The Dusty Roads

Grandma

2006-07-01T15:18:00.000+08:00

It's been a long while since I posted anything in here. Today when I thought I should write one, I couldn't think of a topic. But what popped into my mind was Grandma. Suddenly I felt sad because I miss her.

When I was a toddler, Grandma had an unfortunate accident that resulted in her being forced to amputate one leg. After that accident, she asked Dad and Mom to move back to live with her in KL and so we all did.

When I was growing up, I had never known what she was like walking on both legs. I was just a little child when I saw her hopping along on her one good leg with the support of her crutches, being wheeled around on a wheelchair when we go out, sliding herself up and down the staircase and occasionally putting on an artificial limb when she felt like it. Yet, it never occurred to me that she looked strange nor that she's a handicap. I think this was because no one at home saw her as that. To us all, she was normal just like us.

It occurred to me much later when I was grown up that Grandma was a very strong woman. She never once got depressed over her loss and had always maintained a very positive outlook on life. She even joked about her immobility as a blessing because she doesn't need to tend to cooking and cleaning around the house. She had everything taken care of with the help of her children, and all she had was time to indulge in her favourite past times like watching Chinese opera on VCR, listening to music while sipping her Chinese tea, read the entire newspapers and taking naps whenever she wanted.

She and Grandpa loved being on the move. Grandpa rode on a motorbike and they would head out together to God knows where. On some days, they got home and showed some bruises because they had gotten into some accident. Their children would lecture them but it has never stopped them from further adventures. I think being out of the house was their way of spending quality time with each other.

Grandma loved Grandpa very much. In his much older days, Grandpa became a very silent man, hardly uttering a word to anyone. He ate very little and survived mainly on Guiness Stout only. While everyone at home thought feeding him bottles of beer everyday was not the best thing to do, Grandma always gave him what he wanted.

In the afternoons, Grandpa would lie on the 3-seater, with his beer mug on the coffee table out front, and sleep. Grandma's favourite chair would be right next to the 3-seater and she would be happy enough to watch him sleep and then fall asleep herself. Sometimes she would nag and grumble at him but the next minute she would be fussing over him to see that he's comfortable.

When Grandpa passed away, I remember the look in Grandma's eyes when she said to me "He's gone, just like that". Her eyes were full of tears and her voice was choked with pain. I just held her hands in mine and wept with her. I didn't know what else to say or do. Being the strong woman that she was, she took his death pretty well. Sometimes she would say to us that she misses him so dearly and that only affirms in me how much she had loved him for all that he was.

Ten years after Grandpa's death, Grandma fell ill. She was bedridden and the doctor told us it was time. We stayed by her on that very sad day. She was having difficulty breathing and we thought any minute would see her breathe her last. At one point, we were certain she was struggling with her final moment when she gasped badly for breath. We prayed for her while uncontrollable tears rolled down our faces. After some moments, her laboured breathing eased and she was tired. In that moment, she told us that she was "looking for Grandpa" but couldn't find him. And she said "Don't worry, I'll find him by 6pm and then I'll go. Help me find him by chanting". That was her last wish and we did what she wanted.

True enough, about half past 6pm, Grandma passed away peacefully. I want to believe that Grandpa was with her when she left us. I want to believe that she's happy now that she is with Grandpa again. I want to believe that she's proud of us all and that her soul will be with us for every special occasion we celebrate in the family.

Going to the dentist

2006-06-01T20:57:00.000+08:00

I'm extremely afraid of pain. The sight of a needle sends me shivers and my knees would go weak. And I'm not talking about just the time when I was a kid. This has been my fear since young. So you can imagine what a nightmare it is for me to step into a dentist's office. But no one escapes these visits.

As a child, my visits to the school dentist were compulsory as teachers made us form a long line and one by one we had to sit on that chair and have our teeth examined. Luckily for me, I never had to do anything more than just a check-up.

The visits to private dentists, whoever, meant bad news. I visited a few times to have my tooth pulled out. My only condition whenever I had to go was that I had to sit on Mom's lap while the dentist worked on me. My poor mom, who is also scared of going to the dentist herself, would agree. She had to sit in that chair and I would lay on top of her.

It's silly, come to think of it. It's not as if she could've cushioned any pain just by sitting in that chair. I had to endure it all myself; the injection, the plucking of the tooth...but her being there lent me some comfort as she would hold me tight in her arms and whisper assuring words that it'll be alright. I would whimper softly in response to her words.

Up until now, I still don't find it any easier to pay regular visits to the dentist even if it's just for scaling. And of course now, I can't possibly request for Mom to let me sit on her lap. So I have to be brave now and sit on that chair by myself.

Chicken Pox

2006-05-18T11:03:00.000+08:00

I was twelve and on my way back from my 1-month training stint in Vancouver, Canada. We had a stopover in London for a night and we rented a dingy bed and breakfast to stay over. I wasn’t feeling very well and during the night, I felt a terrible itch on one particular spot on my stomach. I scratched it all night and in the morning saw that it had become a red spot that hurt from too much scratching.

Then, I found a few more red spots on various parts of my body and got worried. I showed them to my coach and she knew right away what they were – chicken pox! Coincidentally, I wasn’t the only one having it. FHI was also feeling the same itch and with red spots appearing on her skin! We felt sick immediately and the cold weather in London didn’t help us feel better.

We had also missed our flight home due to a fire breaking out at the subway, causing it to stop service and part of our team couldn’t get to the airport on time. So we had to stay another night. By the time we were getting onto our next flight, FHI and I had developed even more red spots on our faces and we had to wrap the scarves around our faces to cover them. We didn’t want to be stopped by immigration and be quarantined for God knows how long before we could take a flight out.

On the plane, we continued to hide the spots from passing stewardess. We asked for calamine lotion and discreetly applied them in the in-flight toilets. I think I slept most of my 13-hour flight home. When we landed, I was relieved and so glad to be home. After claiming our baggage, we walked out the exit and when I saw Mom waiting for me at the arrival gates, I burst into tears.

School was reopening in just a few days after I got home but I was still not fit to attend school. So I stayed home to nurse the pox and stayed clear of food with black sauce to prevent scarring and marks. When I got to a stage where the pox were no longer contagious, but with the little pox still visible, I was fit to go to school. In order to cover the recovering spots, I wore the baju kurung version of the uniform to school. However, unaware to me, this school which was completely new to me then, had never seen a non-Malay wearing a baju kurung to school.

Being new and terribly insecure with no friends other than MT, I felt depressed. I hated the glares I got from other girls like I was weird. Some teachers asked why I was dressed like that and I had to explain. One particular teacher found it amusing and every once in a while would pester me to show her the pox. How weird! Of course, I never did.

There was also a time when I attended my first Moral class meant for non-Malay students. The teacher told me I had entered the wrong class and that I should be attending the Agama class instead. So once again I found myself explaining my dressing. It seemed like I got quite a lot of unwanted attention. I still didn’t know anybody and it felt really lonely and I was missing my old school friends tremendously.

Soon after, the pox marks disappeared and I was back in the normal school uniform. I didn’t stand out anymore and was glad to blend in just like any other student. By then I had also began making some friends, and some who still remain good friends to me today. I’m also glad that the chicken pox had not left me with any scars.

Barbie Girl

2006-05-10T14:33:00.000+08:00

Over the weekend we were looking at the Barbie Doll selection at a departmental store’s toy section. We were looking for a wedding theme Barbie with her matching groom, Ken. We didn’t quite find the pair.

But it brought back fond memories of how my cousins and I enjoyed our Barbie moments. We each had a Barbie, with the exception of Mary who had a Ken instead. We had a fair selection of clothes for our dolls and ever imaginative minds to conjure up things for our dolls to do – attending some balls, sporting events, shopping, etc. We groomed and dressed the dolls, had pretend conversations between one Barbie with another, and experimented with how the doll could bend this way or that way. We had some pretty good times.

Another cousin, Vicky, who lived in JB was also a fan of Barbie. Whenever we visited during the school holidays, my Barbie never missed a trip. Vicky’s mom is very good at craft works and so her Barbie had gorgeous custom made outfits and furniture like wardrobe and bed. She even made hangers to fit the wardrobe! I got lucky too, as my aunt would also make some for me so I too enjoyed the unique Barbie clothes that I knew no one else would have.

Looking back, I don’t know what all the big fuss was. It was just the “in” thing to have and it seemed an addictive toy. Now, there are so many Barbie-wanna-be dolls and I wonder if they are still as popular. I wonder if most girls grow up wanting to be like a glamorous Barbie figure…

My favourite chef

2006-04-24T11:09:00.000+08:00

5th uncle is an excellent chef. Since I was a little girl, I’ve always enjoyed his cooking. He didn’t cook often but whenever he found the time, I am always a big fan. I especially love the soups he made, and he often made my favourite kinds. Until now, whenever we visit, he would make it a point to make one of my favourites – pickled vegetable soup. Whenever we gather for Chinese New Year, he would also cook his specialty - delicious curry chicken.

He takes pain and pride in his cooking and he often enjoys seeing others savouring his food. He is always generous and there is always plenty for everybody and we eat to our heart’s content while he just looks on and smiles whenever we compliment him or make yummy noises. I think he finds satisfaction in the simplest of ways.

Last night we visited him in the hospital’s ICU. He had just undergone a heart surgery and wasn’t in very stable condition. As I stood there and watched him lying still in bed with wires connecting him to machines, I felt a pang of pain. He looked so frail despite his size. He could barely move and his breath was laboured even with the oxygen mask.

Life is so fragile. I never thought I would see him like this. I could never have imagined. The uncle who is always bubbly and often laughed infectiously and heartily, always filling our stomachs. I pray for his speedy recovery.

The sick duckling

2006-04-18T11:34:00.000+08:00

I was a sickly child and visited the family clinic too often. So frequent were the visits that the nurses became friends with Mom and sometimes when I got really sick, I even got to cut queue just by saying it’s an “emergency”.

I was very susceptible to flu, running high fevers and mild bronchitis complications. On top of that, I was also a “windy” kid whose stomach bloated, causing a great deal of difficulty in my breathing. We tried many ways to get the excessive wind out of me – taking western medication, drinking awfully bitter Chinese herbal soups, rubbing warm oils and Vicks on the tummy and placing lightly heated leaves on my abdomen to encourage “air disposal” (farting). I don’t know what kind of leaves those were, Mom bought them from an Indian shop.

Once, I was having the full works of a fever and coughs. I coughed so badly that sometimes it made me throw up. One such time that I vomited, there was blood. Needless to say it worried my parents sick. I was taken yet again to the clinic and this time the doctor advised that I should be brought to the hospital for a thorough check. I don’t remember much of what happened at the hospital except that tests were done to check if I had contracted the dengue fever. While laying weak on the hospital bed with my parents standing beside me, I meekly told Mom I wanted a colour TV in the hospital room if I had to stay. What a terrible TV addict!

Whenever I got sick, I had to be fed porridge, bread or mee suah. With not much appetite for food, I just swallowed them obediently and quickly went back to bed. Since I got sick so often, I had to eat quite a bit of such “sick food”. Till now, these foods remain to be “sick food” on my list and you won’t find me eating them willingly.

Grandma was worried that I was always sick and so one day she consulted a medium to seek some answers. Apparently, the medium said our deceased ancestors loved me very much and often stroked my forehead. And I got sick because of that. So Grandma prayed to our ancestors and told them if they loved me, they should stop touching me!

Anyway, when I started being more active in sports at the age of 9, my illnesses were lessened and I got much fitter. It came to a point where I was hardly ever sick, despite going through physically gruelling training regimes on a daily basis. I certainly think that it has helped me be a much healthier person from the little sick duckling that I was. Or was it that the ancestors took Grandma’s pleading to heart and stopped touching me?

When I was small, and Christmas Trees were tall

2006-04-17T17:24:00.000+08:00

At the age of 10-ish, I never knew much about Christmas other than it is a time where beautiful lights are lit to decorate the streets and shops, presents are given, and the delightful appearance of Santa Clause with his goody bag. In Grandma’s home, we never celebrated Christmas as none of us are Christians. So everything remained quiet and it’s just an ordinary day. Sometimes, instead of staying home, Mom would take me to JB since it’s the school holidays.

While in JB, the Christmas spirit is much felt as we roamed into Singapore and there were more hype going around. Even when not in Singapore, Mom and Aunty Winnie would find kids’ Christmas parties for Vicky and I to attend in JB itself. We’ve attended a few of them and the one I remember is the one in Holiday Inn hotel. There was a Santa and a bunch of us kids, all dressed in pretty frocks. Our parents sat far back and waited while we had games and food.

At the party, we received a gift each as well as some party masks, hats and props to make our time more lively and colourful. We played games and after that sat around Santa obediently as we sang Christmas Carols. There was also time allocated for each to sit on Santa’s lap for a photo.

As I got older, the Christmas parties faded away. Nothing much happened around Christmas anymore. It was just another holiday. Then during my teenage years, when we moved out of Grandma’s house, we started putting up a decorated Christmas tree every Christmas just to enjoy the glow of flickering lights. It wasn’t a big tree, just a 4-feet tall one. For the thrill of it, we would also buy presents and stack them under the tree.

That’s how Christmas was for us. Now, we don’t put up the tree anymore at Christmas time. The nice shiny ornaments and blinking lights would be too much attraction to my three cats.

The Songstress and Dancing Queens

2006-04-14T20:50:00.000+08:00

Grandma enjoyed music very much. During the afternoons, she always listened to Chinese Opera music. Then, in the early evenings before dawn, she played more upbeat and modern songs by that time's standard. Later in the nights, she preferred ballads from her oldies collection.

Joyce and I often would get together in the evenings after having done our homework. That was the time the more "modern" hits came on at home. I didn't know the title of the songs then and I still don't know now except for a few like Funky Town, Careless Whisper and You're My Heart, You're My Soul.

We couldn't catch the lyrics of most songs but we belted them out heartfully anyway. It's not like anyone listened to us, so we were most confident in our "performances". But now, having known some lyrics to those songs, I laugh at how we improvised them. We used to sing "You're My Heart, You're My Soul" as "Yamaha, Yamaso". What do a 7-year old and a 9-year old know about heart and soul?

We not only sang the songs, we also danced gleefully to them. The dance steps, corny! But back then we felt like queens on a stage with a stadium full of spectators. I especially loved to wear a particular dress which had something like apron-strings to tie at the back of the dress. I would hold the apron-strings in each hand and twirl and wrap while I danced. I must've looked so darn silly.

Now, I'm just the opposite. I wouldn't dare belt out a tune and I now also know that I'm not great at dancing.

The Fashion Divas

2006-04-09T11:31:00.000+08:00

Around the age of seven, my cousin Joyce and I loved watching TVB serials that Grandma rented from the video store. One of the more famous drama we were hooked on was "Siu Loong Lui" which I think translates to "Little Dragon Girl". But I can't vouch for that name, it's just my own interpretation. It starred a young Andy Lau as an apprentice to a lady kung-fu master.

Joyce and I were always fascinated with the period drama's dressing. The ladies wore long flowy dresses and had nice hair accessories.

On one of those days that we spent locked up in Grandma's room playing, we found some adult clothes - long flowy dresses that we suspect belonged to our aunts. We quickly tried them on and pretended to be the characters we watched on TV. We both had rather short hair at that time and to copy the hairstyles of the characters, we wrapped towels on our heads like how we would wrap up after a hair wash. The dangling towels on our shoulders were supposed to represent the long hair we didn't have.

And so we went on secretly "dressing" up almost everytime we got together to play. One day, while we were all dressed up, we heard one of our aunts calling for Joyce. She had a phone call. She took off the outfit and towel and went downstairs while I remained dressed in them and waited upstairs. She didn't come back for a long while and I was getting restless.

I went to the top of the stairs to peek what's taking her so long. I sat myself down, back leaning on the wall. I had one leg extended outwards while the other crossed over it. I thought I looked quite stylish. I don't know what I was doing but somehow I lost balance and was soon tumbling down the stairs!

While I was rolling downwards, my thoughts weren't on how I painful it was bumping down the edges of the staircase. But rather it was a sense of panic that others will see me dressed up ridiculously in that dress and towel on the head!

As my fall came to a halt at the landing of the staircase, I sat up and saw my aunt staring at me in disbelief. She didn't utter a word, not even to ask if I was alright. I think she was more shocked with what I was wearing than my fall. I didn't feel much pain but felt a hot flush across my face and without a word, ran all the way back up to the room. I don't think we played dressing up again after that incident.

My Birthday

2006-04-03T11:33:00.000+08:00

I was born 29 years ago, 2 days back. My mom called my dad from the hospital and told him she’s in labour. He didn’t believe her. I don’t blame him because it was April Fool’s day. Frustrated, my mom called again but this time she got the doctor to tell him instead, and he came straight to the hospital. According to my parents, I was a tiny baby with no hair. I was so small that Dad called me “kitten”.

Anyway, a year later, on my 1st birthday, my parents invited friends to a lunch party at home. They waited and waited but no one showed up for the party. My parents had to call everyone and explain that it’s not a joke. So the lunch party was turned into a dinner party instead.

Since then I’ve had a few more pranks pulled on me on my birthdays. When I was 15, my classmate Lydia gave me a nicely wrapped present. When I opened it, I found it to be full of pencil ashes with no gift inside. She later gave me my real present. There was another time when a few friends gave me a huge present. I unwrapped it and found another layer of wrapping with newspapers. As it turned out, the gift was a small sized item but wrapped with so many layers of newspapers to make it into a huge box.

The biggest prank was just a few years back when a few of my colleagues teamed up to trick me. One of them bought me breakfast and insisted I sat with her in the pantry to eat. Then, someone else came in to say that she didn’t see my car at its usual spot when she came to work. I got a little worried and went to the basement to check. True enough, it wasn’t there! I went round looking and finally found it parked somewhere else. When I turned around, I saw all my colleagues standing there, laughing and then singing me a birthday song. They planned it so well…someone sneaked into my bag to take my car key while I was having breakfast and moved my car.

All being said, I’m not always the one to get conned. Once in school, we decided to trick our Home Science teacher. We switched class with another group who also happened to attend their Home Science class. When the teacher walked into class, he was quite surprised and confused. When we yelled out “April Fool”, he didn’t seem very pleased. I guess he didn’t find it funny at all.

Such good old days.

An incident I'll never forget

2006-03-27T11:35:00.000+08:00

My aunty and her then boyfriend, now husband, loved watching football. They would even go watch a live football game. On one of those times she went with her boyfriend, they decided to bring me along. That day, she dressed me in my favourite green shirt and I was excited to see what it was all about.

However, just before we went out that evening, there was a big commotion at our neighbour’s house. He was drunk and picking a fight with one of those logistics guys who usually stopped by his place for some business dealings. What started off as verbal abuses turned into a physical fight. I didn’t watch the fight but at the end of it, when the guy ran off, I saw my neighbour covered in blood but didn’t seem to be in pain. On the contrary, he was showing off to on-lookers that he was OK despite the injuries. Anyway, everything quietened and we proceeded with our football plan.

We were walking to a bus stop to catch a ride when we saw the guy who was fighting with my neighbour lying faced down on the five-foot way. My uncle went to him to check if he was alright. He didn’t move. My uncle turned him over and felt his pulse. He was dead, my uncle said. I was so shocked! So much so that I don’t remember what happened next, whether we called the police, how we got to the stadium anyway, or even how I felt watching the game.

All I know was that we still went ahead to the game and everything else is a total blur. I only recall that for the next couple of days, I kept seeing that guy’s face in my head and I was really scared that he’ll haunt me. I also remember that my neighbour ran away for fear that the police will arrest him for the guy’s death.

I was about 8 or 9 years old when that happened. It’s been some 20 years ago but sometimes I still think about it.

My first pets

2006-03-14T12:21:00.000+08:00

My encounters with pets have been rather short in my younger days. Back then, pets were somewhat a luxury. Anyway, I've had a few pets back then and these are my stories.

My First Fishtales
When I was a toddler at the age of around 3, I used to bug my Grandfather to buy me fishes. I would whine to him "Nak ikan, nak ikan!" and he would ride out on his motorbike to buy me a gold fish.

When he came home, he'd show me the beautiful fish in the transparent plastic bag, swimming about. Then he'd fill up a small wide pail and put the fish in it. I would squat and put my little hand in the pail and play with the fish.

I don't know why but after some time, I could catch the fish in my palm and then squeeze it. The poor gold fish dies and I would whine for another. I don't think I was a serial-fish killer. I honestly think those were accidents.

My Grandfather, spoiling me, would buy me another. And the cycle continues with another dead gold fish. I don't know how many I've killed before Grandfather had a brilliant idea.

One day he came out with a plastic fish that needed to be wound up so that it could swim in water. I didn't know the difference between a gold fish and that plastic fish and was initialy quite happy to watch it swim.

Then, as always, I would grab it and squeeze. Only this time, it hurts my hand and the fish doesn't die.

My First Dog
Uncle Gary had a pair of beautiful dogs whom he named Lion and Tiger. They mated and had a few puppies. One of them was given to us and we named him Brownie. He had soft, golden fur and was a cute little thing. I think I was around 5 when we had him. Day in and day out, I would cuddle Brownie whenever I had the chance to get hold of him.

Once in my arms, I never let him go until I've had enough of cuddling him. I remember the last time ever I cuddled him and refused to let him go. I was sitting on a swing in our garden, with him on my lap. He was struggling to free himself from my clutches as usual and I wouldn't let him go.

After a while, he stopped squirming and sat very still. Then, I felt something warm on my hand. When I looked down, I saw that Brownie had pooed, right in my hand! I yelped and jumped out of the swing. He ran for his life.

I cleaned and I cleaned, and I was disgusted. I scolded Brownie for doing that and he hid under a table. But the rest of my aunties thought I probably deserved it for not letting him go. I secretly thought so too.

Brownie stayed with us for another few years before he went out one day and never came home. We tried looking for him but to no avail. Many years later in the same vicinity, I saw a dog that looked similar to Brownie and I wondered if it was him.

My First Hamster
When I was 12, a friend at school gave me her pet hamster because she was migrating and had no one to take care of her hamster. She couldn't bring him along either. So I inherited the chubby little fella and I was thrilled.

I was rather naive and unbelievable, now that I think back. Everyday, since I got him, I brought him to school. I would leave him in his little cage under my chair. One day, I was unaware that the cage door was left ajar and he slipped out. When I realised he wasn't there, I panicked and yelled to the whole class that I've lost him.

The teacher was stunned but stopped the class and let me search around for my hamster. I was crawling on the floor looking under everyone's desks and chairs, and asking my classmates to lift their feet so that they won't accidentally step and squash him.

They obliged and some even helped me find him. When I finally found him, he was quite dirty and I told my teacher he needed a bath right then. Surprisingly, she let me off to go clean him!

I brought another classmate along and we both went to a sink and cleaned up his cage and washed him up as well. It was a crazy thing to do and till now I don't understand why the teacher was so lenient with my unreasonable request.

However, since that episode, Mom thought I'd better not bring him to school anymore so that I don't cause anymore distractions. Back then, I was also very involved in sports and hardly had time to care for him. So I decided to give him to another friend whom I thought could do a better job than me.

She was glad to have him and even bought another female hamster to keep him company. But one day, she came to school gloomy and told me that he had died. He slipped out of the cage where he and his new "girlfriend" were living. My friend was searching high and low for him but couldn't find him. Giving up, she left to go to school. As she walked out of her home, she found him. He was lying motionless on the garden, dead. She thinks that he had fallen off the balcony of her room.

After that I've not kept any pets until I was 18. Another pair of hamsters given to me as a birthday present from Jason. Alas, they too died within months from violent fights with each other.

Now, I've got 3 beautiful Persian cross Norwegian Hunting cats who have been living with me for almost 4 years.

My first year at school

2006-03-10T12:14:00.000+08:00

My first school was Fatimah Kindergarten in KL when I was 6. My cousin, Aaron, had been attending the same kindergarten at the age of 4 and was in the same class as me. So I took comfort that I have family in class. I was and still am, a shy person. Rather introverted. So it is always good to have some familiar faces wherever I go.

I was a scrawny kid back then and rather sickly, too. I frequented our family clinic a lot because I easily came down with fevers, flu, wind problem (imagine a skinny kid with a bloated stomach), brochitis problem, and one time even a suspected dengue case! Anyway, due to my fragile outlook and sickly track record, I was always excused from carrying my own chair. Each day we had to put up our own chair onto the table at the end of the class. The teacher always had one of my classmate do that for me.

A couple of silly things took place during that period.

1. Scare The Teacher
In the mornings, I normally have breakfast at home before attending school. One morning I had what the Chinese call "Fatt Ko" (a kind of starchy cake, usually in colours like baby pink or light yellow) with a glass of Ribena. Halfway through class, I felt sick and wanted to throw up. My worried teacher saw me to the washroom and helped me. After my vomiting episode, she immediately called my mom and told her that I had vomited blood! Of course I wasn't vomiting blood. It was just my Ribena gushing out. But I sure scared the guts out of my teacher and she in turn scared the wits out of my mom.

2. Embarass The Cousin
There was also once when Aaron was acting like a jerk and made me cry in class. I don't remember exactly what he did. On seeing this, the teacher made him take my hand and walk with me at the playing field as a way to make peace and to paficy me. He did as he was told but rather grudgingly. Even at that age, I could understand that pissed off look on his face. I bet he must've been angry that I made him look so un-macho in front of the whole class.

3. A Halloween Or A Concert?
Both Aaron and I were also involved in the kindergarten concert. It was some barnyard animal thing that we were doing and I was a bumble bee. Aaron, well, he was a worm. It wasn't so bad as I was enjoying the daily rehearsals. It was fun. Until the day we saw the costumes we had to put on. Mine was a yellow and black stripe outfit, from head to toe. Literally. I had to wear a cap, like that of a swimmer's, and that too was striped like a bee should be. Aaron's, on the other hand, was a white costume, also from head to toe complete with a matching cap. We stood side by side on the day of the concert to let our parents snap a picture. I recognise that pissed off look on his face instantly.

4. Fashion Sense
I've always had long hair and wore them in pony-tails. Until one day I contracted lice! It was a painful experience, having to wash my hair with this blue medicated (not to mention stinky) shampoo. All the brushing through my tangled hair hurt too. In the end, as a last resort, I had to cut off a good portion of my hair. It was the first time I sported a boy-cut hairstyle and wasn’t happy about it. I remember seeing pictures of myself in that haircut and it was always a sulky face.

5. English, Please!
I spoke horrible English back then. Once, when my mom asked me how I suggest to be going to school, I simply said "I leg to school". Didn't know the word "walk"! Another time when I was asked what kind of race my friends at school are, I said "They are Engwish people". When asked why they are "Engwish", I replied "Because they talk in Engwish". Smart or what?

6. Independence
On my first day at the kindie, Mom brought me there and stayed to see that I was OK, just like many parents did. Although being an introvert, I felt pretty at ease. So I told her to go home. I was making some gestures with my hand, waving her away and when she didn't understand my hand-language, I went to tell her that she can go home. I looked around the kids surrounding me and couldn't understand why some cried while some looked for the faces of his or her parents who were "lurking" outside the door. I was strangely comfortable.

Those are the ones I remember for now. Pretty much sums up my very first year at school. When I recall more, this space will grow. I sure did a lot of funny stuff back then.

Apart from the silliness, I recall the times when we sat at the porch of the kindie and learned nursery rhymes. I also wanted to learn to play the piano and insisted that the piano teacher taught me one of Richard Clayderman's pieces during my first piano lesson. She refused and taught me Do-Re-Me instead.

I also made some good friends there. I was particularly good friends with two girls named Janet and Pauline. However, when we went our separate ways at the end of our kindie, that was also the end of our friendship.

Those were the days.

My first snowflake

2006-03-08T20:25:00.000+08:00

When I was 12, I went to Winnipeg, Canada for a month of gymnastics training. It was in November, towards peak winter. Everyday, we would monitor the temperature to see how much we needed to wear. Well, it was definitely many layers everyday.

Our coldest day was -21 degrees Celcius. I remember on that day the wind was particularly strong, too. On less cold days, the temperature still dipped below zero even in the daytime. The locals told us Winnipeg is the coldest part of Canada, and is also popularly known as "Winterpeg". We had to agree.

One day, while we were indoors going through training, it was snowing outside. It was our first time seeing snow and we were excited. We begged our coach to let us out for a few minutes and she agreed.

We dashed out of the gymnasium, putting on our winter jackets, gloves and shoes, and started buidling snowballs to throw at each other. We also decided to build a snowman. I remember I was so proud of my first ever snowman that I wrote a letter to tell home all about it. Everyone was excited to see my snowman from pictures I had taken. Only to have a big laugh when they saw my tiny snowman, measuring only about 10 inches tall, and in a triangle shape instead of 2 round blocks of snow one on top of the other.

Since that day, it snowed quite often, almost on every other day. I hated leaving footprints in the snow when we walked along. It's so beautiful when untouched. White, smooth and so pure.

This is me, freezing but happy.

My first ride

2006-03-06T12:25:00.000+08:00

At Grandma's house, there were lots of mini paddling cars and bicycles to play with. My cousins and I would paddle on them in the evenings in our cement garden. Either my legs were too short to reach the paddles or I didn't know how to paddle, I never used them. Instead, I did the Flintstones' way - feet on the ground and running my "vehicle" as fast as I could.

I don't know which of my cousins started it, but as we paddled (or in my case, running) along, we do our own sound effects too. So "vroom-vroom" away we would go. When one of us rounded a corner at high speed, we would even do screeching sounds. Not bad for a bunch of 4 to 5 year olds, eh?

From the mini cars, I started riding on 3-wheelled bicycles (with one wheel in the middle front and 2 at the back). That, I could paddle well and found it less tiring than the car (obviously!).

As my cousins got older, they went on to ride bicycles the likes of BMX and such. I too at the age of about 8 got my own red BMX. I first rode it with the 2 little support wheels attached. My cousins were all pro at riding their bikes so I was the only "weakling" riding on support wheels.

But I refused to have them removed. I'm a big time scady-cat. After much coaxing from everyone, I decided I will remove ONE support wheel. My dad said it'll only prove more difficult in terms of balance. At that time I didn't see his point that my bicycle will be lopsided. In my mind, the more wheels I had, the safer I'll be. So having 3 wheels is better than 2, right?

So they decided to let me go with removing just one and see what happens. True enough it was a terribly lopsided ride, falling almost too many times. And so the last support wheel came off. I made sure Dad held me while he helped me make small strides on the bike.

For a while I was OK, doing very short distances on very slow speed. Soon, I was asked to try taking corners. This I could not do. After many tries, I insisted on having my 2 support wheels installed again. I wasn't having much fun learning to cycle on just 2 wheels and always being overly afraid of falling while my cousins were going "weeee...." on their bikes.

Because of that, I've never learned how to cycle. Even if I were taught now, I think I will go through the same "trauma" because I still have the same fears of falling off my bike.

My first words

2006-03-05T13:36:00.000+08:00

I'm of mix descendants from Hokkien and Cantonese families. You would think that my first words would naturally be one of the Chinese dialects. But they weren't. The first language that I picked up as a toddler was Bahasa Malaysia.

When I was a toddler, Mom and Dad worked out of the country and I was left with my maternal grandparents in JB. They too couldn't look after me full time. So they left me with a nanny who was grandparents' neighbour. My nannies were an elderly malay couple.

Since I spent most of my time being taken care by them, I learned my first words through them. My ability to speak in Malay was a big amusement to my family members. Apparently, these were my "famous" words:

Referring to Mom - Kakak
Referring to a plus-sized Aunt - Becar (besar)
Referring to an emporium - yium
Referring to nasi lemak - naci emak
When whining - Nak ikan, nak ikan!! (Not to eat, but to play with fishes!)

I was also a big time cry baby who can cry an entire flight from KL to JB. Because of this, my aunts nick-named me "ham pau ching" in Cantonese (which translates to cry baby). Hearing this often, I tried to imitate the words and it came out as "empat sen". This is further amusement for everyone.

As I got older, I started learning Cantonese and English. Though we call ourselves Hokkien, I am challenged in that dialect till now.

..............................................................................................

I don't know when I started picking up the other languages. In fact, I don't even remember Makcik and Pakcik. I was way too young. I only heard of them from my parents and the rest of my family members many years after, when they were no longer around.

If only I had a chance to see them, I would very much like to thank them for sharing their lives with me and for loving me so much. According to my parents, when they took me to live in KL at the age of 2 or 3, the couple was so heartbroken, especially PakCik. He rode on his bicycle as fast as he could to the railway station to see us off. But he was too late, for all he saw was the tail of the train pulling away from the station. And then he cried. That was the last time they ever saw me.

My first ambition

2006-03-04T17:53:00.000+08:00

We lived with Grandma in our old house in the heart of KL city. It was where I spent most of my years growing up. Grandma was an amputee since a very young age and so it wasn't convenient for her to do much household chores. My aunties, who also lived in the same house, were mostly away at work.

Grandma hired an old lady, by the name of "Ah Yoong", and she came every other day to do our laundry. She would sit on a little squat-stool outside the bathroom, and brush and scrub the pile of clothes. She was surrounded by pails of water to rinse afterwards.

While she washed, Grandma would be in the kitchen next to the washroom. I think they were almost the same age, or maybe Ah Yoong was slightly older. They would chat away while each doing their own thing.

Anyway, in the mornings I would hang around watching both Grandma and Ah Yoong work. Sometimes, I would just squat opposite Ah Yoong and diligently watch her do the laundry. Don't ask me why. Maybe I had nothing better to do while all my cousins were away at school.

One day, my Mom asked me what I want to be when I grow up. Without much hesitation, I told her I wanted to wash clothes just like Ah Yoong! I don't remember what her reaction was when she heard her only daughter wanting to be a washer-woman.

Now, so many years later, Mom recalls my very first ambition and laughs. She tells her friends and they all laugh.

Like any other kid, since then I've had many change of hearts about what I want to be "when I grow up". There were more funny ones, and there were also noble ones.

But none that is what I am today.

I've since realised that the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" is a very difficult question to answer. Even adults may not have the answers and are still searching.

I know I am.

My first winter

2006-03-04T14:46:00.000+08:00

I was 8. My uncles and aunties were excitedly discussing about going to Hong Kong. They persuaded my mom to go too but she looked at me, torn between leaving me home and enjoying a well-deserved vacation for herself. In the end, she decided to bring me. I was overjoyed.

When we got there it was cold. For me, it was freezing cold. I was a skinny girl who lacked insulation. And so Uncle bought me a nice, thick winter jacket there. I was so in love with it. I finally have something that I only watched on TVB dramas! Imagine the vanity and excitement of a 8-year old.

We visited many places which by now I've forgotten. There was definitely shopping too. My aunts would never pass up that kind of opportunity. We did so much walking that there were times I got so tired I had to be piggy-backed.

One of the places I remember very well is The Peak. I remember because I insisted we all go there. The night before, everybody was discussing where to visit and it didn't include The Peak. For some reason, I wanted so much to go and when they decided it's not to be, I declared I'd take a tour on my own. I think I got their attention from that second. The next day, everybody went with me to The Peak.

They never regretted it because while we were there, we saw a group of actors shooting a famous TVB drama at that time. If I'm not mistaken, it was a drama called The Cameleon. I was so excited because I admired one of those actors and he agreed to be photographed! I was grinning from ear to ear. The sad part is that I can't find those photos anymore.

What I do have is this one, where I put on a costume from the olden days and pretended to be a princess (it only lasted 30 seconds for this photo shot).

In the nights, I never went to bed early despite a tiring day. While everyone unwound and prepared to sleep, I was hogging the TV and watching chinese dramas, episodes after episodes. It was like a TV haven for me because back in Malaysia at that time there was only 1 hour of TVB show a day. I was a TVB freak then, and now just a regular TV addict.

I enjoyed my every moment there, be it visiting places, shopping with the adults, eating (my favourite was the roast goose), and even "entertainment" in the hotel room.

I never got to visit Hong Kong again until 3 years ago, on a business trip. Ahh, that is another story to tell next time.

My first foreign land

2006-03-03T12:16:00.000+08:00

Going back as far as I recall, my very first passport was one that was attached to the passport of my Mom. I had a very sulky picture that I did not like. But it didn't matter because it brought me places.

My very first step outside of the country was to Singapore at the age of about 6 or 7. I don't recall exactly when. My Aunt lived in Johor Bahru (JB) and every school holiday we would take a train or flight from Kuala Lumpur to JB. While there was nothing much to do in JB, a trip to Singapore was always on the plate. We packed ourselves with enough food stuff, water and warm clothes for us kids and set off in Uncle Tony's old faithful car, Datsun.

The places I remember we always went were CK Tang and Johnny Little. I think there was also a Metrojaya where Vicky and I went crazy Barbie Doll hunting. We would drool over the dolls while our moms shopped.

Once in a while we would return with some toys, other times clothes. When we were all tired from walking the streets and malls, we would take a slow drive back to JB. Most times we would stop at Woodlands to have dinner first.

Then, just before crossing immigration and custom check points, Mom and Aunt would be busy cutting off price tags from our shopping. For some time, I thought that it was wrong to buy a lot of things from one country to bring into our own!

Since Singapore isn't much different from KL in terms of weather and people, I never really took those trips as international travels. It felt like going into yet another state in Malaysia. The only difference I knew back then was that we needed a different type of money to shop in Singapore.

Those were the days of naivity.

Today, over 20 years from my childhood visits, I've returned to Singapore many times. Not so much for holidays or shopping, but for work. Things have changed, my perceptions are different and I now know why we need to use a different type of currency...

The Dusty Roads

2006-03-01T10:28:00.000+08:00

The Dusty Roads will be the home of my childhood memories - both bitter and sweet. It is about the bumpy and smooth paths I've taken, things and places seen through the eyes of a child, my achievements and failures, and everything else that have played a part to form my life today.

This space will be where I fall back on to recall and tell the stories I may have forgotten as time (or age?) catches up on me. Someday, I would like to tell my children and my children's children, my story.

And this is where I start. The pitter-patter of my footprints on many dusty roads.

Eternity