It's the holidays and one by one, the kids take turns at going to camp. Confirmation Camp, Christmas Camp, Altar Servers Camp, Youth Council Shepherds Camp, Youth Council Retreat. 3 days and 2 nights spent not in a fancy resort by the sea but in a church-owned building in various parts of Singapore.
The sleeping bag has never seen such action.
Over the past few weeks, at any one time, at least one of the kids would be off somewhere.
It's been fun for them and for me, given me fresh insight into a group of people I'm only just getting to know through the eyes of my kids - the youths. And what I have seen so far impresses me and leaves me with lots of food for thought.
Invariably, these camps are run by young people in their teens to early twenties. Usually they are from the youth ministries in church. Both Isaac and Gillian are highly active in these ministries themselves. Isaac faithfully serves mass twice a week at least, attends meetings with the altar server boys. And both he and Gillian are in the Youth Council. Gillian in fact recently stepped up to serve as a 'Shepherd', a youth leader in the YC.
I like the fact that these activities keep them busy and engaged. They get to know committed, responsible young people, serve the community and along the way, shape their own faith.
These kids are a good bunch. When Gillian was hospitalised, they trooped down en masse for a visit, leaving a huge home-made get-well-soon card peppered with cheerful wishes, photographs and names that even the doctor grew to be familiar with. They are unfailingly polite and courteous when we meet.
Beyond this, I've seen them in action and I like what I see. The Risen Christ Children's League who organised the Christmas Camp is case in point. These kids - usually ranging from about 16 to 20 in age - run the Children's Liturgy at mass and they organise activities for the younger kids eg outings and camps during the holidays. They are such a cheery bunch, loaded with enthusiasm and ideas.
At the Christmas Camp, it can't have been easy looking after some 30 kids, some as young as six. But these kids took it all in their stride. They led creatively, patiently, with lots of laughter and improvisation. They managed the younger kids very well. I watched them keep the group in order, inspire the shy kids to get up on stage, manage the noisier ones, lead the singing with lots of smiles and encouragement and came mealtimes, they served the buffet line and were always, always polite with a smile.
Similarly the altar servers that Isaac work with are a great bunch. The older boys in their late teens take charge and lead the group. They behave with maturity and dignity sometimes beyond their years.
At a parents forum once, some parents gave them a hard time, pushing for some unreasonable requests. Sitting at the back of the room, I've rolled my eyes at these over-protective, critical, picky parents and wondered why they could not just leave the boys to manage the situation and work things out themselves - after all, the boys have done a great job so far. Once or twice I was tempted to tell these parents to just give the boys a break. But I didn't have to. The boys handled the prickly situations very well - always giving considered answers, always polite. They took every comment, suggestion seriously and explained clearly their stand. They never lost the "ma'am" and "sir" even when the comments grew heated. I was so proud of them and I wish I knew who their parents were - I'd shake their hands for raising such great kids.
At Isaac's confirmation camp, I realised that all the youth groups in church had been mobilised to facilitate and help in some way or other. They not only managed logistics and organisation but also facilitated discussion and reflection. How so that these kids had the maturity, faith and insight to share and to lead? To hear them speak, to hear them sing praise and worship, was stirring. I was seeing living faith in action.I was seeing youth leadership at work.
The catechists who worked with the kids for confirmation on their faith journeys from Sec 1 to Sec 3 are young people themselves, a few scant years older. I thought this was great - nothing like the young leading the young. Everything becomes immediate and more relevant. It is brilliant to get the young people to lead the faith journey. Far better than the old ways when adults did most of the teaching and the leadership.
Seeing kids lead like this gives me lots of hope for the future. Sure, not all of them are scholars, not all are brilliant in their studies, but if we get the youth of today - kids like these - growing up to fill the shoes of leaders in the future, then I think the future is in good hands.
Before my kids became teenagers, I'd fretted about them making the right choices in their friends and activities. Who has not heard horror stories of kids who went astray, made bad choices and paid the price? The image of young people - Gen X, Gen Y etc - was usually one that was self-absorbed, not altruistic, materialistic and irresponsible. They would be uncommunicative with their parents and there would be a huge chasm between kids and adults - or so I thought.
Then I met kids like these and it's set this common image up on end. The kids I know are not like this at all.
I tried to put my finger on it. Was it because of religion? Because these were church groups? But no. It went beyond religion.
In my work in the polytechnic, I get to meet and work with young people too. At least the ones I know are the same way - driven, committed, enthusiastic, creative, loyal and passionate in their views. See them lead in orientation camps. See how they manage themselves and others. They work very hard and contribute eagerly. Where was the irresponsibility, the angst, the selfishness, the arrogance often associated with Youth?
Couple of things I've reflected on - first, we must engage the youth. We must not be afraid to turn the reins over to them. We must give them a cause - something to believe in and then on our part, we must believe they have something to contribute and allow them to contribute. When they believe in something and when they are given enough trust and empowerment, you will witness the power of youth.
The power of the pack is also key and can move in either direction. Give someone lost and struggling a sense of belonging in a gang and that's where his loyalties will lie. Young people tend to search for a space they believe in, belong to and can call their own. If we can shepherd them into youth groups, and do it early enough, we can shape them for the better.
I am glad my kids are deeply involved in church groups. I never encouraged them to do so; they just found their own way in. These friends, their peers will give them a different validation and affirmation they need, that cannot be given by their parents. So I'm glad they're busy - out serving mass, facilitating a camp, decorating the church for Christmas - they are growing, learning and contributing productively. And most of all, I'm just glad they are in good hands.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Graduation
For me, it would also be my last kindy graduation for any of my kids. Hopefully though it would not be the last time I see any of my kids in graduation gowns and mortar board!
She was among the smallest in the line-up of graduates in her voluminous gown and was holding on self-consciously to her mortar board. I was fine all the way until I saw her collect her 'diploma' from the principal, bow and then promptly lose the mortar board as it fell off having been tied too loosely at the chin.
It dawned on me that this was really the last days of carefree childhood for her. From a sheltered Montessori education where she could learn at her own pace and find her own rhythm, she now had to conform to a beat not set by her but by a faceless bureacracy, just one of the many anonymous thousands of other kids.
I have to say a big thank you to Eileen, Maggie, Chen laoshi and all the teachers at Lumiere who have untiringly and patiently worked with Trin - and Owain - over the years. They took child-centric education to a whole new level. I don't know if any other kindy would have done the same. Perhaps the Montessori structure allowed it, but it also took their special brand of commitment to see it through all the way. Eileen in particular has always been warm, kind and nurturing to the kids. And even when I was at my most pessimistic about Trin ever making it to P1, and my fears on whether she could cope or be swallowed by the system, Eileen was always reassuring and confident. She gave me her frank observations and recommendations - whether it was to let Trin stay longer in the nursery class, to allow her to transition upwards at her own pace undictated by age or level and she did so with honesty, kindness and generosity.
That went a long way to easing the apprehension I had. My kids grew up with them and I was glad they did. I made the right choice when I decided to put Owain in Lumiere. It benefited him and Trin. They grew in this intimate, small-school family environment which took care of them and allowed them to grow whenever they were ready.
All this went through my mind as I saw her standing there, so small and yet ready to graduate and move on to a different level.
In the darkness of the auditorium, I teared up. I couldn't help it. I tried to wipe the tears away surreptitiously, hoping KH would not see. He would never let me live it down for being so sentimental.
But the tears just kept coming. These days would never come again. While I celebrate her being up there and growing up, in weird way, I was also mourning the end of babyhood for her and for me. I will really miss these days.
Taking back my turf...
It's been more than 2 weeks since the maid was fired. KH is away in Monaco (the rat) while I am on my own personal journey of discovery... as a born-again hausfrau.
It's been tough, tiring and yet... exhilarating and liberating in many ways.
All my life I've been a bit of a princess. There was always mom (there still is - thank God!), KH (to drive me around and to clean my toilets), the maids (for housework).
So for me, thrown into the deep end, this period has been one of education and growth. In so many ways such as:
1) I have, for the first time in all my 43 years of life, finally gotten on my hands and knees and cleaned the bathroom. I got past the ick factor and once I hit the rhythm, I scrubbed like there's no tomorrow. All the gunk, the slimy algae (yes you shudder, such was the state of my bathroom since KH refused to clean it before his trip to Europe leaving me to party with the toilet brush instead) all went and one hour of furious scrubbing and rinsing later, my bathroom SHONE. The kids gathered around the door in wonder. They'd never seen mom like this. Heck, they'd never seen the bathroom this clean. I felt so liberated after that - cleaning the bathroom was a cinch! I could do it and I no longer have to depend on anyone else to do this.
2) My hands were red and chapped on day 1, but by today, they'd toughened up and are just peeling and dry on the fingertips. Gloves do not help. I have finally discovered the importance of hand cream.
3) The kids clean up their plates. I cook, they eat. They are full of praise and I love watching them eat the food I cook. When the psycho maid was here, the cooking was so bad that the kids were not eating that much, skipping if they could. Owain for instance, was losing weight. So these few weeks have been a nice change to see the kids polishing off their food and knowing that I am (a) utilising my resources efficiently and creatively - leftover chicken or pork stock for example, can be used for cooking a fresh batch of soup with new ingredients and (b) knowing that I CAN cook pretty decently. Plus their plates have to pass what Cait calls the 'Momspection' which goes like this:
Owain: "Done!" and hops off dining room chair.
Me: "Hold it!" checks the plate and then "Clean! Thank you very much! NOW, you can go to the kitchen and put the plate in the sink." Or I go: "Oi! You call that clean?? I want every grain of rice eaten. So there's less gunk to clear. Now clean that up!"
4) My days are more productive - I plan ahead and every waking hour is well used. No canteen breaks, no chit chat. My time and actions are carefully planned. After the first one or two days of extra work thanks to lack of planning, unfamiliarity etc, I have now gotten my routine down to a T. You'd find yourself expending a great deal more unnecessary energy if you failed to plan a household routine. I hate being counter-productive, wasting energy and time on superfluous action and quickly learned to finetune my routine for an overall economy of action and energy.
5) I eat a lot less. In the office, there is always a full lunch - usually a bowl of noodles, plate of rice etc. And sometimes a tea break, a curry puff, a snack. Here at home, lunch is miniscule, dinner spare. Snacks are cut fruit from the fridge.
6) Ice-cold glass of Coke is my fuel. It really keeps me going. In the office, I feel sluggish after a full breakfast or lunch. Here at home, the Coke keeps me going. Plus on a hot day, after sweeping and mopping the ground floor of my home, the icy Coke is sheer nirvana.
7) So I eat less, work more. I think I might actually lose some weight.
8) It gets easier by the day. I am defter in the kitchen, less tired than I was when I first started, more energised. I also sleep better at night. I may end my day past midnight but my sleep is sound and deep. In the past, I would wake up intermittently, my overactive mind reaching deep and thinking about stuff I needed to finish at the office, or worried about forgetting something, But these days, I sleep so well.
9) I get weaned off Facebook. Despite being at home for longer hours, I actually have less computer time than before. Hence I've been blogging less too.
10) I get free K-pop concerts from the kids - who sing along loudly - every Korean syllable. I am getting educated in K-pop world. 2PM, 2NE1, Girls Generation, Davichi - are now names as familiar as family now. Plus those catchy ditties, blasted loud, turn household chores into a song and dance routine.
11) Food bills have gone down. Even my grocery bills have shrunk. I can't fathom why when the maids were here, we had to spend so much and cook so much when we actually don't eat that much. And yet, in the scarce two weeks since we've been on our own, our food bills have gone down by at least 30%. Same goes for indiscriminate use of electricity and water. I am more mindful of these costs and I find ways to save - this is something I think I'm going to be very picky over when Lolita returns.
12) The kids help out - sort of. Everyone has their chores but sometimes I find yelling to remind them to finish their stuff is more painful than me actually just doing it myself. Gillian though, has been great.
13) Chopping and cutting is therapeutic. I get a deep sense of well-being and satisfaction from hearing the thunk of the knife on the board and feeling the pressure and the give as the blade slices through. Onions are my favourite. I enjoy my little challenges - how fast, how even, how thin?
As the days go by, I find myself more confident at home - yes, my own home! For too long I have left things to others. But these couple of weeks have shown me that it's not as bad or as tough as I'd imagined it to be. I thought I'd be scatterbrained, uncoordinated, sloppy and I would not be able to manage my household. But it has not been the case.
In fact I find myself now, easing into a familiar routine and with this familiarity comes confidence. With this comes the next level - higher standards. There is such a deep sense of satisfaction from seeing the house shine, seeing the kids well-fed and knowing it was all your own work. And especially for an ex-princess like me, marvelling that I could actually do all this.
To tell the truth, I've hit my groove so much so that I'm even a bit reluctant to hand the reins back to any maid.
Quite honestly though, I am also disillusioned with the whole convoluted, expensive process of getting her - or any maid - in. I've had two lemon maids in one year, spent several thousand dollars in wasted agency fees, admin costs, air tickets and not to mention emotional angst, just to get decent help in the home.
Even now, despite having paid more than $500 to the agent already, I still have no confirmation on when exactly Lolita would be able to come in. I have had to chase the agent and then given conflicting reasons for the lag from both Lolita AND the agent. I'm really getting very tired of this whole rigmarole. If this is not going to happen, I'm just going to throw in the towel and go without a maid. We would just have to find a way or make some tough decisions. I don't want to throw any more good money after bad.
It seems to make less and less sense why I should have to pay a hefty recruitment fee, monthly salaries, tolerate sulks and demands and then put up with sub-par work and risk another psycho maid. If it were not for the fact that Owain and Trin need someone at home when they come home from school, I would do away with the whole idea of having a helper in the house.
I've said before that I don't think I can be a superwoman. If I had to straddle a full day in the office and come home to do housework, I would cave. I can't do it all and I honestly don't think any woman can, or should. For me, it's got to be one or the other.
These few days have seen me staying home as a full-time stay-home-mom and I'm growing to love it. But I also love my work in the office. I just want to excel in whatever I do, devote my energies to making it work, doing good work - home or office. But I can't have it both ways. It would not be fair to either scenario. In the days when I was working half-time, my energies were so dissipated. I would be pulled in two different directions, my mind restive and making the switch from home/office always takes a bit of mental adjustment. I could not devote enough time/energy to either and in the end, it was just unsatisfying - to me and everybody else.
So bottomline - I love being productive at home. I also love being productive in the office. I sense a big decision coming up.
It's been tough, tiring and yet... exhilarating and liberating in many ways.
All my life I've been a bit of a princess. There was always mom (there still is - thank God!), KH (to drive me around and to clean my toilets), the maids (for housework).
So for me, thrown into the deep end, this period has been one of education and growth. In so many ways such as:
1) I have, for the first time in all my 43 years of life, finally gotten on my hands and knees and cleaned the bathroom. I got past the ick factor and once I hit the rhythm, I scrubbed like there's no tomorrow. All the gunk, the slimy algae (yes you shudder, such was the state of my bathroom since KH refused to clean it before his trip to Europe leaving me to party with the toilet brush instead) all went and one hour of furious scrubbing and rinsing later, my bathroom SHONE. The kids gathered around the door in wonder. They'd never seen mom like this. Heck, they'd never seen the bathroom this clean. I felt so liberated after that - cleaning the bathroom was a cinch! I could do it and I no longer have to depend on anyone else to do this.
2) My hands were red and chapped on day 1, but by today, they'd toughened up and are just peeling and dry on the fingertips. Gloves do not help. I have finally discovered the importance of hand cream.
3) The kids clean up their plates. I cook, they eat. They are full of praise and I love watching them eat the food I cook. When the psycho maid was here, the cooking was so bad that the kids were not eating that much, skipping if they could. Owain for instance, was losing weight. So these few weeks have been a nice change to see the kids polishing off their food and knowing that I am (a) utilising my resources efficiently and creatively - leftover chicken or pork stock for example, can be used for cooking a fresh batch of soup with new ingredients and (b) knowing that I CAN cook pretty decently. Plus their plates have to pass what Cait calls the 'Momspection' which goes like this:
Owain: "Done!" and hops off dining room chair.
Me: "Hold it!" checks the plate and then "Clean! Thank you very much! NOW, you can go to the kitchen and put the plate in the sink." Or I go: "Oi! You call that clean?? I want every grain of rice eaten. So there's less gunk to clear. Now clean that up!"
4) My days are more productive - I plan ahead and every waking hour is well used. No canteen breaks, no chit chat. My time and actions are carefully planned. After the first one or two days of extra work thanks to lack of planning, unfamiliarity etc, I have now gotten my routine down to a T. You'd find yourself expending a great deal more unnecessary energy if you failed to plan a household routine. I hate being counter-productive, wasting energy and time on superfluous action and quickly learned to finetune my routine for an overall economy of action and energy.
5) I eat a lot less. In the office, there is always a full lunch - usually a bowl of noodles, plate of rice etc. And sometimes a tea break, a curry puff, a snack. Here at home, lunch is miniscule, dinner spare. Snacks are cut fruit from the fridge.
6) Ice-cold glass of Coke is my fuel. It really keeps me going. In the office, I feel sluggish after a full breakfast or lunch. Here at home, the Coke keeps me going. Plus on a hot day, after sweeping and mopping the ground floor of my home, the icy Coke is sheer nirvana.
7) So I eat less, work more. I think I might actually lose some weight.
8) It gets easier by the day. I am defter in the kitchen, less tired than I was when I first started, more energised. I also sleep better at night. I may end my day past midnight but my sleep is sound and deep. In the past, I would wake up intermittently, my overactive mind reaching deep and thinking about stuff I needed to finish at the office, or worried about forgetting something, But these days, I sleep so well.
9) I get weaned off Facebook. Despite being at home for longer hours, I actually have less computer time than before. Hence I've been blogging less too.
10) I get free K-pop concerts from the kids - who sing along loudly - every Korean syllable. I am getting educated in K-pop world. 2PM, 2NE1, Girls Generation, Davichi - are now names as familiar as family now. Plus those catchy ditties, blasted loud, turn household chores into a song and dance routine.
11) Food bills have gone down. Even my grocery bills have shrunk. I can't fathom why when the maids were here, we had to spend so much and cook so much when we actually don't eat that much. And yet, in the scarce two weeks since we've been on our own, our food bills have gone down by at least 30%. Same goes for indiscriminate use of electricity and water. I am more mindful of these costs and I find ways to save - this is something I think I'm going to be very picky over when Lolita returns.
12) The kids help out - sort of. Everyone has their chores but sometimes I find yelling to remind them to finish their stuff is more painful than me actually just doing it myself. Gillian though, has been great.
13) Chopping and cutting is therapeutic. I get a deep sense of well-being and satisfaction from hearing the thunk of the knife on the board and feeling the pressure and the give as the blade slices through. Onions are my favourite. I enjoy my little challenges - how fast, how even, how thin?
As the days go by, I find myself more confident at home - yes, my own home! For too long I have left things to others. But these couple of weeks have shown me that it's not as bad or as tough as I'd imagined it to be. I thought I'd be scatterbrained, uncoordinated, sloppy and I would not be able to manage my household. But it has not been the case.
In fact I find myself now, easing into a familiar routine and with this familiarity comes confidence. With this comes the next level - higher standards. There is such a deep sense of satisfaction from seeing the house shine, seeing the kids well-fed and knowing it was all your own work. And especially for an ex-princess like me, marvelling that I could actually do all this.
To tell the truth, I've hit my groove so much so that I'm even a bit reluctant to hand the reins back to any maid.
Quite honestly though, I am also disillusioned with the whole convoluted, expensive process of getting her - or any maid - in. I've had two lemon maids in one year, spent several thousand dollars in wasted agency fees, admin costs, air tickets and not to mention emotional angst, just to get decent help in the home.
Even now, despite having paid more than $500 to the agent already, I still have no confirmation on when exactly Lolita would be able to come in. I have had to chase the agent and then given conflicting reasons for the lag from both Lolita AND the agent. I'm really getting very tired of this whole rigmarole. If this is not going to happen, I'm just going to throw in the towel and go without a maid. We would just have to find a way or make some tough decisions. I don't want to throw any more good money after bad.
It seems to make less and less sense why I should have to pay a hefty recruitment fee, monthly salaries, tolerate sulks and demands and then put up with sub-par work and risk another psycho maid. If it were not for the fact that Owain and Trin need someone at home when they come home from school, I would do away with the whole idea of having a helper in the house.
I've said before that I don't think I can be a superwoman. If I had to straddle a full day in the office and come home to do housework, I would cave. I can't do it all and I honestly don't think any woman can, or should. For me, it's got to be one or the other.
These few days have seen me staying home as a full-time stay-home-mom and I'm growing to love it. But I also love my work in the office. I just want to excel in whatever I do, devote my energies to making it work, doing good work - home or office. But I can't have it both ways. It would not be fair to either scenario. In the days when I was working half-time, my energies were so dissipated. I would be pulled in two different directions, my mind restive and making the switch from home/office always takes a bit of mental adjustment. I could not devote enough time/energy to either and in the end, it was just unsatisfying - to me and everybody else.
So bottomline - I love being productive at home. I also love being productive in the office. I sense a big decision coming up.
Monday, November 28, 2011
The trouble with maids...
A week ago, I sent the maid packing. Immediately, that same day.
We already had plans to let her go and she knew that. I'd given her notice already so she had been sourcing for an employer but finally decided to go home so we'd bought a ticket for her to leave in December.
But last week, the crazy woman with more than one screw loose tried to pull one over us by pitching a 'fainting fit' when we said she could not go off that Sunday. For the record in case you're some diehard human rights activist reading this, we're not unreasonable ogres who keep our maids in chains. First, she was entitled to two days off. I had already given her THREE days off in the span of two weeks, as well as an advance on her salary. Second, she did not bother to ask us or inform us that she was going off that Sunday. I thought that was basic courtesy at the least.
So we said no. And immediately she started fake-hyperventilating loudly and then fell - rather gracefully I might add - into a faint.
Both KH and I stared at her for a second before I started laughing. I couldn't help it. It was sheer bad acting. I was also furious that she dared pull this stunt to hold us to ransom. To take the cake, while I was laughing and telling her off, she actually opened her eyes and looked at me before closing her eyes again. Less than five minutes later, she got up, went into her room and started messaging on her phone. So much for 'fainting'. Fastest recovery ever.
Bad acting or not, it proved that she was clearly not right in the head and quite unstable. It would not be safe or wise to leave the kids with her in the house. So there and then, I told her to pack up and we shipped her off to the agent, changing her ticket to a flight that left the same day. I was so glad to be rid of her. She took with her 7 pieces of luggage including five mobile phones, and almost left her room full of garbage, waste paper, sweet wrappers, dustballs, three pairs of shoes and an unmade bed. Had I not seen all the gunk, I would have been left to clear all that. As it was, I made her do it before we took her to the agent.
Still, I thought she got off lightly. I was so angry that I wished murder was legal.
For all the trouble, the lackadaiscial quality of work she gave, I felt really short-changed as an employer. We housed her, fed her, paid her and followed all the terms of her employment contract. She started off blur for someone who claimed to have three years experience (I later found out it was three years with four employers), and eventually added insolence and entitlement into the mix. Towards the end, it became so frustrating to deal with her, to instruct her and to supervise that I'd rather just do the work myself instead of asking her to do it. She was just slothful and incompetent. All I wanted was fair work and I didn't even get that from her.
So right now, I'm quite bitter about my experiences and really not feeling very charitable to any domestic worker or even to any human rights activist who dare champion these so-called 'rights'. These people should spend time in my shoes, spending the sort of money I've had to spend on lemon maids, have them enter their homes, wreck their possessions, put their children in danger through thoughtless behavior and still try to pull off irresponsible stupid stunts like that.
Not all maids are like that, true. Neither are all employers the Simon LeGree activists seem to love to paint. Before anyone starts to champion these causes, maybe they should walk a mile in the shoes of employers first. The maids have recourse to their embassies, to the activists and shelters. To hear the activists talk, employers often look like slave-driving, sick, sadistic, power-hungry opportunists. Okay, maybe some are. But what of the majority? What recourse do employers have when their maids turn out to be nightmares? Who speaks up for the employer who got scammed into hiring someone unfit and unsuitable?
I'm not even talking about the ones who completely go off the rails, but just the ones who are incompetent or lazy or both. Has any activist tried training someone like this? Especially if you believe the bullsh*t on the CVs they give out. It's annoying and frustrating enough to give you a coronary! Activists may think that maids are given the short end of the stick here, but there are maids who come here and think it is a stepping stone to freedom, a swinging social life etc, happy to do the bare minimum and demanding more from their employers.
This is the second one I've had to change in less than a year. I'm not a demanding employer, in fact I've been accused of being blind to their faults to the point of laxity. I don't make unreasonable demands like some employers who dictate everything from hairlength to mobile phone usage. I've given previous helpers a great deal of leeway and freedom - just ask any who've worked with me. Yet even this was not enough. For the record, I changed the one before this because she was busy moonlighting as a mamasan for other maids, matching them on their off days, with men. My neighbour complained after she'd persisted in offering her services to his maid.
These horror stories are more common than activists like to think.
To ship someone off, find someone new, get used to them, train them all over again is an expensive, exhausting, painful process with no guarantee of success. Each domestic disaster just makes you angry, more wary and less trusting. Its a vicious cycle that bodes no good for anyone - employer or maid.
We all have choices to make and nothing is ever a "no choice" situation. I put up with this because I acknowledge that I am not a superwoman. I've tried juggling housework, chores, cooking with a full day at the office, attention for kids etc and I just end up exhausted at the end of a very long day that starts at 5.30am and ends at midnight. I've come to the conclusion that we just can't have it all.If I want to keep my day job and even consider to increase my work hours, I'll just have to learn to close both eyes, grit my teeth and bear it - shoddy work, poor attitude and sometimes, psycho behavior.
I'll be a fair employer and give her what is due, what we agreed on in terms of pay, off days, sufficient rest, privacy etc (note, dear activists - what WE agreed on, not what YOU think is 'fair') I just won't be someone who treats the maid as 'part of the family'. She isn't and will never be part of our 'family'. She is an employee and I am an employer. Let's be professional about this. Compassion, love, and other warm fuzzy feelings are extra and not included in the package.
Any bleeding-heart activist who gives me drivel about this can just go stuff a sock in it.
We already had plans to let her go and she knew that. I'd given her notice already so she had been sourcing for an employer but finally decided to go home so we'd bought a ticket for her to leave in December.
But last week, the crazy woman with more than one screw loose tried to pull one over us by pitching a 'fainting fit' when we said she could not go off that Sunday. For the record in case you're some diehard human rights activist reading this, we're not unreasonable ogres who keep our maids in chains. First, she was entitled to two days off. I had already given her THREE days off in the span of two weeks, as well as an advance on her salary. Second, she did not bother to ask us or inform us that she was going off that Sunday. I thought that was basic courtesy at the least.
So we said no. And immediately she started fake-hyperventilating loudly and then fell - rather gracefully I might add - into a faint.
Both KH and I stared at her for a second before I started laughing. I couldn't help it. It was sheer bad acting. I was also furious that she dared pull this stunt to hold us to ransom. To take the cake, while I was laughing and telling her off, she actually opened her eyes and looked at me before closing her eyes again. Less than five minutes later, she got up, went into her room and started messaging on her phone. So much for 'fainting'. Fastest recovery ever.
Bad acting or not, it proved that she was clearly not right in the head and quite unstable. It would not be safe or wise to leave the kids with her in the house. So there and then, I told her to pack up and we shipped her off to the agent, changing her ticket to a flight that left the same day. I was so glad to be rid of her. She took with her 7 pieces of luggage including five mobile phones, and almost left her room full of garbage, waste paper, sweet wrappers, dustballs, three pairs of shoes and an unmade bed. Had I not seen all the gunk, I would have been left to clear all that. As it was, I made her do it before we took her to the agent.
Still, I thought she got off lightly. I was so angry that I wished murder was legal.
For all the trouble, the lackadaiscial quality of work she gave, I felt really short-changed as an employer. We housed her, fed her, paid her and followed all the terms of her employment contract. She started off blur for someone who claimed to have three years experience (I later found out it was three years with four employers), and eventually added insolence and entitlement into the mix. Towards the end, it became so frustrating to deal with her, to instruct her and to supervise that I'd rather just do the work myself instead of asking her to do it. She was just slothful and incompetent. All I wanted was fair work and I didn't even get that from her.
So right now, I'm quite bitter about my experiences and really not feeling very charitable to any domestic worker or even to any human rights activist who dare champion these so-called 'rights'. These people should spend time in my shoes, spending the sort of money I've had to spend on lemon maids, have them enter their homes, wreck their possessions, put their children in danger through thoughtless behavior and still try to pull off irresponsible stupid stunts like that.
Not all maids are like that, true. Neither are all employers the Simon LeGree activists seem to love to paint. Before anyone starts to champion these causes, maybe they should walk a mile in the shoes of employers first. The maids have recourse to their embassies, to the activists and shelters. To hear the activists talk, employers often look like slave-driving, sick, sadistic, power-hungry opportunists. Okay, maybe some are. But what of the majority? What recourse do employers have when their maids turn out to be nightmares? Who speaks up for the employer who got scammed into hiring someone unfit and unsuitable?
I'm not even talking about the ones who completely go off the rails, but just the ones who are incompetent or lazy or both. Has any activist tried training someone like this? Especially if you believe the bullsh*t on the CVs they give out. It's annoying and frustrating enough to give you a coronary! Activists may think that maids are given the short end of the stick here, but there are maids who come here and think it is a stepping stone to freedom, a swinging social life etc, happy to do the bare minimum and demanding more from their employers.
This is the second one I've had to change in less than a year. I'm not a demanding employer, in fact I've been accused of being blind to their faults to the point of laxity. I don't make unreasonable demands like some employers who dictate everything from hairlength to mobile phone usage. I've given previous helpers a great deal of leeway and freedom - just ask any who've worked with me. Yet even this was not enough. For the record, I changed the one before this because she was busy moonlighting as a mamasan for other maids, matching them on their off days, with men. My neighbour complained after she'd persisted in offering her services to his maid.
These horror stories are more common than activists like to think.
To ship someone off, find someone new, get used to them, train them all over again is an expensive, exhausting, painful process with no guarantee of success. Each domestic disaster just makes you angry, more wary and less trusting. Its a vicious cycle that bodes no good for anyone - employer or maid.
We all have choices to make and nothing is ever a "no choice" situation. I put up with this because I acknowledge that I am not a superwoman. I've tried juggling housework, chores, cooking with a full day at the office, attention for kids etc and I just end up exhausted at the end of a very long day that starts at 5.30am and ends at midnight. I've come to the conclusion that we just can't have it all.If I want to keep my day job and even consider to increase my work hours, I'll just have to learn to close both eyes, grit my teeth and bear it - shoddy work, poor attitude and sometimes, psycho behavior.
I'll be a fair employer and give her what is due, what we agreed on in terms of pay, off days, sufficient rest, privacy etc (note, dear activists - what WE agreed on, not what YOU think is 'fair') I just won't be someone who treats the maid as 'part of the family'. She isn't and will never be part of our 'family'. She is an employee and I am an employer. Let's be professional about this. Compassion, love, and other warm fuzzy feelings are extra and not included in the package.
Any bleeding-heart activist who gives me drivel about this can just go stuff a sock in it.
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Behind that prickly exterior...
... is a girl who's a bit lost I think. But like all porcupines, its hard to get past the sharp spines. I speak of Caitlin of course.
This girl's got the face for poker. Inscrutable. Tears may fall when we talk but I never know - are they tears of sadness or anger? Is she upset with me? Upset with the situation? Upset with herself?
She never reveals her hand. Whatever is in her mind and heart remains known only to her. It's so very difficult to reach her. I never know if I am getting through. I never know if I am effective in my methods of reaching out. And I know it's only going to get harder as she grows older.
Gut feel tells me she needs help. I need to pay attention to her. She may seem like the most independent, the one who learns the fastest, and possibly the most streetsmart of the siblings. But I sense a vulnerable desperate core. It's there in her eyes, in her voice when she tells me a joke, a story, what happened at school, at gym training.
But perhaps the problem lies with me.
I feel disconnected. When she speaks, I find it hard to listen and horrible as this sounds, I feel a sense of impatience: get to the point. I tell myself that there is NO getting to the point with kids. That with kids, it is all about just listening, giving the time, the attention. No matter how repetitious, how boring, how silly, how tiresome, no matter how busy, how hungry, how distracted I get. I admire mothers who can do this - give total absolute attention to their children. Because everytime I can't, I feel less of a mother. A sham of a mother. How un-maternal it is to feel impatient.
I have to keep trying. I cannot give up. I can be angry and I can be frustrated and I can feel like talking to her is like bashing my head against a brick wall - pointless and painful. But I cannot give up. There is something there. I just need one breakthrough. I need to find that connection.
This girl's got the face for poker. Inscrutable. Tears may fall when we talk but I never know - are they tears of sadness or anger? Is she upset with me? Upset with the situation? Upset with herself?
She never reveals her hand. Whatever is in her mind and heart remains known only to her. It's so very difficult to reach her. I never know if I am getting through. I never know if I am effective in my methods of reaching out. And I know it's only going to get harder as she grows older.
Gut feel tells me she needs help. I need to pay attention to her. She may seem like the most independent, the one who learns the fastest, and possibly the most streetsmart of the siblings. But I sense a vulnerable desperate core. It's there in her eyes, in her voice when she tells me a joke, a story, what happened at school, at gym training.
But perhaps the problem lies with me.
I feel disconnected. When she speaks, I find it hard to listen and horrible as this sounds, I feel a sense of impatience: get to the point. I tell myself that there is NO getting to the point with kids. That with kids, it is all about just listening, giving the time, the attention. No matter how repetitious, how boring, how silly, how tiresome, no matter how busy, how hungry, how distracted I get. I admire mothers who can do this - give total absolute attention to their children. Because everytime I can't, I feel less of a mother. A sham of a mother. How un-maternal it is to feel impatient.
I have to keep trying. I cannot give up. I can be angry and I can be frustrated and I can feel like talking to her is like bashing my head against a brick wall - pointless and painful. But I cannot give up. There is something there. I just need one breakthrough. I need to find that connection.
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Random thoughts
Have not been actively blogging for the longest time on the Riang blog so thought I'd just check in and post some random thoughts.
Life is crazy busy these days.
Trin has stayed away from school for the past two days, down with a persistently high fever that refused to go away since Friday. She's really all skin and bones now so I'm ditching nutrition for just weight gain which means I'm happy to offer fries, ice-cream and lots of milk if she's happy to finish those. I tried to treat her at home over the weekend but was just fighting a losing battle with the fever. The doctor listened to her lungs for an awfully long time on Monday before saying that she hears a barely audible crackle in the right lung. Could be bronchitis. Could be lung infection. I was told to bring her back by Wed if the fever persists.
It's Tuesday night now and I just gave her a dose of brufen. The fever reads as 38. Not as bad as the 39.7 reading I got on Sunday but it's not going away.
Weirdly of all the kids, she's the only one who hates the taste of meds. So each dose has to be accompanied with lots of coaxing and praise, something I never had to do with the others who would just happily slurp the meds as they would an ice-cream cone.
She's not the only kid on meds. Gillian is now wearing a brace which has to stay on for the next four weeks thanks to knee surgery she had less than a week ago. We'd put it off for as long as we could but the knee was increasingly unstable so it works for the better to get it done now. She faces intensive physio once the brace comes off and the ligament repair work more or less heals but by this time next year, she'd be walking and running with lots more confidence.
I am also grappling with maid changes. This one just is not working out and we're changing - and happy that Lolita will be returning to our household in a week or so. Good and bad. She runs the place so efficiently I don't have to step into the kitchen. But that means I lose my domain once again, having just found my footing and confidence again in the kitchen.
The days are flying by and we're heading for the end of the year again. I mark our lives by school terms, parent-teacher meets, year-end concerts, birthday parties, family holidays.
And all too soon, it will be Christmas. Which always makes me feel pensive. Must be the schmaltzy carols. Or the kitschy Orchard Road decor - which is already up but not lit.
Or maybe its the 80s music I keep on shuffle repeat these days. My favourite du jour - Amy Grant and Vince Hill: House of Love. Happy song.
Life is crazy busy these days.
Trin has stayed away from school for the past two days, down with a persistently high fever that refused to go away since Friday. She's really all skin and bones now so I'm ditching nutrition for just weight gain which means I'm happy to offer fries, ice-cream and lots of milk if she's happy to finish those. I tried to treat her at home over the weekend but was just fighting a losing battle with the fever. The doctor listened to her lungs for an awfully long time on Monday before saying that she hears a barely audible crackle in the right lung. Could be bronchitis. Could be lung infection. I was told to bring her back by Wed if the fever persists.
It's Tuesday night now and I just gave her a dose of brufen. The fever reads as 38. Not as bad as the 39.7 reading I got on Sunday but it's not going away.
Weirdly of all the kids, she's the only one who hates the taste of meds. So each dose has to be accompanied with lots of coaxing and praise, something I never had to do with the others who would just happily slurp the meds as they would an ice-cream cone.
She's not the only kid on meds. Gillian is now wearing a brace which has to stay on for the next four weeks thanks to knee surgery she had less than a week ago. We'd put it off for as long as we could but the knee was increasingly unstable so it works for the better to get it done now. She faces intensive physio once the brace comes off and the ligament repair work more or less heals but by this time next year, she'd be walking and running with lots more confidence.
I am also grappling with maid changes. This one just is not working out and we're changing - and happy that Lolita will be returning to our household in a week or so. Good and bad. She runs the place so efficiently I don't have to step into the kitchen. But that means I lose my domain once again, having just found my footing and confidence again in the kitchen.
The days are flying by and we're heading for the end of the year again. I mark our lives by school terms, parent-teacher meets, year-end concerts, birthday parties, family holidays.
And all too soon, it will be Christmas. Which always makes me feel pensive. Must be the schmaltzy carols. Or the kitschy Orchard Road decor - which is already up but not lit.
Or maybe its the 80s music I keep on shuffle repeat these days. My favourite du jour - Amy Grant and Vince Hill: House of Love. Happy song.
Tuesday, March 08, 2011
These days are such dark days. I really did not feel like writing. Everything feels so raw. But I think it would help a bit and it would also document the days we are going through now.
Tigerlily, who walked into our lives two years ago, has left us as suddenly as she came. Just like on that bright sunny day when she strolled across the street and lay down at my feet, allowing me to stroke and pet her, she lay down on a cushion in my living room, her life slowly ebbing away with every inaudible gasp.
She had been wasting away for months. Just before Chinese New Year we brought her to the vet because her fur was falling off and she was off her food. The vet thought it was hormonal and prescribed some hormones plus antibiotics just in case. Nothing worked and Tiger just continued her decline.
In her last weeks and months, she did not go out as often, preferring to hang around at home. Her favourite place to be was on the seat on our porch, watching the world go by in our garden and beyond our gates. Or she would be perched on our glass table content to snooze in the sun. Already a quiet cat, I guess she became quieter.
She was so off her food that we finally decided to bring her back to the vet on Saturday. Immediately she was hospitalised, put on a drip and forcefed, blood samples taken. We were taken aback at how ill she was because apart from her weight loss and lack of appetite, it never seemed that serious.
Things went downhill very quickly from then. We saw her in hospital, making it a point to visit her about twice a day. She could recognise KH and and I, trying a tiny meow when we greeted her. But on Monday, I got the call in the office. It was not working out and she was sliding fast. The bloodwork showed last-stage kidney failure and they thought she would not last out the night. The vet said it was likely the kidneys were not developed and could not support an adult cat - common in cats and dogs. It was nothing she caught or ate, nothing we could have done. It was congenital. The words just washed right over me.
KH and I took urgent leave, pulled the kids out of school and brought Tiger home for the last time.
We took turns sitting by her just to stroke her, talk to her and tell her it was okay, not to be scared, she was going to a better place where she could chase all the birds she wanted and what a pretty dance they would give her. She wagged her tail feebly a couple of times as we stroked her and talked.
Yes we cried. Cait, who was so attached to her, Owain and I. It was hard to say goodbye.
By 3.35pm. I was with her when she tried to get off the cushion. She stood for the last time in her life and took three shaky steps before collapsing, splayed out on the floor. KH scrambled over and we both held her. She spasmed twice and then it was over.
We called the pet cremation service. The kids were adamant that they did not want her ashes scattered in the sea with unknown other animals. So it would be a private cremation and she would be returned to us in an urn.
Isaac did not make it back in time to see her and to talk to her. He was in school and could not access the messages I left him on his phone. By the time he got to our gate and saw Owain in tears, he knew. And my big son, unabashedly wept.
She's home today, we received her in a tiny wooden box. And now she sits on our altar, flanked by the Holy Family and the Divine Mercy, her worn collar sitting atop the urn. She feels lighter than we expect. For all intents and purposes, Tigerlily is now officially an indoor cat. But I think once in a while, I will take her out into the garden and let her sit a while. Am I mad? Silly perhaps?
But then, she did so love the big earthen jar with the tempting guppies always taunting her as she stared in frustration at not being able to swipe one - I would always call out to her before she could. She also loved the lizards and the birds. They did not love her but she would enjoy sitting there eyeing them and trying to pounce.
In her last days, tired as she was, she managed to kill a sparrow and then tried to bury the carcass in her kitty litter!
She was an outdoor cat all the way.
We would never know why she chose us as her family. I'm sure there was a reason.
But we loved her till the end and for two years, we gave her a good home, food, shelter, love and lots of cuddles. I'm so glad we were with her till the end. I think she was glad to be home too - she must have smelt it in the air and in the light. I think for anyone, a beloved animal or human member of the family, this is what we can and should humanely do - bring her home to live out her last moments with the people she loved around her.
I never knew that losing a pet could hurt this much. And I always thought that cats, being less needy, less affectionate than dogs, would make far less of an imprint in our lives. But in two years, Tiger has left an imprint that would be difficult to erase.
Mornings will never be the same again without her usual greeting and then curling round our legs for a morning cuddle and stroking session. And she'd do this to all of us every morning. No more would she perch at the top of our gatepost surveying the neighbours, the cars, the children, like the empress of her domain, regal and elegant, complete with kohl-rimmed eyes. My bathroom window can now be left unlocked - no more fear that Tigerlily would escape our house at night. We tried to keep her in at night after that terrible time when she was caught in a trap at our neighbour's house. But we later realised that she had learned to unlatch the window so it was a nightly ritual that KH would call out "Is the cat in the house?" and if she was, we would close all windows and doors - including the bathroom door AND window. No more of that too now.
I will miss her sauntering into the house, leaving a warm patch on our beds when she naps for the afternoon. I will miss her eager pattering when she keeps to our heels as we hurry to fill her bowl with food. I will miss her elegant profile as she sits on the cushioned seat on our porch. I will miss calling her home at night - and she would come when I called. Only Cait and I had that privilege initially but later, she grew to include KH in her circle of trust.
My favourite memory of her? I guess it would be the day she came into our lives, when I first realised that we were adopted, and how I chose the name Tigerlily for her.
I will miss so many things. How can she be a mere cat? How can people say "its only an animal?" She was family. IS and always will be family.
And Cait. Poor thing. She looked lost in her bed, reading just a few minutes ago. Her eyes were red-rimmed. I know how she felt - there is something missing from her life that was once filled by a soft warm furry body lying next to her every night.
I tell myself that all animals go to heaven for they are created by God and as long as we loved them, we would surely see them once more. My sister agrees. She says that when I am ready to go Up There, I'd see Tigerlily there and there would be her fur all over my bed once more, ready to exasperate me again. Looks like I have to die with the lint roller in hand!
I tell myself that St Francis, the quintessential animal-lover, will take good care of her Up There. I told her that too, as she lay dying. I believe it, but it does not make me feel better. I guess I will, over time. But right now, my life is one big empty ache that only a tiny cat can fill. Right now, I will never want to get another cat. No one can take her place and the process of losing them again one day is just too painful. Once is enough. We've put away her things but I stop short of making plans to give them away. I can't. I can't bear to.
I will end with this description of how Isaac said goodbye. He had to leave to serve mass in the evening before the animal cremation people came. He stood for a moment next to her, then he bent and stroked her once, twice. Then straightened and said to her, in his usual, bright and cheery, casual way, as he always does whenever he leaves the house, as if she was still there: "Bye Cat!"
And I guess, that is the best way to say goodbye isn't it?
Tigerlily, who walked into our lives two years ago, has left us as suddenly as she came. Just like on that bright sunny day when she strolled across the street and lay down at my feet, allowing me to stroke and pet her, she lay down on a cushion in my living room, her life slowly ebbing away with every inaudible gasp.
She had been wasting away for months. Just before Chinese New Year we brought her to the vet because her fur was falling off and she was off her food. The vet thought it was hormonal and prescribed some hormones plus antibiotics just in case. Nothing worked and Tiger just continued her decline.
In her last weeks and months, she did not go out as often, preferring to hang around at home. Her favourite place to be was on the seat on our porch, watching the world go by in our garden and beyond our gates. Or she would be perched on our glass table content to snooze in the sun. Already a quiet cat, I guess she became quieter.
She was so off her food that we finally decided to bring her back to the vet on Saturday. Immediately she was hospitalised, put on a drip and forcefed, blood samples taken. We were taken aback at how ill she was because apart from her weight loss and lack of appetite, it never seemed that serious.
Things went downhill very quickly from then. We saw her in hospital, making it a point to visit her about twice a day. She could recognise KH and and I, trying a tiny meow when we greeted her. But on Monday, I got the call in the office. It was not working out and she was sliding fast. The bloodwork showed last-stage kidney failure and they thought she would not last out the night. The vet said it was likely the kidneys were not developed and could not support an adult cat - common in cats and dogs. It was nothing she caught or ate, nothing we could have done. It was congenital. The words just washed right over me.
KH and I took urgent leave, pulled the kids out of school and brought Tiger home for the last time.
We took turns sitting by her just to stroke her, talk to her and tell her it was okay, not to be scared, she was going to a better place where she could chase all the birds she wanted and what a pretty dance they would give her. She wagged her tail feebly a couple of times as we stroked her and talked.
Yes we cried. Cait, who was so attached to her, Owain and I. It was hard to say goodbye.
By 3.35pm. I was with her when she tried to get off the cushion. She stood for the last time in her life and took three shaky steps before collapsing, splayed out on the floor. KH scrambled over and we both held her. She spasmed twice and then it was over.
We called the pet cremation service. The kids were adamant that they did not want her ashes scattered in the sea with unknown other animals. So it would be a private cremation and she would be returned to us in an urn.
Isaac did not make it back in time to see her and to talk to her. He was in school and could not access the messages I left him on his phone. By the time he got to our gate and saw Owain in tears, he knew. And my big son, unabashedly wept.
She's home today, we received her in a tiny wooden box. And now she sits on our altar, flanked by the Holy Family and the Divine Mercy, her worn collar sitting atop the urn. She feels lighter than we expect. For all intents and purposes, Tigerlily is now officially an indoor cat. But I think once in a while, I will take her out into the garden and let her sit a while. Am I mad? Silly perhaps?
But then, she did so love the big earthen jar with the tempting guppies always taunting her as she stared in frustration at not being able to swipe one - I would always call out to her before she could. She also loved the lizards and the birds. They did not love her but she would enjoy sitting there eyeing them and trying to pounce.
In her last days, tired as she was, she managed to kill a sparrow and then tried to bury the carcass in her kitty litter!
She was an outdoor cat all the way.
We would never know why she chose us as her family. I'm sure there was a reason.
But we loved her till the end and for two years, we gave her a good home, food, shelter, love and lots of cuddles. I'm so glad we were with her till the end. I think she was glad to be home too - she must have smelt it in the air and in the light. I think for anyone, a beloved animal or human member of the family, this is what we can and should humanely do - bring her home to live out her last moments with the people she loved around her.
I never knew that losing a pet could hurt this much. And I always thought that cats, being less needy, less affectionate than dogs, would make far less of an imprint in our lives. But in two years, Tiger has left an imprint that would be difficult to erase.
Mornings will never be the same again without her usual greeting and then curling round our legs for a morning cuddle and stroking session. And she'd do this to all of us every morning. No more would she perch at the top of our gatepost surveying the neighbours, the cars, the children, like the empress of her domain, regal and elegant, complete with kohl-rimmed eyes. My bathroom window can now be left unlocked - no more fear that Tigerlily would escape our house at night. We tried to keep her in at night after that terrible time when she was caught in a trap at our neighbour's house. But we later realised that she had learned to unlatch the window so it was a nightly ritual that KH would call out "Is the cat in the house?" and if she was, we would close all windows and doors - including the bathroom door AND window. No more of that too now.
I will miss her sauntering into the house, leaving a warm patch on our beds when she naps for the afternoon. I will miss her eager pattering when she keeps to our heels as we hurry to fill her bowl with food. I will miss her elegant profile as she sits on the cushioned seat on our porch. I will miss calling her home at night - and she would come when I called. Only Cait and I had that privilege initially but later, she grew to include KH in her circle of trust.
My favourite memory of her? I guess it would be the day she came into our lives, when I first realised that we were adopted, and how I chose the name Tigerlily for her.
I will miss so many things. How can she be a mere cat? How can people say "its only an animal?" She was family. IS and always will be family.
And Cait. Poor thing. She looked lost in her bed, reading just a few minutes ago. Her eyes were red-rimmed. I know how she felt - there is something missing from her life that was once filled by a soft warm furry body lying next to her every night.
I tell myself that all animals go to heaven for they are created by God and as long as we loved them, we would surely see them once more. My sister agrees. She says that when I am ready to go Up There, I'd see Tigerlily there and there would be her fur all over my bed once more, ready to exasperate me again. Looks like I have to die with the lint roller in hand!
I tell myself that St Francis, the quintessential animal-lover, will take good care of her Up There. I told her that too, as she lay dying. I believe it, but it does not make me feel better. I guess I will, over time. But right now, my life is one big empty ache that only a tiny cat can fill. Right now, I will never want to get another cat. No one can take her place and the process of losing them again one day is just too painful. Once is enough. We've put away her things but I stop short of making plans to give them away. I can't. I can't bear to.
I will end with this description of how Isaac said goodbye. He had to leave to serve mass in the evening before the animal cremation people came. He stood for a moment next to her, then he bent and stroked her once, twice. Then straightened and said to her, in his usual, bright and cheery, casual way, as he always does whenever he leaves the house, as if she was still there: "Bye Cat!"
And I guess, that is the best way to say goodbye isn't it?
Sunday, February 06, 2011
We have had a new helper in the house since Lolita left after being with us for more than 5 years. We thought Trin would have a hard time adjusting but surprisingly, she's shown herself to be more resilient than we give her credit for. I think kids generally are a tougher bunch than we think.
So now we have somebody new and she's literally driving me up the wall. Perhaps it is early days and I am impatient by nature but this new person is really exasperating me quite a bit. On the good side, I guess it has forced me to be less complacent, less lazy and more hands-on in the home and in the kitchen. When you have a competent, efficient helper, it's always tempting to just give in and let her handle everything, run the kitchen etc. But these days, I find myself more involved and that can't be a bad thing right?
For one thing, I know what is actually in my fridge. For another, this is the first time in years, many years, that I have cooked as much as I have over the new year period. In previous years, we opted to eat out during the New Year or freeload off my mother's dinner table. But this year, I guess I went on overdrive. This is what I cooked over the four-day period:
Day 1 - steamed radish cake served panfried
Day 2 - chicken curry
Day 3 - fried beehoon with shredded chicken
Day 4 - chicken soup with abalone, fish head curry and giant panfried prawns in tamarind and chilli
It feels really good to be back in the kitchen experimenting. I experimented with the radish cake for the first time about two days before the New Year and it turned out too salty and too hard. On New Year's Eve I tried again with different composition of water to flour and it turned out a tad loose after steaming. I chucked it in the fridge and by the next day when I took it out to panfry this in the morning, it was just right - a nice soft, melt-in-your-mouth texture. Perhaps still a tad too salty even though I'd cut back on the salt by quite a lot. Next time, this will just be a pinch.
Best compliment - the kids and KH liked it. For a picky eater like KH, this was a real compliment. I'm planning to do this again but still experimenting - this time, I'd add shallot oil and chicken stock instead of water to the flour.
I am documenting this for my own memory (which has become rather leaky in recent years), and not because this is a great recipe to follow. I picked elements from other radish cake recipes on the net but in terms of proportions, I really just relied on my own gut feel estimates.
I used chinese sausages (laap cheong), dried scallops (the small ones), fresh shitake mushrooms and dried shrimps (hae bi). I soaked the scallops and the hae bi in hot water. Grated about 1 and a half radishes. Boiled the radishes using same hot water I used for soaking. Then I chopped up the soaked, now soft, scallops and hae bi. Meanwhile, I chopped up the laap cheong, panfried it without adding oil. When the oil from the laap cheong has come out, I add the scallops and hae bi, then the diced mushrooms.
Meanwhile I add rice flour and a little bit of wheat starch flour. I know now that the trick is to keep the proportion of flour very low. I got a bit nervous when I saw the loose watery texture and added more flour the first time I did it - big mistake. The flour is really there to just adhere the radish strips together and not really form the base. I seasoned the mix with salt and pepper and a dash of soya sauce. Keep the dash very very light. Then I added the ingredients in the pan, dropped the whole thing into a shallow disposable foil pan and steamed on high heat. Voila. Have to say, it turned out very very well!
Like I said, next round, I would try panfrying the cake with shallot oil and use chicken stock instead of just water when adding to the flour/radish mix.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Its 5am in the morning and I am fresh from a dream. So fresh that my tears are still running, my hands are shaking and wads of tissues have come and gone.
The dream so vivid, has me in its grips and perhaps the only way to exorcise it is to write about it and then later read it in the cold clear light of day. I don't know if I will regret this later, writing about it while I am so raw but right now it feels like the right thing to do. It gives me a strange sort of solace.
I dreamed that KH died. Slumped on the ground, in my arms with the children around me, telling me he loved me. Even in my dream I kept willing him to come back and not leave but he did. The anguish. I still feel it. I dreamed of snatches of life after he passed - going to the supermarket, a child's wedding, and the terrible anguish still followed. Because I would see him everywhere but know he would not be real. I could still hear him giving me all his usual irritating sardonic asides. In my dream Gillian sat with me as I wept and asked, "He's not real and you don't see him right? Its just me." Weirdly enough the dream seemed to be narrated by someone and this line jumped out at me: KH giving tweets from the grave.
I woke, or rather the real KH woke me up because I was crying. Even Trin woke up. Perhaps I've dreamed of his passing before but it never hit me this intensely. He held me and comforted me for quite some time after but it was very hard to leave the dream and ease down on the tears. It occurs to me that he is getting a preview of my grief and comforting me for something which he would be unable to in the future.
Where do dreams like this come from? Is this what it will really be like? I don't know how or when life will pan out and if it will indeed come to this. But this dream has called forth a very deep fear in me - that of being left alone to soldier on in life without my partner, my best friend and my lover and the intense loneliness, pain and grief that accompanies this. In the throes of my pain just minutes after he woke me, I told him: "You cannot do this. You cannot leave before me. I won't allow you to. You go get it checked out. Every part of you."
I have this irrational fear of deja vu. His father passed at the age of 51, leaving a helpless wife and five kids. KH is turning out to look more and more like his dad did at that age. 47 is not far from 51. I know that it does not make sense and I worry for empty superstition but I will not be comfortable until he passes 51. We have so many things to do, so many plans. But I also know that these are empty - just plans. And rather than just plan, we should just live our lives, do the best with what we have now, because those plans might never ever happen. The reality is we never know when we're going to go and perhaps it is this lack of control that I fear. As a Catholic, I should have more faith in God, trusting His will and whatever He gives. But yet. I feel very small, scared and vulnerable as a human today.
We can only do the things we can and not worry about what has not come or the inevitable when it does. The day is starting now and the kids have to wake up for school. But before the busy-ness of everyday life seeps in and the dream is totally gone, I will try to remember just this one thing - to love as much while I can, not be afraid to put myself out there and while its hard to be in the moment every single moment, I can at least try.
While the pain of the dream is still fresh, I must also remember to appreciate everything about him - even the things I dislike. I never know when all these will really be taken from me. He may drive me nuts sometimes but even those, after he's gone, will look like lovely idiosyncrasies later and I know I will miss even these annoying habits.
I am taking a good deep whiff of fresh cool morning air. The dream is over. I am back in real life. I am letting go of the terrible pain and fear of the dream. Good morning life.
The dream so vivid, has me in its grips and perhaps the only way to exorcise it is to write about it and then later read it in the cold clear light of day. I don't know if I will regret this later, writing about it while I am so raw but right now it feels like the right thing to do. It gives me a strange sort of solace.
I dreamed that KH died. Slumped on the ground, in my arms with the children around me, telling me he loved me. Even in my dream I kept willing him to come back and not leave but he did. The anguish. I still feel it. I dreamed of snatches of life after he passed - going to the supermarket, a child's wedding, and the terrible anguish still followed. Because I would see him everywhere but know he would not be real. I could still hear him giving me all his usual irritating sardonic asides. In my dream Gillian sat with me as I wept and asked, "He's not real and you don't see him right? Its just me." Weirdly enough the dream seemed to be narrated by someone and this line jumped out at me: KH giving tweets from the grave.
I woke, or rather the real KH woke me up because I was crying. Even Trin woke up. Perhaps I've dreamed of his passing before but it never hit me this intensely. He held me and comforted me for quite some time after but it was very hard to leave the dream and ease down on the tears. It occurs to me that he is getting a preview of my grief and comforting me for something which he would be unable to in the future.
Where do dreams like this come from? Is this what it will really be like? I don't know how or when life will pan out and if it will indeed come to this. But this dream has called forth a very deep fear in me - that of being left alone to soldier on in life without my partner, my best friend and my lover and the intense loneliness, pain and grief that accompanies this. In the throes of my pain just minutes after he woke me, I told him: "You cannot do this. You cannot leave before me. I won't allow you to. You go get it checked out. Every part of you."
I have this irrational fear of deja vu. His father passed at the age of 51, leaving a helpless wife and five kids. KH is turning out to look more and more like his dad did at that age. 47 is not far from 51. I know that it does not make sense and I worry for empty superstition but I will not be comfortable until he passes 51. We have so many things to do, so many plans. But I also know that these are empty - just plans. And rather than just plan, we should just live our lives, do the best with what we have now, because those plans might never ever happen. The reality is we never know when we're going to go and perhaps it is this lack of control that I fear. As a Catholic, I should have more faith in God, trusting His will and whatever He gives. But yet. I feel very small, scared and vulnerable as a human today.
We can only do the things we can and not worry about what has not come or the inevitable when it does. The day is starting now and the kids have to wake up for school. But before the busy-ness of everyday life seeps in and the dream is totally gone, I will try to remember just this one thing - to love as much while I can, not be afraid to put myself out there and while its hard to be in the moment every single moment, I can at least try.
While the pain of the dream is still fresh, I must also remember to appreciate everything about him - even the things I dislike. I never know when all these will really be taken from me. He may drive me nuts sometimes but even those, after he's gone, will look like lovely idiosyncrasies later and I know I will miss even these annoying habits.
I am taking a good deep whiff of fresh cool morning air. The dream is over. I am back in real life. I am letting go of the terrible pain and fear of the dream. Good morning life.
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