Back in early 90s, there was a cartoon series called Attack of the Killer Tomatoes. I don't think I have ever watch an episode, because it was really senseless garbage.
Well before I continue further, let me introduce to you folks, cousin AP.
Cousin AP is two years my senior and four years my sister. With that age gap, she is the one that my sis and I hung out with more. There were many holiday sleepovers at my place and some tour and visits together to Malacca.
And then, there was THE tomato.
We had this inflatable tomato (which is probably some free stuff from Kimball ketchup) and it was a real huge tomato. By huge I mean really huge.
Sis and I spent most of our after school hours at Grandma's place because Mum and Dad were teaching in the afternoon session. Since cousin AP stayed there as well, one of our favourite game was volleyball - in the house.
You see, Grandma's place was a real unique wooden house. From outside, the house looked tiny but once inside, the house stretched - what it seemed like a few kilometres to me at that time - from the entrance to the kitchen.
There was a huge yard, and entering the house, there is a corridor adjoining two houses - that of Grandma's and 3rd Uncle.Both have the same design. A cosy living hall upon entrance greets the visitor and a a long walkway/corridor/hall with two rooms, leading to the dry kitchen area. Cross one more door, you get the wet kitchen area, dining area, and a small little hut where Grandma will prepare charcoal fire for cooking. Along the area is my parent's bedroom, and a store room adjacent to it.
My language is not powerful enough to describe how charming the place was. It has since been torn down and a new brick house was built for my dearest second aunt.
Back to volleyball. The middle hall had ceiling high enough and enough distance for badminton. So, we invented volleyball with the big-ass tomato, partly also influenced by a Japanese drama on volleyball players (dubbed in Bahasa Malaysia though).
The hall was used to hang clothing of my other cousins, so sometimes, the big-ass tomato will get some damage as it hit the nail protruding out from the wall. So what we did was to seal the hole with masking tapes. On the day we decided to retire the ailing tomato (too many damages), it was full of masking tape all over it. We tried our best to revive it though but I remember rather vividly, we were quite sad the day the tomato was pronounced dead.
Many a time, we don't realise that happiness can be found in the most simple things in life. We crave for sophisticated and material stuff in order to feel happiness - new car, new house, lots of money, the latest I-Phone 8, holiday to Europe, (and like me, I would really love to have a Schecter Jeff Loomis Signature 7-string guitar - although not so sophisticated though). We end up pursuing that definition of happiness and in the end, we end up lost because along the way, we have miss so much.
It might sound lame that a free gift can bring so much joy to three kids. I bet no one has ever thought a free gift would bring such fond memories even 25 or 30 years later.
And growing up in a rather old wooden house just added to the nostalgia zaman silam.
The blue sky that greets you in the morning as you wake up on a weekend, the stars that adorn the nights, a stroll in the park with your loved ones, comfort of a stranger while you are travelling, (and a big ass inflatable tomato)- how many times you feel a sense of peace and serenity after coming across one of those? How many times did you smile to yourself after the experince?
The simple things in life are free. Therefore, it doesn't cost anything to be happy. The choice is ours.
No one can beat Grandma's stew pork with tau kua and egg! God bless her, wherever she's at.
Sunday, 1 December 2013
Wednesday, 27 November 2013
it's not easy being me
There is this one song playing in my head at the moment - Five for Fighting's Superman. The lyrics to the song very accurately describe who I am.
Allow me to fast forward to my university days.
I have a good friend from Form 6 by the name of Tina (although much longer). Tina and I eventually made it to the same university.
One evening, I sought her help to register some courses online. I went to her place one late evening and I remember she came out quite excited saying that she has something to share and it will serve as a good advice to me.
Now, Tina, knows me really well - my characters and attitude - so, most of the time I will give her that "one-kind" look. So I went to her room and she had me sat down in front of the computer and played me "Superman".
The following lyrics resonated with me so much that it has somewhat became my theme song in life - a representation of what I am and feel, deep inside.
Superman (It's Not Easy)
Words and Music: John Ondrasik
I'm more than some pretty face beside a train
And it's not easy to be me
I wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
Bout a home I'll never see
Well it's all right
You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy or anything
I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
Inside of me, inside of me
I remember sitting down there after the song ended, stone and quiet with some tears in my eyes.
The word Superman was recently tagged onto me by my cousin AY. Sure enough, with how I push myself, many people may be thinking I am trying to be Superman. The truth is, I allowed the pressure of "responsibility" got better of me. After all, even heroes have the right to bleed, the right to dream.
Many a time, we feel that with the responsibilities and roles we have in life, we often push ourselves to give the best, and most of the time neglecting the well-being of our ownselves. But the intention is sincere putting others above self without realising the damage it is creating. I withered and render myself hopeless.
Tina reminded me that I am a great person and it's not easy being me. That was reassuring. That evening she saved me from deterioriating further.
I am often misunderstood as complicated. In actual fact, I am not. I am just putting others before me. I derive my happiness from seeing my loved ones healthy safe and happy.
I am that plain simple.
But it's still not easy being me.
Tina has been and always be a great friend and today, she is happily married with two adorable boys.
Allow me to fast forward to my university days.
I have a good friend from Form 6 by the name of Tina (although much longer). Tina and I eventually made it to the same university.
One evening, I sought her help to register some courses online. I went to her place one late evening and I remember she came out quite excited saying that she has something to share and it will serve as a good advice to me.
Now, Tina, knows me really well - my characters and attitude - so, most of the time I will give her that "one-kind" look. So I went to her room and she had me sat down in front of the computer and played me "Superman".
The following lyrics resonated with me so much that it has somewhat became my theme song in life - a representation of what I am and feel, deep inside.
Superman (It's Not Easy)
Words and Music: John Ondrasik
I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
I'm just out to find
The better part of me
I'm more than a bird, I'm more than a planeI'm not that naive
I'm just out to find
The better part of me
I'm more than some pretty face beside a train
And it's not easy to be me
I wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
Bout a home I'll never see
It may sound absurd but don't be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed but won't you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream?
And it's not easy to be me
Up up and away away from meEven heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed but won't you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream?
And it's not easy to be me
Well it's all right
You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy or anything
I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
I'm only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
Inside of me, inside of me, yeahDigging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
Inside of me, inside of me
I'm only a man in a funny red sheet
I'm only a man looking for a dream
I'm only a man in a funny red sheet
And it's not easy,
It's not easy to be meI'm only a man looking for a dream
I'm only a man in a funny red sheet
And it's not easy,
I remember sitting down there after the song ended, stone and quiet with some tears in my eyes.
The word Superman was recently tagged onto me by my cousin AY. Sure enough, with how I push myself, many people may be thinking I am trying to be Superman. The truth is, I allowed the pressure of "responsibility" got better of me. After all, even heroes have the right to bleed, the right to dream.
Many a time, we feel that with the responsibilities and roles we have in life, we often push ourselves to give the best, and most of the time neglecting the well-being of our ownselves. But the intention is sincere putting others above self without realising the damage it is creating. I withered and render myself hopeless.
Tina reminded me that I am a great person and it's not easy being me. That was reassuring. That evening she saved me from deterioriating further.
I am often misunderstood as complicated. In actual fact, I am not. I am just putting others before me. I derive my happiness from seeing my loved ones healthy safe and happy.
I am that plain simple.
But it's still not easy being me.
Tina has been and always be a great friend and today, she is happily married with two adorable boys.
Monday, 25 November 2013
the four (or six) horsemen
Nope. This post has nothing to do with apocalypse.
Growing up in the lovely town of muar, food is everywhere. I can go on and on about food but I will save that up for next time. Allow me to start with 5 gentlemen, who brought joy to my family, with their specialties, on wheels.
We had an old uncle who goes on a tricycle, selling ice-cream. This uncle takes a route that passed by Grandma's house and my house, so in either location, I can get his ice-cream. you know you want your ice-cream when you hear the bell ringing, and sis and I used to play with it.
Now, this is not your normal ice-cream. It is purely homemade. There are only 2 flavours - Corn and Chocolate. My favourite is the corn, and you can find real corn kernel on it as well. Most of the time, my sis and I will go for the mix. RM0.20 for small size, RM0.30 for regular and RM0.50 for the large. All served on cones.
But hold on... there's more.
Uncle serves it on bread as well. This is piece of bread nicely slit in the middle and ice-cream is scooped into it.
Sometimes, we will buy in huge tupperwarae - RM1.00 or RM1.50 so we can have it for the rest of the day.
Folks, forget about gourmet ice-cream or whatever chemical products you find nowadays. This my friend is THE ice-cream. The texture is somewhat in between of being flaky and smooth, "icy" and creamy. You don't get any better than that. And of course, who the hell had thought of serving it with bread? Well, uncle probably pioneered it and I am surprised to this day, I still see no copycat.
Uncle takes a long route people, all the way up to Parit Jawa, and he wasn't young. That could be around mid 80s or something. Wherever he is now, God bless him.
Around 3.00pm every day, we would hear "kiang-kiang", "kiang-kiang" sound emitting from miles away. This metal symphony only mean one thing - the Indian breadman. This uncle rides on bicycle as well, but with a huge "treasure chest" like storage in front of him. Kind of hard to manouver if you ask me.
The treasure chest contained different type of breads but my favourite will be the following: Lian Seng's Kaya and marjerin bread (red and green wrapper respectively), brandless bread with cream filling in the middle slit and peanuts version. Of course, uncle has a large selection of junk food as well, and mum was nice enough to occasionally allow sis and I to get some. Uncle was an stern looking man, with white hair - had never seen him smile though - but certainly, filled some hungry afternoon with treasures from his wheels.
Pon-Pon is how I fondly remember the soya bean milk guy. He rides a motorcycle, with a huge basket behind him, carrying soy bean milk and other stuff. Of course, the soy milk was a must, but this uncle sells "mi kantin" as well, all packed in plastic bag. Buy and just squeeze the content into the mouth. I think he has others, but the one that is vivid in my mind - soy bean milk and mi kantin.
While the 3 uncles above serve us in the afternnon, there is this one master char kuey teow guy who provides the supper. This guys rides on pedal bike, and usually has a companion riding with him on motorcycle. God knows how he managed to pedal the stall, with a large cooking station right in front. Now, this guy is one happy motherfucker. While he also used the "pon-pon" horn, on good days, I could hear him singing or whistling. We would flag him down and get our yellow steel plate out for him to dish the freshly fried sin in. Sometimes, dad will request for extra eggs (using our own). I cannot remember how it tasted but it must've been quite tasty. He disappeared one day though, so no more char kuey teow on wheels for supper.
We weren't limited to that for supper though. There is this pakcik who sells satay on his bike. The barbeque station is behind him and I swear to you folks, he had a candle light flame that never get blown off. We had that a few times and not much I can write about him, except for the undying flame - almost like the Olympic torch.
Last but not least, every Saturday night at 7.30pm, Ah Gek will be in her station wagon and stop opposite to present of freshly prepared kuih and kickass siew pao. She is my aunt's sister-in-law and a real wicked kuih maker cum baker. The atmosphere in the neighbourhood can be quite festive with her arrival, with neighbours crowding the car and interacting with each other....and being Dad, he would sometimes help with spreading the love, by sounding the pon-pon horn.
I am sure these food on wheels heroes would have never imagined that one day, some kid would write a blog about them. For them, it's just another day in life.
Many a time, we lament when circumstances don't work to our favours. For our heroes on wheels, they brave the rain and sun to ensure that they do not disappoint customers who were waiting for them. They ensure the quality of the ice cream is consitent, bread chest is well stocked, soy bean milk is fresh, char kuey teow is sinful enough with generous amount of pork lard, satay is cooked thoroughly and the best kuih in the world tag remained through the years. They didn't give in to the unfavourable conditions, and this noble act of determination, discipline and commitment had indeed brought joy to many, at least to this kid.
When we take self out of all the context of things we do, the sincerity kicks in and we do it with a genuine heart. Success is almost certain. That, I guess is satisfaction at the highest level,knowing that you have fulfilled someone else's longing and wish, no matter how simple, no matter how small.
World's best curry plus home cooked long bean rice - that's acapolypse.
Growing up in the lovely town of muar, food is everywhere. I can go on and on about food but I will save that up for next time. Allow me to start with 5 gentlemen, who brought joy to my family, with their specialties, on wheels.
We had an old uncle who goes on a tricycle, selling ice-cream. This uncle takes a route that passed by Grandma's house and my house, so in either location, I can get his ice-cream. you know you want your ice-cream when you hear the bell ringing, and sis and I used to play with it.
Now, this is not your normal ice-cream. It is purely homemade. There are only 2 flavours - Corn and Chocolate. My favourite is the corn, and you can find real corn kernel on it as well. Most of the time, my sis and I will go for the mix. RM0.20 for small size, RM0.30 for regular and RM0.50 for the large. All served on cones.
But hold on... there's more.
Uncle serves it on bread as well. This is piece of bread nicely slit in the middle and ice-cream is scooped into it.
Sometimes, we will buy in huge tupperwarae - RM1.00 or RM1.50 so we can have it for the rest of the day.
Folks, forget about gourmet ice-cream or whatever chemical products you find nowadays. This my friend is THE ice-cream. The texture is somewhat in between of being flaky and smooth, "icy" and creamy. You don't get any better than that. And of course, who the hell had thought of serving it with bread? Well, uncle probably pioneered it and I am surprised to this day, I still see no copycat.
Uncle takes a long route people, all the way up to Parit Jawa, and he wasn't young. That could be around mid 80s or something. Wherever he is now, God bless him.
Around 3.00pm every day, we would hear "kiang-kiang", "kiang-kiang" sound emitting from miles away. This metal symphony only mean one thing - the Indian breadman. This uncle rides on bicycle as well, but with a huge "treasure chest" like storage in front of him. Kind of hard to manouver if you ask me.
The treasure chest contained different type of breads but my favourite will be the following: Lian Seng's Kaya and marjerin bread (red and green wrapper respectively), brandless bread with cream filling in the middle slit and peanuts version. Of course, uncle has a large selection of junk food as well, and mum was nice enough to occasionally allow sis and I to get some. Uncle was an stern looking man, with white hair - had never seen him smile though - but certainly, filled some hungry afternoon with treasures from his wheels.
Pon-Pon is how I fondly remember the soya bean milk guy. He rides a motorcycle, with a huge basket behind him, carrying soy bean milk and other stuff. Of course, the soy milk was a must, but this uncle sells "mi kantin" as well, all packed in plastic bag. Buy and just squeeze the content into the mouth. I think he has others, but the one that is vivid in my mind - soy bean milk and mi kantin.
While the 3 uncles above serve us in the afternnon, there is this one master char kuey teow guy who provides the supper. This guys rides on pedal bike, and usually has a companion riding with him on motorcycle. God knows how he managed to pedal the stall, with a large cooking station right in front. Now, this guy is one happy motherfucker. While he also used the "pon-pon" horn, on good days, I could hear him singing or whistling. We would flag him down and get our yellow steel plate out for him to dish the freshly fried sin in. Sometimes, dad will request for extra eggs (using our own). I cannot remember how it tasted but it must've been quite tasty. He disappeared one day though, so no more char kuey teow on wheels for supper.
We weren't limited to that for supper though. There is this pakcik who sells satay on his bike. The barbeque station is behind him and I swear to you folks, he had a candle light flame that never get blown off. We had that a few times and not much I can write about him, except for the undying flame - almost like the Olympic torch.
Last but not least, every Saturday night at 7.30pm, Ah Gek will be in her station wagon and stop opposite to present of freshly prepared kuih and kickass siew pao. She is my aunt's sister-in-law and a real wicked kuih maker cum baker. The atmosphere in the neighbourhood can be quite festive with her arrival, with neighbours crowding the car and interacting with each other....and being Dad, he would sometimes help with spreading the love, by sounding the pon-pon horn.
I am sure these food on wheels heroes would have never imagined that one day, some kid would write a blog about them. For them, it's just another day in life.
Many a time, we lament when circumstances don't work to our favours. For our heroes on wheels, they brave the rain and sun to ensure that they do not disappoint customers who were waiting for them. They ensure the quality of the ice cream is consitent, bread chest is well stocked, soy bean milk is fresh, char kuey teow is sinful enough with generous amount of pork lard, satay is cooked thoroughly and the best kuih in the world tag remained through the years. They didn't give in to the unfavourable conditions, and this noble act of determination, discipline and commitment had indeed brought joy to many, at least to this kid.
When we take self out of all the context of things we do, the sincerity kicks in and we do it with a genuine heart. Success is almost certain. That, I guess is satisfaction at the highest level,knowing that you have fulfilled someone else's longing and wish, no matter how simple, no matter how small.
World's best curry plus home cooked long bean rice - that's acapolypse.
Friday, 22 November 2013
...and here is how it all started
This was what Glen Frey said to the audience before The Eagles launched into
Take It Easy in the now legendary Hell Freezes Over concert.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Me, I or Myself, while you can address me as You, Anda, Kamu Awak, Lu or whatever deemed appropriate.
I was born in 1980, and as long (or soon) as I can remember, I grew up in a small town called Muar situated north-west in the southern-est state of Malaysia, the great Johor Darul Takzim. I wasn’t born a Muarian though, I am a Malaccan. But Muar is where my home (and heart) is.
Muar has always been a cult favourite among food lovers, and for some, it didn’t come into the spotlight until the recent haze episode. For many, it is a pensioner’s town but for the heartlanders, it is where we wish to return to if opportunities arise.
The past 10 years have seen the town embracing some changes, with modern features complementing the old town charm. We have 6 main streets in town and to begin with, the local council has coated all buildings with uniformed colour, one for each street. With more vibrant colours on what are mostly pre-war buildings, Muar has indeed come alive and I do believe the locals work hard to preserve the small town way of life – from food courts to markets, from street vendors to road side stalls – it’s hard not to be soaked into the carefree vibe the town poses, albeit growing traffic and road congestion, especially during weekends and festive seasons. This to me adds life to the town.
I grew up with my grandma and aunt, with a bunchload of cousins all under one roof. My family shifted out (to about 3km away) when I was 6 years old. Mum and Dad are both teachers. I don’t really recall having my sister back home until she was 5 or 6 years old. She was at the world’s best nanny/babysitter’s place.
Today, my dear sister shared a video of a 80s Malaysian band - Freedom - performing their hit song - Mulanya Di Sini. I had tears in my eyes watching that clip. It reminded me so much of what the 80s was and how was it for me growing up back then. That song is a timeless classic and there are so many positive messages that one can derive from it.
Funny enough, I have been sharing my recollections with my sis on what was it like growing up, also because we were greatly inspired by one of the best book in the world: When I was a Kid by CheeMin Boey. We would text each other occasionally, reminiscing scenes from our memories growing up, and most of the time, we will slip in the phrase “mengembalikan nostalgia zaman silam” hence the title of this blog.
I think the wake up call was probably the arrival of my baby girl 2 weeks ago. I realized how much I have missed so far. I was busy pursuing God knows what….and neglected many other aspects of my life (I am also a son, husband, brother, cousin, nephew, uncle, rock star, guitar god, responsible citizen, slave to life, and faithful follower of the religion of Rush and Dream Theater)….and I have a feeling I was doing more of slave to work role. I think the change starts here...and if all else fail, the change will definitely come to me.
If divination is true, I will not live past 60 years old. Not that I am worried but considering a rather eventful year so far, I felt it is only appropriate to share my anecdotes growing up, in non-chronological order though. Many a time, random thoughts hit, therefore, I guess this is the way it should be (I try not to talk about the low point unless worth sharing…and not that I had a bad childhood…)
In days (hopefully weeks and years) to come (and hope I do not lose the ability to recall and rejoice) I will share what was it like growing up – most of the time, together with my sister, cousins and many of those little things that came and touch my life, and lives of people around me.
And nope..nope, if you are thinking I am being emotional starting this blog, then you are wrong; as wrong as thinking 21/8 or 11/16 cannot be musically correct in terms of time signature.. I am an introvert. I don't talk. I write.
….and while I could be hopeless as a parent, hopefully, by looking back, I can bring back the values which was instilled in me by all my loved ones (and I am blessed having many many of them).
Before I go, the song that started this explains exactly my current state of mind.
Mulanya
Di Sini
Music: Royston Sta Maria
Lyrics: Syed Haron Ahmad
Sama sama mencari dan menanti
Segalanya direstui cinta sejati
Sama sama gunung didaki
Sama sama turun ke lembah sepi
Suka duka bersama dirasai
Mulanya di sini
Ku kenali dirimu
Sehingga kini
Sehingga ke akhir waktu
Akhirnya di sini
Ku kenali hatimu
Sehingga kini
Kita akan terus berlagu
Chorus
Di hadapan kita ada jalan
Menuju di kejauhan ada sinar menanti
Di penghujung perjalanan ini
Oh... sambil bernyanyi
Mendendang senandung yang syahdu
Riangnya hati dan indah duniaku
Chorus to end.
Love is indeed all around. All you need to do is feel.
Folks, if you ever want your kid to learn communication, get them to talk and interact with the following characters: Old ice-cream uncle, THE Indian breadman, Soybean seller and the best night char kuey teow peddler.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Me, I or Myself, while you can address me as You, Anda, Kamu Awak, Lu or whatever deemed appropriate.
I was born in 1980, and as long (or soon) as I can remember, I grew up in a small town called Muar situated north-west in the southern-est state of Malaysia, the great Johor Darul Takzim. I wasn’t born a Muarian though, I am a Malaccan. But Muar is where my home (and heart) is.
Muar has always been a cult favourite among food lovers, and for some, it didn’t come into the spotlight until the recent haze episode. For many, it is a pensioner’s town but for the heartlanders, it is where we wish to return to if opportunities arise.
The past 10 years have seen the town embracing some changes, with modern features complementing the old town charm. We have 6 main streets in town and to begin with, the local council has coated all buildings with uniformed colour, one for each street. With more vibrant colours on what are mostly pre-war buildings, Muar has indeed come alive and I do believe the locals work hard to preserve the small town way of life – from food courts to markets, from street vendors to road side stalls – it’s hard not to be soaked into the carefree vibe the town poses, albeit growing traffic and road congestion, especially during weekends and festive seasons. This to me adds life to the town.
I grew up with my grandma and aunt, with a bunchload of cousins all under one roof. My family shifted out (to about 3km away) when I was 6 years old. Mum and Dad are both teachers. I don’t really recall having my sister back home until she was 5 or 6 years old. She was at the world’s best nanny/babysitter’s place.
Today, my dear sister shared a video of a 80s Malaysian band - Freedom - performing their hit song - Mulanya Di Sini. I had tears in my eyes watching that clip. It reminded me so much of what the 80s was and how was it for me growing up back then. That song is a timeless classic and there are so many positive messages that one can derive from it.
Funny enough, I have been sharing my recollections with my sis on what was it like growing up, also because we were greatly inspired by one of the best book in the world: When I was a Kid by CheeMin Boey. We would text each other occasionally, reminiscing scenes from our memories growing up, and most of the time, we will slip in the phrase “mengembalikan nostalgia zaman silam” hence the title of this blog.
I think the wake up call was probably the arrival of my baby girl 2 weeks ago. I realized how much I have missed so far. I was busy pursuing God knows what….and neglected many other aspects of my life (I am also a son, husband, brother, cousin, nephew, uncle, rock star, guitar god, responsible citizen, slave to life, and faithful follower of the religion of Rush and Dream Theater)….and I have a feeling I was doing more of slave to work role. I think the change starts here...and if all else fail, the change will definitely come to me.
If divination is true, I will not live past 60 years old. Not that I am worried but considering a rather eventful year so far, I felt it is only appropriate to share my anecdotes growing up, in non-chronological order though. Many a time, random thoughts hit, therefore, I guess this is the way it should be (I try not to talk about the low point unless worth sharing…and not that I had a bad childhood…)
In days (hopefully weeks and years) to come (and hope I do not lose the ability to recall and rejoice) I will share what was it like growing up – most of the time, together with my sister, cousins and many of those little things that came and touch my life, and lives of people around me.
And nope..nope, if you are thinking I am being emotional starting this blog, then you are wrong; as wrong as thinking 21/8 or 11/16 cannot be musically correct in terms of time signature.. I am an introvert. I don't talk. I write.
….and while I could be hopeless as a parent, hopefully, by looking back, I can bring back the values which was instilled in me by all my loved ones (and I am blessed having many many of them).
Before I go, the song that started this explains exactly my current state of mind.
Music: Royston Sta Maria
Lyrics: Syed Haron Ahmad
Tibanya di sini
Bagai terulang lagi
Kisah yang indah
Antara kita berdua
Sehingga di sini
Tiada berpaling lagi
Kita berteman
Seiring jalan dan sehaluan
Chorus:
Sama sama menjejak mimpi Bagai terulang lagi
Kisah yang indah
Antara kita berdua
Sehingga di sini
Tiada berpaling lagi
Kita berteman
Seiring jalan dan sehaluan
Chorus:
Sama sama mencari dan menanti
Segalanya direstui cinta sejati
Sama sama gunung didaki
Sama sama turun ke lembah sepi
Suka duka bersama dirasai
Mulanya di sini
Ku kenali dirimu
Sehingga kini
Sehingga ke akhir waktu
Akhirnya di sini
Ku kenali hatimu
Sehingga kini
Kita akan terus berlagu
Chorus
Di hadapan kita ada jalan
Menuju di kejauhan ada sinar menanti
Di penghujung perjalanan ini
Oh... sambil bernyanyi
Mendendang senandung yang syahdu
Riangnya hati dan indah duniaku
Chorus to end.
Love is indeed all around. All you need to do is feel.
Folks, if you ever want your kid to learn communication, get them to talk and interact with the following characters: Old ice-cream uncle, THE Indian breadman, Soybean seller and the best night char kuey teow peddler.
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