn't open the chat overnight, the thread can fetch 4000+.  There were always people chatting about something all the time. While the morning shift greeted us good morning at 5am, the night people stayed up and chatted til 3am.

What started as a reunion plan transformed into something else.  We forgot the topic of reunion and chatted about something else.  The topic varied from discussion about children, love, education, food, happiness, our teachers, health, medicine, adult stuffs (you know what I mean), business, money, doors and sink, and so many other things... YES, we did talk about doors and sink...!! I don't know why but we chatted about doors and sink for 2 days..!! And to make it worse, none of us is in the construction business.

Chatting with old high school friends made me smile and laugh more often.  It eased my tummy pain. It killed the boredom of staying in bed 24 hours.  It rekindled a lot of great memories. It added my knowledge about doors and toilet sink (or wastafel in Bahasa Indonesia).  But most of all it confirmed my belief on the importance of friendship in life.

When we chatted we forgot all the superficial manners.  We ditched our titles and social status.  We poked fun at each other.  We called each other names. We exchanged crazy silly impossible ideas with each other.  We argued about small stupid things. But most of all, we made each other happy....

All of us have responsibilities at work and home.  A lot of times, we work so hard to please our employers, to please our husbands/wives, to tend our children, to take care of our parents, etc etc.... But we often forget to please ourselves.  Many times we don't have time for ourselves.

Chatting with my high-school friends has given me the break I need, the crazy laugh I crave and the warm feeling I lust after....

I am blessed to know that I have friends who are as crazy as I am... Friends who are as passionate about food as I am... Friends who can tell each other off without hard feeling....

To Telegram... thank you for providing free friendly platform for friends to chat...

To my friends at Telegram.... thank you for making my food poisoning days bearable... thank you for accompanying me when I can't sleep at night... thank you for the laughs (lots of them).. and thank you for saving my money... (with you,, I don't need any botox..!!)

Have a great week ahead...!!

Perfect Love

I listen to Mix FM every morning when I drive my daughters to school. For the past one week the topic was about finding the perfect wife or husband. Whether it exists and if it does, where to find this extinct species?

A woman wants to have a perfect husband who can provide her with a big house (or houses) that shelters many luxurious cars that her friends will envy. The perfect husband should also tell her how beautiful she is and how much he loves her everyday. Not to forget the occasional "surprise gifts" during her birthdays and anniversaries to show how romantic her husband is. She also wants to have perfect children who are beautiful, multi-talented, well behaved and treat her in a godly manner.  A recital with philharmonic orchestra will be an added bonus to her life.

A man wants to have a perfect wife who never ages a day over 25 years old.  His wife should have a miss-universe body with angelic face who cleans the house, feeds the children, sweats and cooks in the kitchen for hours yet still maintain the whole beautiful look and smiles when the husband arrives from work.  She should also be as good as Monica Lewensky behind the closed door to make him satisfied. She is also expected to be a dutiful daughter-in-law to his mother and siblings while taking care of his cats.

Is there such a perfect woman or man?

When I was young, I did have a list of criteria on what kind of husband I wanted.  Believe me, the list was longer than my grocery bills.  I searched high and low to find the perfect man who could fit the list.  Most of the men I met could not even pass the first 5 criteria on the list. My mother told me that I would never find a husband with that list so I should settle for less.

Did I settle for less? Almost... But NO.

I persevered and finally found the guy... I married him after meeting him for only 15 times. Yes, I know it was crazy but I was very certain that he was the one.

Is he perfect? No

But he is perfect for me.  He passed beyond the first 10 in my list.  He fits more than 90% of my list.

Is he a rich, super romantic and sophisticated guy?  Definitely no by most people's standard.

When I met him, he didn't drive sophisticated European car.  He didn't even have a house and still stayed with his parents.  He didn't send me flowers or chocolates or romantic cards.  He didn't take me to fancy restaurants on our dates.  Instead, he took me to a warong with rusty zinc roof near Batu Cave to have Thai-style steamed fish (siakap, to  be exact) on our fist date in Malaysia. It was a really hot day, eating really hot spicy food by the road side.  We had teary eyes, runny nose and sweaty body.

Definitely not rich.  Not romantic. Not sophisticated.

But he is perfect for me.

Why?
(My friends used to ask me : What do you see in him?)

He makes me laughs.
He creates thousands of butterflies in my stomach every time he touches me.
He makes me shiver.
He respects my privacy.
He gives me freedom.
He understands me.
He drives me nuts with his cool.
He awes me with his intelligent.
He amuses me with his knowledge.
He doesn't bore me.
He loves my family.
He loves his family.
He loves food.
He nurtures me.
He shares the same passions with me.
He listens when I talk (and he tells me when I talk too much..:)
He is (brutally) honest.
He is a law-abiding citizen.
He is a hard-working man.
He is humble.
He is a man of principle.
He is respectful towards my friends.
He is clean.
He doesn't wear flowery shirts with more than 10 colours.
He doesn't chew loudly when he eats.
He doesn't swear.
He doesn't gossip.
He doesn't shout when he talks (on the phone too).
He doesn't hurt people.
He doesn't judge.
He doesn't flirt with women.
He doesn't show off.
He doesn't pretend.
He doesn't have stinky breath.
He is not possessive.
He is not a fanatic of anything.
He is not demanding.
He is not complicated.
He is not amused by beauty without brain.
He is not afraid of cockroaches (It is very important because I am terrified of cockroaches. He can make my life less scary when there is a cockroach nearby).

Most importantly :  He is a man of religion. He is afraid of Allah. He lives following guides from Allah and he guides me to be a better person.

In a way... He completes me (stealing the line from Jerry Maguire)

I am writing this out of my guilt for forgetting our anniversary this year (again... for the countless time).  Last April, I only realized it was our anniversary when I was filling up a membership form for my friend. When I dated the form, I wrote 09/04/2014.  The date made me thinking... hmmmm... I think there was something that I needed to do on the 9th of April.  After a few minutes, it hit me.  It was the 14th anniversary of my marriage to the man who has shared countless nasi lemak, nasi kandar, kari kepala ikan, nasi daun pisang, laksam, soto, assam laksa, steamed fish, botok-botok, nasi timbel, bakso, baso tahu, harkau, siomay, durian, pulasan, pie tee, char kuey teow, hummus, mandy, nachos, enchiladas, chimichangas, palak paneer, roganjosh, appam, pho, tomyam, somtam, miang kham, briyani, thosai, chapati and many many delicious things in life with me.

Although it's been months since I forgot about that date, the guilt feeling lingers as I had promised myself to never forget the important dates of our lives.

Fortunately, I never forget his birthday... (coz we have the same birthday... so one less date to remember)

For my readers who are still searching for the right guy or the right girl, don't give up and don't settle for less because you only have one life to live.  The perfect man or woman does not exist BUT the perfect person for you does exist.

Thank you for reading and have a great week ahead.

Orang Gila

When I was in high school, I remember there were a lot of orang gila or mentally ill people roaming around my house.  Most of them talked to themselves, laughing, crying or screaming, oblivious to their surrounding.  All of the them walked barefoot with torn and dirty clothes.  They slept under bridges or pedestrian street and ate food from garbage bins. Kids and tukang becak used to make fun of them... some even bullied them by asking them to dance or open their clothes, revealing their private parts.

I used to be afraid being near them as some can be quite violent when they were upset.  One of my friends was chased by this orang gila when she was walking to my house.  She was traumatized badly. I still remember the name of that particular orang gila.. Her name was Kenoh.  Actually nobody really knew her name but we called her Kenoh.

At that time I didn't know about mental illness or schizophrenia.

When I was in college, I watched A Beautiful Mind, a movie based on the life of John Nash, a Nobel Laureate in Economics who suffered schizophrenia.  Quoting from wikipedia, schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by abnormal social behaviour and failure to recognize what is real. Symptoms include false beliefs, unclear or confused thinking and auditory hallucinations.

The movie talked to me and opened my mind about orang gila. I started to think differently about them. I started to understand how they feel. I started to have a special place in my heart for them.  I felt guilty when I thought about how I used to feel about them.  I felt angry remembering how people made fun of them.  I was angry at the family members who neglected them and let them roam the streets.

Thirteen years ago, I had an unforgettable experience with a schizophrenic man.  He was my staff who worked for me in a supermarket that I ran with my husband.  He was a hard working and honest store supervisor who I could rely on.  I had no idea of his illness when I hired him and he didn't show any strange behaviour for the 2 years he worked with me.  His name is Z.

One fine morning, Z came to me and asked if he could talk to me in private inside my office.  Initially I thought he would like to talk about his work or staffs.  But he told me everything was fine with the store.  He said he wanted to confess about something. I had a mixed feeling when he said that. Did he steal something? Was he not happy working with me?

"I was instructed to kill you," he said.

I was speechless.  It took me a good 2 minutes trying to digest what he just told me.  Thank to Allah, I was calm.  Instead of panicking, I asked him who asked him to kill me and why.

He started to cry.  He told me that for the past few years, he had a friend who followed him everywhere he went.  This friend looked exactly like him and told him to do a lot of things. This friend made him smart.  This friend helped him doing things that he thought he would not be able to do.  This friend was invisible to others. He loves his friend so much because he made him stronger. But the friend was very possessive. He got angry very easily.  When he was angry, he could be very violent.

"Lately my friend asked me to burn your supermarket and kill you because I spent too much time here," he said. "I told him that I can't do that and he was very angry. He pushed me and knocked my head to the wall. He has done that several times. When that happened, my wife locked me in the room alone."

"He always came at night when I felt sleepy. Now I am scared of him.  I have not slept for the past three days because I was afraid he would come and drag me to kill you."

"You have been very good to me.  I care for you and I don't want bad things to happen to you.  That's why today I come to tender my resignation.  To save your life."

I had a long talk with him.  I told him about this movie A Beautiful Mind.  I asked him to watch it.  I also asked him to go to a psychiatrist.

To cut the long story short, I accepted his resignation and I didn't see him any more.  One year later, he came to the shop to see me.  He looked healthy without the blood-shed eye.  He told me that he went to a  psychiatrist at a government hospital.  They managed to shoo away his friend in a friendly goodbye.  He  lived a peaceful life selling fruits in a small village.  His wife and children were very happy because he never hits them any more.

Tears streaming down from my eyes... I was so happy to see him living a normal life.  I thanked Allah for saving me..... and for the beautiful experience with a schizophrenic man.

This experience has enriched my life in a very special way.  I see orang gila with a different light now. I wish their families understand and treat them.  I hope people will stop harassing and making fun of them.  They suffer enough battling with their inner voices.  They don't need more suffering from other people.

I think everybody has a bit of schizo in their mind. Sometimes we do have false beliefs and get confused. Sometimes we hear voices in our mind.

I am glad to know that someone set up an FB page on Komunitas Peduli Skizophrenia Indonesia. I joined the page today hoping I can help them in one way or another.

I dedicate this blog to all the schizophrenic out there.  You are not alone.  You can live a normal live too. Don't give up.


PS : Last year, my lady masseur told me that her 24-yr old son had an imaginary friend.  He started hurting himself by slashing his hand with a knife. I told her to seek a psychiatrist treatment but sadly, her husband and her believed that he was possessed by jinn (supernatural creatures) and brought him to a dukun/bomoh/ustadz (shaman, a traditional healer believed to have spiritual power) instead. He is not healed until now, getting even more violent.  She confines his son in a room to avoid hurting his siblings. They still refuse to go to a doctor as they believe doctors can't communicate with jinn. It breaks my heart but I can't force them to do things they don't belief.

Islam vs Christianity?

When I told my mother that I wanted to marry B and converted to be a Muslim, my mother was stunned. She didn't say a word. For a good 5 minutes, she struggled to find the right words to say no but the only thing that came out from her mouth was, "Are you going to be one of the terrorists?".

Growing up in Bandung as a minority Chinese, I witnessed and experienced a lot of hostilities, discrimination and threats from the Muslims.  Walking home from school to my house I had to ignore men shouting "Cina, Amoy, kafir" almost everyday.  Some of them tried to touch parts of my body that I had to run very fast.  My parents told me to never fight back or I would ignite a riot.  My mother's friend had her shop burnt down by the Muslims just because she caught a person stole from her shop and scolded him. The thief went out from the shop, shouted to the public that the lady insulted Islam.  The mob came so fast and burned down the shop.  The fire raged to the nearby shops.  At the end of the day, 6 shops were burnt down. Police didn't do anything and the event was not reported in the media. Everyone, except the victims, ignored the fact that it was against the law to destroy someone's properties.

I can remember vividly when my mother's shop had to close for a week.  Muslims threw stones to shops that belonged to the Chinese. We used to live behind our shop so we could see from the peephole how the people vandalized the shops. It was a scary sight. They chanted "Allahuakbar" every time they threw huge stones to the shop. Again, only those living in our area knew about this as no media reported the event.

Going to church on Christmas Eve was very risky.  There had been a few occasions where Muslims threw molotov bombs to the church compounds. Church care takers would extinguish the fires themselves as they could not rely on the authorities to take actions.

Since my mother is a Buddhist, I often had to follow her to a temple the night before Chinese New Year.  We often heard explosions from molotov bombs and Muslims shouting racist remarks.  Before they threw the bombs, we could hear "Allahuakbar".

Growing up in those situations, I could understand my mother's reservation.  She always wants her children to be good people.  She told us millions "Don't do this" and "You have to do this" so we could grow up to be the kind, polite and good people who won't embarrass them. My mother told me that if I did something bad, it would reflect bad on her as a mother. Although she has a lot of good Muslim friends, she lived to witness that there are more bad Muslims than good Muslims.  We used to have very bad impressions when people say "Allahuakbar".  We grew up believing that the God of the Muslims was an evil who instruct His followers to hurt people.

Before I converted to be a Muslim, I read a lot of books about Islam and I had countless discussions with my Muslim friends about the religion.  I also learned about the history of religion and how the teaching evolved from Judaism to Christianity to Islam. I read the English and Indonesian translation of the Quran twice to understand why Muslims behaved in such violent ways and why Muslim women were (presumed) oppressed. It surprised me to find how easy it was to read and understand the Quran compared to reading a Bible. After I read the Quran twice, I couldn't find any verse in the Quran that asked its followers to destroy churches and hurt people.

In fact, I found a lot of similarities between the Quran and the Old Testament of the Bible. Both acknowledge the same God.  Both require their followers to worship only the God (Allah) who created the world, the God who was worshiped by Abraham, Moses (Musa), Daniel, Noah (Nuh), Joseph (Yusuf), David (Daud), Jesus (Isa) and the other prophets.  The first instruction Allah gave to Moses in 10 Commandments (of Bible) : I am the Lord, thy God  (Akulah Tuhan Allahmu). The second instruction : Thou shalt have no other gods before Me (Jangan ada Allah lain di hadapanKu).

Both books teach about the importance of kindness, charities and being respectful to parents. Both books require their followers to obey the teachings of the prophets so that they can live peacefully in this world and hopefully, in the afterlife.

After countless discussions and a lot of readings, I found it easy to convert to Islam.  I thought that the teachings were simple.  Most of the rules and regulations specified in the Quran make sense. They are necessary to bring orders and to prevent chaos in this world. If everyone follows the teachings, we would be living in peace.

But when I started to live as a Muslim, I found it extremely difficult to be a Muslim.  My life turned upside down. It was not as easy as I thought.

I was told that I could not enter a church anymore.  My sister got married in a church.  How could I not join my family to witness the most important moment of my sister's life?

I was also told that I could only pray to Allah in Arabic, a language that I couldn't understand and master.  When I was a Christian, I used to "talk" to Allah several times a day, in a mixed language of Sunda, Bahasa Indonesia and English. Now, I had to learn Arabic first before I could pray and talk to Him. It would take me years to do that.

I was also told that as a married Muslim woman, I was not allowed to have male friends.  I should keep a distance with male friends.  I grew up with a lot of male friends. In fact, when I was in college, I was constantly surrounded by 10 boys everywhere I went. Since I was the only girl in the group, they were like my "body guards".  They were my best buddies.  Now all of us are married and lead separate lives, but they are still my good friends.  One of best friends is a male friend whom I met when I was in high school.  Until now we still text each other, exchanging stupid jokes or updating where to get the best sup kepala ikan or sambel terasi frequently. He is one of the very few friends who still call me "Nong" (which means forehead).  Every time he calls me Nong, I am reminded again of my younger days when friends used to tease me for having shiny broad forehead. It was a bitter sweet memory from my high school. Thanks to that Nong nickname, I learned how to conceal my broad forehead by having a hairstyle that has a fringe.  Nobody really notices my broad forehead anymore now. So, I can't imagine ditching him as my close friend.

Someone also told me that I should never go to clubs or hotel lounge to dance and enjoy music anymore.  I should only listen to religious songs (nasyid) instead. I grew up with Indonesian, Chinese and English music. I remember my parents playing music from The Beatles, ABBA, Theresia Teng's and Chicha Koeswoyo when I was young.  I enjoy the beats and the happy lyrics of those music. In my teenage days, I started to love Bon Jovi, The Police, Air Supply, Chrisye, Titi DJ and Madonna. I was glued to MTV when I was in college. I was never exposed to nasyid music. Because of that I can't enjoy nasyid music at all.  I can't appreciate Middle Eastern music either because I can't understand a single thing from it. I believe every one has his/her own taste of music.  A taste is not something that can be forced. I love durian tremendously but I can't force my Iranian friend to eat it. She could throw up just by smelling it. I believe taste is very personal, be it in music, food or fashion.

Although my husband, B, always reassures me that I am doing OK as a Muslim convert, I still think that I can't never be a good Muslim.  He told me so many times to ignore what people say and just concentrate on the teaching of the Quran.  A lot of things that the Muslims do are not based on the Quran but based on the cultures, traditions and habits of the people which are misinterpreted as Islamic practices.

Last year on my birthday, a dear friend gave me this book:

(click the picture to see the preview)

When I read the book, I felt my burden was lifted.  I was not alone.  Imran was born as a Muslim in Pakistan but grew up in England. Even as a born Muslim, he had the same confusion about Islam too.  We share the same doubts and questions about the practices done by the Muslims. Both of us struggle to be the "real" and good Muslims.  Both of us believe that we should enjoy our lives instead of despising simple pleasures and treat them as the worldly sins. Both of us like Simon Templer from The Saints. Both of us were born in the month of September (as well as B) which make us introverts who prefer to "talk" with our writings instead of our voices.

In his book, Imran reminded me the importance of seeking knowledge and the dangers of having blind faith. By seeking knowledge, we can understand and appreciate our religion better.  AlQuran clearly mentions the  obligation of every Muslim to read and seek knowledge (in verses 96:1-5, 17:36 and many more verses).

The Muslims who burned my mother's friend's shop should be ashamed to call themselves Muslims.  The Muslims who chanted "Allahuakbar" before hurting people are ignorant human beings who don't practice the teaching of Islam.  Those who said that I could only pray to Allah in Arabic forget that Allah is the Great and the Mighty who can understand all languages. He even hears and understands the unspoken whisper in our hearts. Abraham, Noah, David and Jesus didn't converse in Arabic and yet, they are the messengers of Allah.

Those who said that I could not enter a church forgot that in the early days, a praying hall is used by people from all religions.  Muslims, Jewish and Christians used to share the same place to pray.

Many Muslims make an effort to recite the Holy Quran during Ramadhan every day, with the goal to finish the whole Quran just before Hari Raya. While it is a commendable act, I know a lot of them recite it without knowing or understanding the meaning. If only they understand the meaning, they would know that the religion never asks its followers to destroy or hurt people.

This posting is a bit heavy compared to my previous postings.  It took me a long time to write this post as it is rather sensitive. I apologize if any of you find this post as offensive.  I never intend to hurt or insult anyone or to appear like holier than thou. It is just another ranting of mine.

Thank you for reading my blog.  Have a great week ahead, my friends....

PS : please share this blog if you know anyone recently converted to be a Muslim. I hope this blog can help her/him ease the transition.

My First Fasting

One Week Before Ramadhan

Fourteen years ago :

I was super nervous
It was my first time spending Ramadhan in Malaysia as a Muslim..
Would I be able to fast?
What if I couldn't make it?
Would I feel very tired?
What should I do during the day?
What should I wear?
What if I passed out when walking in a mall? ( I have very low blood pressure)

Now 2014 :

I am super excited
I am looking forward to detoxifying my body and soul

During Ramadhan

Fourteen years ago :

I was confused....
I felt awkward.....
I felt scared...
I fought hard to wake up for sahur....
I traded sahur for 3 more hours of sleep
I looked at the clock every 5 minutes and wonder if the clock was broken
I broke my fast like a greedy elephant and felt sleepy afterwards
I tried so many restaurants offering Ramadhan Break Fast Buffet in KL

Now 2014 :

I am super excited because my daughters are joining us in fasting
I am looking forward to have real sahur with everyone in the house
I am looking forward to checking out Bazaar Ramadhan near my house
I always run out of time in preparing the food for breaking fast. I think the clock moves too fast.
I control my food intake when breaking fast
I feel energized

After Ramadhan

Fourteen years ago:

I lost 3-4 kgs
I felt very healthy and energized
I could wear my old jeans and kebayas

One year ago:

I lost 0.5 kg..
I felt hmmmmm....
I had to buy new kebayas and baju kurung (couldn't fit into any of my old ones)

2014 :  LET'S SEE....

The Men in My Life

I never really write or talk much about my father. Although he is very close to my heart, I still feel our relationship is separated by a wall, albeit a thin one. He used to be very fierce. My sisters and I were scared of him. I remember he released his doberman and locked the main gate when I came home at 11.10 pm, just 10 minutes late from the 11 pm curfew. I also remember hiding in the maid's room eating bakso with my sister because he despised junk food. He would lecture us for hours about the dangerous preservatives (formalin : used to preserve dead bodies) used by several suppliers in making beef balls and noodles.

Other than for being fierce and discipline, I remember my father as a very adventurous young man whose hobbies include archery, hunting, deep sea fishing, diving, cooking, reading, playing ping pong, hashing and listening to music. When I was in high school, I learned how to shoot using rifles from him.  He taught me how to look into the small lens and aim for the target.  We used to practice shooting coca cola cans behind our house. As a young girl, I didn't know or care if it was legal for me to use rifle. I enjoyed every minute I spent with him shooting those coca cola cans.

My father is an animal lover.  We used to have a few bats, snakes, chickens, dogs, birds, monitor lizard, tortoises, fish and wild cats as pets.  Before he went to work, he would spent his mornings greeting, petting and feeding his pets. He loved watching animal program on TV and recorded them using VCR.  My siblings and I were so bored whenever we had to watch TV together with him as he could watch the same program over and over again.

My girlfriends knew him as a very funny guy. He used to crack jokes or pranks when my girlfriends were in our house. But most of my boy friends think that he was the fiercest father on earth. He was very protective of his daughters.  Whenever our friends called us on the phone, he would sit beside us and listen to all of our conversations.  If we talked more than 10 minutes he would pretend that he needed to use the phone for something important.

Although he was very protective, he was not as conservative as most of my friends' parents.  My father is the person who first introduced me to Jack Daniel, Hennessy X.O and Galliano. He poured the JD into a shot glass and asked me to smell and taste it.  I remember how awful it smelt and how horrible it tasted.  He then told me everything I needed to know about alcohol. He told me that alcohol could make me drunk and behave irrationally.  He also told me that if a guy gave me a drink, I should smell it first before drinking it.  I should decline the drink if it smells like that.

A few days later, together with my mother and his friends, he took me and my sister to a discotheque.  He showed me how a disco looked like and how people behaved there.  I still remember the name of the discotheque, Studio East.  We listened to music and danced together.  In between our dance, he showed me how men lured women by giving them alcoholic drinks.  He also showed me that men could spike a drink to make women drunk or faint.  He then told me that whenever I wanted to go to a disco, he would give me money to buy my own drink.  He told me to never allow anybody to buy me drinks at a disco and to never leave my drinks unattended. I remember his words until now.  It is one of his best advice.

Now my father is not as robust and lively as he used to be. While he still enjoys animal channel, he doesn't own pet anymore. He prefers to stay home and meditate compared to going to thick jungle of Batu Gajah to hunt for wild boars.  He is more interested in reading and watching Chinese history than spending hours on the boat to catch some tunas or barracudas. He transforms into a totally different person.

It took awhile for my siblings and I to get used to this but we welcome the changes with open arms. We definitely welcome his less fierce attitude.  He doesn't sit next to us when we are on the phone anymore (he increased the TV volume instead).

When I remember the 40+ years I know him, I can't help but admire him.  He really knows how to enjoy life to the fullest.  He lives a very balance life, sharing time between work, family, friends and his personal enjoyment. He works hard and plays hard too.  He always has time for everything.  I wish I have enough time for everything too...

I never ask him how he manages his time but after years of observation, I know why he always has time to do what he wants to do. He is very discipline and he knows how to say NO.  When he works, nobody can disturb him. My mother never calls him unless there is an emergency. When it's time for him to eat, he would say no to anything else. He would eat without being disturbed.  When we were on vacation, he totally shut down from the rest of the world.  He didn't call the shops to ask about his business, he didn't call our house to ask if everything was OK.  His mind was in a total vacation mood.  When he takes afternoon nap or meditates, nobody can disturb him unless someone is dying. When he said that we would leave the house at 7 pm, we should be ready at 6.50 pm. If we were late, he would leave without us.

My experiences with my father have prepared me to live a peaceful life with my husband, B.  He is very similar to my father in terms of discipline and knowing how to say no.  B can't tolerate being late.  He is also very strict on the house rules. My daughters sometimes complain about this.  I kept telling them that it is for their own good.

Read what they wrote on the Father's Day card :

Both my father and B are the most important men in my life.  Both taught me so many things about life.  Both have helped me live a richer life, full of interesting experiences. Both have made me eat healthier food and avoid junk food (although I still sneak out and eat some bakso and gorengan when they are not around). Both cringed when I kill a fly or mosquito. They prefer to "shoo away" the insects instead of killing them.

Both also have made me run in high heels to avoid being late.

Let's celebrate all the great men in our lives.  Happy Father's Day..!!

My Tiger Mom Who Sent Me Away..

I used to think my mom is a dominant female who likes to force things to her children.  I used to hate her when she forced me to wear yellow dress and perm my hair.  I hated her when she forced me to learn Mandarin.  I hated her when she forced me to do anything.  The more she forced me, the more rebellious I became.

One of the highlights in my life is when my mother "forced" me to take a 3-month summer course in Paris when I was in my early 20s.  I was mad... I was not a kid anymore and she had to force me to "have a vacation".

I was very reluctant to go as I didn't speak a single French and I didn't feel the need to take those courses in Paris.  I could take the same courses in San Diego (where I studied last time) and spend fun-packed summer with my friends. 

I didn't understand why my mother insisted that I had to go to Paris.  After a lot of arguments, finally I relented... (as I usually did). I registered with University of St Paul to take International Business Marketing and Comparative Business Law in Paris.

I was lucky that one of my classmates from Thailand interested to take the same courses with me so I could share an apartment with her. I also had an Indonesian friend who enrolled in the same program but chose to be in London instead of Paris.

The three of us left San Diego two weeks before the program to indulge in our shared passion of travelling.  With Eurail pass and a few Lonely Planet books in our hands, we travelled to Innsbruck, Salzburg, Vienna, Zurich, Nice and Cannes by train.

I had never been to Europe before and I was BAD in history and geography thus I didn't know what to expect.  At that time we had no internet, so we totally relied on our trusted Lonely Planet books to arrange the hostels and restaurants.

 

I was exposed to a lot of crazy experiences during my 3 months there. 

As we traveled on a tight budget, we stayed in various youth hostels.  It was the first time I had to share a bedroom with 10 strangers on bunk beds.  It was also my first time sleeping at 10 pm during vacation because all light was switched off at 10 pm.  It was my first time experiencing "common shower".  I don't really remember where it was but I was shocked when the hostel operator showed us the shower area. It's just an open area consisting of 20 shower heads... no partition, no door. 

It was the first time I saw 20 women walking around naked... Live..!!

I just couldn't do it... I just couldn't display my fat to anyone in an open space... I felt too self-conscious... The next morning I forced myself to wake up at 5 am when everyone else was still snoring just so I could take shower alone and spare my audience from a heart attack. 

(This experience has saved me from an embarrassing moment when I went to a locker room of a gym in Jakarta a few years later.  I acted cool when a westerner walked naked from the shower in the changing room.  Had I not experienced it before, I would probably grab a towel and try to cover that woman for fear of catching a cold..)

One morning in Zurich I woke up with a heavy head and lots of red dots in my face.  Muay and Inne, my travel companions, were surprised and brought me to a clinic inside a local university.  The nurses ran some tests on me and brought me into a small room. I was left alone for a good 20 minutes until Muay came sneaking into the room and told me to run away.  I was shocked and scared.. She told me that I had chicken pox and the nurses said that they didn't have any chicken pox case in Switzerland anymore. 

Based on the regulation, they would need to deport me back to my country.

I quickly ran away from the hospital.  We were running like fugitives.  I had never ran like that in my life... My friends checked me into a hotel at Geroldswill, a suburb of Zurich.  Chicken pox is a normal illness in Asia that usually goes away untreated within a week. We didn't know that it was a rare thing in Switzerland. 

Inne and Muay continued the trip without me and my father came to stay with me.  (Coincidently he was attending a seminar in Lucern, a few hours away from Geroldswill).  My father took care of me throughout that 1 week.

At that time..... I became his little girl again. 

He put lotion on the chicken pox marks all over my body, he bought us food and we watched TV together without understanding a single German word. After my marks almost disappeared, we took a TGV train to Paris together.

It was one of the best times in my life... Had I not had the chicken pox, I wouldn't experience those beautiful moments. Now at my 40's, I notice that it was the one and only time I had a private time with my father, just the two of us.

During my summer course in Paris, Muay and I decided to spend our weekends travelling to the nearby towns. 

When I read the Lonely Planet guide on travelling to South of France, the book mentioned that the best way to enjoy the trip was to use a bicycle.  Muay rented two bicycles for us to go from Loire Valley to Mont Pres Chambord to see some castles.  I had rode bicycles a million times before but I had never saw or touch any bicycle with gear.  Just a few pedals and I tripped... I tried again and I tripped again... After several attempts I managed to cycle slowly. Not too long after that I fell down again, this time almost ran over by a car.  It was one of the scariest time of my life.

Just when I almost cried and pulled my hairs crazy, a small red car pulled over.  A girl came out from the car and asked us in English if everything was OK.  I told her the problem with my bike and our plan to go to Chateau de Chambord. 

Chateau de Chambord

She laughed saying that even if I could ride that bike, it would take us 2 hours to ride there as the place was quite far.  She offered us a ride in her car.  She folded our bikes, put them in the trunk and asked us to go inside her car.  She said that it was better for us to go to the chateau tomorrow as the day was getting dark.  In the meantime, she offered us to stay in her house.

So, we spent our evening with Sabienne and her sister, Nadine.  Both of them were very nice.  They were beautiful French belles in their 20s who spoke fluent English with cute accents (I always looooove the accent).... They took us to the garden behind their house to pick vegetables for our dinner.

Over dinner we got to know each other better... Nadine told us that she travelled to US a few years back and was lost in a highway. A kind couple helped and sheltered her until she could contact her friends.  Because of that experience Sabienne and Nadine had always tried to help "lost travelers" like us.  This experience is one of the most unforgettable experiences in my life.  I felt blessed to have met Sabienne and Nadine who helped travelers in need without prejudice.  After that time we became penpals for a few years.  I always remember their generosity and kindness... This experience has touched me so much that I named my second daughter Nadine. 

At the end of my 3-month program, I left Paris with two certificates and countless valuable experiences.  The certificates are useless now but the experiences that I got from those 3 months are priceless. 

I met so many interesting people, increased my knowledge in geography (and bicycle), learned that it was impossible for my tongue to pronounce French words correctly (even after drinking Perrier everyday), found out that I could really run very fast when I needed to (being a fugitive), bonded with my father, and at the same time I found out the domino effect of kindness from Sabienne and Nadine. 

I thank my mother for forcing me to go and explore the world...

Being a mother, I learn the importance of "Tough Love" from my mother.  She didn't mind if her children hate her when she instills tough love. She only concerns for her children's well being and their futures. Whenever I have to discipline my kids, I can feel the pain... I hate to see their faces when I discipline them... It breaks my heart when I see them cry.. But I am reminded by my mother.  Has she not disciplined us before, we would definitely grow up differently...

I won't be able to travel like that anymore now.  With 2 growing kids attached, traveling means theme parks and kid-friendly places.  I can't travel carrying a backpack anymore. I have to check in at least 2 heavy luggage full of children stuffs, medicine and snacks.

Although I still need to run like a fugitive to catch a plane, the chance of seeing 20 naked women walking around is pretty slim now....

Siiiggghhhh.... the good old days are gone......

Happy Mother's Day everyone..!!

 Guide to European hostels