Cynfulwords

Ballad of the Night She Dieded, Almost

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Mon, 25 Jul 2022 10:10:00 +0000

She would die and be found

Partially consumed by her two hounds

Sinew and bone still in their maws

For nought else was there for them to gnaw

Or at least she thought as she lay there sighing

Fever not coming, head cracking with the paining

So this is how I go, she mulled

Might as well, better this than Covid, culled

Just as well, as her head began to nod

Happy shall I be to meet my God

Wishful thinking, God whispers with a chuckle

Get your butt up, eat, have a truckle

Wryly she shakes a mock fist at the heavens

No rest for the wicked, no peace for the good

No song for the choir, no time to die now.

It's been gnarly weather for weeks. I finally collapsed unexpectedly after a trip. OK, perhaps 'collapsed' might be a tad dramatic. Suffice it to say I thought I felt my heart slowing down and my breath, increasingly laboured. Just when I was so enjoying alone me hermit leave-me-alone-time. I wouldn't mind leaving this world. Then I thought, what would my babies eat after they're finished with me? And what about the babies at the back?

They wouldn't find me for weeks. It's not that people don't care. Most people just think I am always ok and can take care of myself. And for the most part, if I don't text people, they don't think to text me first.

Some Days

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Fri, 08 Jan 2021 13:34:00 +0000

Some days are just harder.

Some days remind you of too much.

They make you angry, doubtful, scream, break down

And they make you love harder.

Some days you don't want to remember,

Oh but you do so much want to remember too.

Some days you ask not why, but WHY.

Some days it's just.........

That's some days for me. You?

Picture: The boy who died before his time.

Goodbye Strange 2020, Hello Adapting to 2021

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Thu, 31 Dec 2020 15:11:00 +0000

2020 speed-dialed me from February straight to December.

There was a sort of dissatisfaction I had as we turned the corner into November and December. Whatever I had done this year, I had the perception that I had underachieved. Where did the year go? Did it even happen? Therefore where did it all go, all the things I did, did they even happen?

It caused me not a little amount of anxiety. Add to that, my maternal grandmother died on Christmas night five years ago, and more than one beloved furry family member crossed the Rainbow Bridge in this season. At the same time, Christmas is my favourite time of year. So, all in all, a sucky sucky confounding time of year.

So, this morning, I stepped outside the door to look at the sunrise. A miracle in itself since I usually hide in the house if I happen to wake up before dawn.

Then I texted a good friend and told her I feel underachieved this year, to which she recounted the things she knew I had done - personal, professional, spiritual - I will not list them here. There is only ego when we show and tell like that.

Her recount, it made it all good. To flow over to the new year, I am now 68.75% done on a project that will open up a long-desired path. Nup, not gonna tell you what, but of course it involves creativity and words.

And so, to this strange year of achievements that feel underachieved because a big shadow has consumed most of the year, I rejoice. I rejoice for the me time and solitude that happened because of lockdown. I rejoice for the work-from-home option. I rejoice. I rejoice for the time I spent at home with my kids. I rejoice for the deafening silence realised that an introvert needs people too. I rejoice, oh how I rejoice; for things found again, done again; for things never liked but now enjoyed (like walking long distances). I rejoice for bold moves like transforming my property for a determined goal. Oh I rejoice. I rejoice for letting go and letting God, for the joy of life in its wholeness, for declaring it's ok to just be.

So in a few hours, I bid adieu to a strange year. Strange but not unliked nor liked. Just strange. And I bid good morning to a new year where humanity will have a stronger expectation to adapt. Because the pandemic will not have suddenly left the building, but we will most certainly have a better grip at living in the midst of one.

And so, Goodbye and Hello. 😌

Weird 2020

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Wed, 09 Dec 2020 11:20:00 +0000

A weird non-year with the second and third chapters chopped out.

Goodbye February, hello December.

In Bits and Pieces - A Revisit

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sat, 06 Jun 2020 20:58:00 +0000

This is a re-post of an entry that I wrote almost 15 years ago, originally from here:

This is a season of remembering, for me.

The worst thing about losing someone is the losing of their memory in bits and pieces. That is the worst fear I have of losing the memory of my grandmother.

She was still strong and hearty when I left for Australia in 1992. I missed her, oh did I missed her. She was the oldest person that I loved the most; and I had never in my life, up till then, been away from her for more than a few days. She had my heart in the caress of her boundless and unconditional love. From the day I was born, she held me and loved me. Oh, I love my mom and dad too. But grandma was grandma. She was that special someone outside of my parents whom I could not do without.

Grandma was to live forever. That’s the way I would have had it. If I had my way. I was away for six years. It broke my heart when I couldn’t attend her 80th. But I spoke to her over the phone, and have the picture to prove it.

When I came back, she was still great. Starting to look frail, and I was starting to fret. But she looked great. And oh, all that love that surrounded her. There was no one in the family who didn’t love her like there was no tomorrow.

I guess it was a gradual thing, her slipping away. There was no sudden illness or anything. Just her slowly getting older, thinner, her organs slowing down to the relentless bulldozing of time.

I look at the last few pictures I took of her from where I sit. They are in black and white. She looks thin. I don’t remember what year it was. I think it was 2002. She died one year later.

I’m wracking my brain to think of a vivid memory of her before she left me. And I can’t. All I see is her smile. And her eyes, telling me she loves me. I remember her on the hospital bed, so still. And I’m looking at her, pleading silently for her to just get up and be well again, and laugh with me again; all the while, my heart is slowly breaking into a hundred million pieces because she would soon be leaving me here.

I remember her rocking me on my little rocking horse when I was a child. I remember her feeding me when I was too young and too squirmy to do so myself. I remember her wiping my tears and sweat as I lay on my bed with a fever. I remember her smile and her laugh like a song in summer. I remember her in my dreams.

I remember her in the old house, before it got renovated. She never got to see the new old house. The one we’re in now.

I live life with a passion because there is nothing I can do but sway with the ebb of time. I would have liked to have my time with grandma forever. Or at least, leave together with all that we hold dear. Ridiculous thoughts, I know. Well hey, seemingly cool and collected people need their moments of insanity too.

With Grandma, the love was simple. Pure. There were no complications, nor conditions. She loved me. And that was that. I learned how to love and accept from her. Know that I learned this from my parents, especially my mother. But Grandma drove the nail through for me. She was the anchor of my life. And I miss her oh so terribly. I, a thirty two year old woman, can still be found babbling and sobbing like a fool over anything reminiscent of my grandmother.

I miss her smell. You know how sometimes, out of nowhere, a brief whiff of a smell can just whip up a distant memory you never knew you’d recall again? I live for those whiffs. Grandma had the sweetest smell. She didn’t smell like an old person at all. I loved that unique blend of camphor and Grandma that was such a conerstone of comfort and security for me.

She would always make a great show of how she detested the dogs. But when Butch was old and dying, I caught her with tears in her eyes. Tough old bird with a great big soft heart.

Seven years ago, End came to look after her. She came to us, she saw us and she loved us. Seven years ago. And that was how End came to be part of this house, part of our lives and part of the memory I have of Grandma. She earned her keep; and she earned our love above and beyond the call of her duty.

At this juncture, it’s too hard to go on. I’ll just leave it as is here. Maybe I’ll finish this one day. Maybe not. Who knows. Coherence eludes me. This is nothing but an organic jumble of thoughts and memories whizzing past.

__________________

I understand now that what keeps me away today stems from a long time ago. Things That Still Bother Me? Well, it's really just one thing. Anxiety or panic episodes that stem from any number of the following:

1. Control/Trust issues

2. Avoidance issues

3. Anticipatory Grief

And that's all okay. Who doesn't have issues. Just make sure they don't make you wake up in a panic. If they do, find help.

Strange Times

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Tue, 02 Jun 2020 16:27:00 +0000

Here's a quick take at this year so far:

A pandemic has the world on its knees; our lives as we know it will never be the same; George Floyd, a man unknown to most of us until he was brutally killed by the police, has become the icon for equal justice - an issue that continues to plague the US for centuries.

It's not surprising at all that anxiety levels are at its highest, is it? And someone somewhere right now is having a panic attack or an anxiety episode.

I almost had one earlier tonight. I stopped the spiralling down by doing whatever it took. In my case, it was journalling, texting and calling someone who knew how to talk me out of it. So I have anxiety issues. My norm has been completely shattered, even though I have always felt the world needed a serious shakedown because we have put ourselves on a rocket to destruction. Push comes to shove, I still had a hard time letting go of my old norms. It's not the lockdown, it's not the curfews, it's not the closed shops. It's not being to jump on my horse and carriage and gallop off to the nearest park, or kopitiam, or cafe, or beach, or friend's place, that gets me. Whatever freedom might mean to you or to me, or even the freedom we knew was only ever just a perception of true freedom - not having that, killed my well-being, slowly but surely.

I am not sure what sort of anxieties you might be having right now, but I do know that you are. I know that many young people in Kuching are feeling mighty edgy and weird, teary and nervous and anything in between mild OCD to sheer panic. Know that this is the bane of 21st century life. You are not alone. Get help. Journal. Process. If you go to a church, find a counsellor there. If you don't, call up the Mental Health Association (082-231 459), they would like to hear from you and they can help. You need to be able to process this. It's different for every individual.

In the meantime, there is still beauty in the world. You don't need to go very far to find it. Stay safe.

Free of Desire

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sat, 31 Dec 2016 13:48:00 +0000

It's hours away from 2017. The SMSes, Whatsapps, new year memes have started to flow in. Well wishes, blessings and quotes. Nice stuff. I, on the other hand, have zero drive nor desire to reciprocate. I just want this evening to go gentle into that good night, and (hopefully) wake up to a fresh dawn of new possibilities. Every dawn is filled with possibilities, so being the first dawn of a new year, I'd like to think that the possibilities are shinier, brighter, stronger.

Somewhere along the line, I lost my desire to blog. Social media happened. It made sound bytes possible, it made people lazy, it gave everyone their three seconds of fame every hour of every day. Not using my computer more happened. Smartphone cameras happened. Instant happened. Impatience happened. Excuses happened. Writing a blog post began to take too long by comparison.

Blogging, people stalked my blog. That's how I got into freelance writing some years ago. Some of them found me in person. People who earned my disrespect. I dusted my feet and walked away. Good riddance.

So I wrote somewhere else. But once a blogger, always a blogger. There's always a small part of the writer in me to present some level of wordsmithery. So there we have it.

This is quite possibly the first last day of the year that I have no collected thoughts for the year to come. My thoughts are stripped to their very core. I only know that I wish for 2017 to be filled with kindness, compassion and understanding; for the world to be more whole (dare I dream?); for people to be more human and humane; for things that truly matter to break the surface of a tumultuous ocean of chaos; for the ability to rise above.

Will I blog more in 2017? Who knows? If I manage to catch the thoughts that whizz around at high velocity, perhaps. If I decide to do almost nothing but write, probably. Time will tell. But until then, may you ride on the wings of peace and joy.

Pause

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sat, 05 Nov 2016 13:21:00 +0000

The sky is a perfect shade of blue, perforated with fluffy clouds, white, off-white, even a few puffs of light grey to remind me that where tropical weather brews, there my spirit draws its strength.

The sand gives way where my feet touches it - rough, more hot than warm, damp. The mountain beckons in the distance. What I really want to do is to be out in the water, just me, a paddle and a kayak. But it would not be today.

Today is all about doing everything by doing nothing. It's about stopping in my tracks, looking at the skies, smelling the briny air, and listening to the mountain song.

When the busyness of doing things that will ultimately mean far less than love and life, my mind and body does an automatic reset, and I go back to nature. Luckily, today she appears in full form. unsullied and untainted. For now.

Vegetarian Bolognese Sauce

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sun, 24 Aug 2014 07:17:00 +0000

Warning: Not for meat-lovers

When in doubt, make pasta, I say. Didn't have meat in the fridge. My attempt at vegetarianism (that's a blog post for another day). Didn't want to read; didn't want to FB, which is mindblowing for me in this day and age; had enough of the idiot box. Yet, too lazy to do anything elaborate. So, let's pasta!

N.B. A blender or hand blender would be useful.

Ingredients:
Tomatoes. The more the merrier. I had 6. So 6 it was.
Celery. 2 stalks.
Large onion. 1 large or 2 medium.
Mushrooms. Any kind.
Garlic. Half a bulb.
Calamansi lime juice. Just because I have a tree in my garden and a few were sitting in the fridge.
Dried oregano or mixed herbs. 1 teaspoon or to taste.
Tomato paste. 1 small can. Again, just 'cos I had a can that was going to expire soon.
1/4 cup of water.
Salt and pepper

Penne pasta, cooked al dente.

Method:
1. Chop up the tomatoes. Set aside. No need to be fancy, as long as they're cut into chunks.
2. Chop onion and garlic.
3. Chop celery and mushrooms.
4. Medium heat pan, brown garlic and onion, throw in celery and mushrooms. Cook till soft.
5. Throw in chopped tomatoes and tomato paste. Cook for a minute.
6. Add oregano. Throw in calamansi juice
7. Add water.
8. Add salt and pepper to taste.
9. Blend the mixture (I used my magic fairy wand blender).

Optional: some people like their bolognese with a touch of sugar. So add that if it's you. I like mine tangy.

Taste: pretty good, extremely healthy, very low in calorie, cheap as sunshine.

Goodbye, Popo

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sun, 17 Aug 2014 08:25:00 +0000

August began with a funeral this year. A remarkable woman whose name I did not quite learn until I went to celebrate her life at her funeral. I just knew her as this jolly Popo whom I met when she was 94 and who babysat my friend once upon a time. My friend and I are foraging partners. We scour the city for good food. She spoke often of her Popo, this nanny who was like family to her. And so we took Popo out for dinner once and I took an instant liking to her. She smiled a lot, laughed a lot, sang a lot, prayed a lot. And I sat there thinking, O if we could only have a bit of that permanent spark of love in every one of us, this world would be at peace.

I would’ve liked to know her better. I would’ve like to hear her story in detail. I wanted to listen to her tell me how she was taken from her village in China as a child and sold to Sarawak. Of course it was against her will. What child would understand enough to leave her family, of servitude and slavery? What child wouldn’t wilt without family?

I would’ve asked her of the fear and longing for family she must have felt. I wondered how she was treated, this child servant, this child slave, really. She grew up in this place called Kuching. It might as well be a different planet to her.

She ended up with a foster family. She found a husband and had a son. She lost both to the War. She remarried and had children. I’m told she never had an easy life. If anything, she was fully entitled to be angry and bitter because she was never treated as the equal that she is. Yet she shone with love, joy and faith. That was what caught me. She had a passion in her that touched my friend, who grew up to love her like her own granny.

I went to her funeral because her light touched my soul. I knew her enough to know she was remarkable, this slave girl who grew up to love the world. I wish I knew more of her to tell her story.

Her surname was Bong. She was 97.

One of the last photos taken of her. 2014.

Obi and His Rainbow Bridge

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Wed, 05 Mar 2014 13:22:00 +0000

Obi Wan Kenobi Chin
Found: 2007
Departed: 5 March 2014

I lost my dog to chronic liver failure today. His name was Obi. We named him Obi Wan Kenobi when he came because he had this zen look about him. But in actual fact, he wasn't ‘zen’. He was so weak from two different types of tick fever, large ticks hanging all over his body he could hardly walk; and he was nothing but skin and bones. That was almost seven years ago.

We nursed him back to health, my ex-colleagues, family and I. He was this sweet, huge, sexy, muscular Rottweiler with the temperament of an angel. He had a permanent dopey look about him, but if he had to fight, he would fight like a champion. He’s never had to do it but I think he would severely prevent anyone from ever hurting me. We didn’t know how old he was when we picked him up from SSPCA. I would guess at least two at the time.

Obi after he recuperated from his tick f
evers and put on some weight.

He was supposed to be the office mascot but that didn’t work out. There wasn’t any fencing around and he was miserable when there wasn’t anyone around him. A few months later, I got my own place and Obi came with me.

He loved walkies

My dogs are my family. They are my furkids. When you have family like that, chances are you will more than likely outlive them. It’s like having children who are terminally ill, and one day, you know you have to let them go, and you know you will be devastated. But you do your best for them because they are family.

Obi was diagnosed with liver failure over a month ago. A combination of neglect before he came to me, perhaps; and also his tough Rottweiler exterior masked his illness for a while before I detected that lack of energy in him.

I think of him as my special mysterious angel. I will never know where he came from. I will never know who his humans were before I took him in. I will never know why they didn’t pull out all stops to look for him when he got lost and wandered into someone’s house, skin and bones. I just know that he gave me over six years of unconditional love without expecting anything back, and now it’s time for him to go.

His favourite "rub-my-tummy-please" position

I let him go in the knowledge that I gave him every possible fighting chance that I could muster. My lovely family, uncles, friends from all over were on hand to support and help, and he was treated like flesh and blood. My parents and uncles cared for him when I had to travel. My friends from Singapore sent him a care package and there was a deluge of prayers and good thoughts from Kuala Lumpur, Kota Kinabalu, Singapore, Adelaide, Amsterdam and New York. His meds were imported from the UK. Everything I could possibly do, I did. And I am glad that I didn’t hold back.

Dr Davies and his team were fantastic. He was kind with me and gentle with Obi. We resorted to SMSes when I couldn’t be in town. He helped send Obi to the crematorium. So Obi will come back to me tomorrow in a lovely urn that we specially picked for him.

“Animals shouldn’t have to die”, a good friend said to me today. But I think they do that so they can

Gettin' some lovin' and loving it.

check out the place for us first so when we kick the bucket, they’re the welcoming committee.

Some people ask me why I bother with the effort, the cost and eventually the grief. There will always be dogs who need homes. I can’t save them all. I bother because for that one dog that I take in, it makes all the difference to him or her and I can save that one. And that makes a difference for me.

This is for Obi:

The Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.

There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.

The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown...

With his favourite playmate and great friend, the sassy Miss Pepper

Obi by his tree. I planted the ylang ylang for him. He helped me water it.

Taking a breather after chasing Miss Pepper around.

He loved his toys, even if it was just a sock stuffed with tennis balls.

Goodnight, my love, just for a little while.

Sweet Addiction

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Thu, 13 Feb 2014 15:16:00 +0000

Place of safety, away from sadness

Where love is courted and given

Obligated, bidden

Usefulness ignored, forgotten, unwanted

Goodbye sweet addiction, whore and entrapper

No more the slave, veins open, wired in

But then comes the night, silent and unforgiving

And you wake up eyes wide in terror

Even in dreams perceivable death comes knocking

You're unplugged, unloved, unbidden, ignored

So whispers the temptress, words of silk and poison

So you clamber in panic, must have it or

Will die, will whither, will be forgotten

Project Burger: Food Made by An Artisan

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Thu, 06 Feb 2014 13:32:00 +0000

I love burgers. I mean I LOVE burgers. Especially when they are made with a mindful artfulness that put them many cuts above your regular greasy flat meat patty clamped between two buns, some tired lettuce and a slice of grumpy tomato.

I found my absolute FAVOURITE burger in Kuching. It’s called Project Burger and like most great independent food places, it’s tucked in a far-flung nook of on the outskirts of town where no one bothers to peek into.

The buns are wholesome, manly bread. You get a choice of manly charcoal buns for a bit extra. The patties are made from hand-picked beef, pork or chicken. The beef and pork are fresh mince, specially prepped with a secret recipe. There is absolutely no icky drippy grease. Every bite yields an original, wholesome beefy-, porky- or chickenny-ness that will make a burger connoisseur out of most of ya.

There’s an option for a perfectly poached egg whose golden yolk flows down like lava when you cut into it. Or, there’s their special Crunch burger, or as they call it, the Crunch 2.0 (a beta version from the Crunch 1.0 you see).

I tend to dream of downing two burgers every time I’m there. The last time I went, I got a second burger for laters. No guilt. There’s no butter on the bun. Just a special

home-made sauce that complements the meatiness. Now I tend towards quite the meatless diet most of the week. Project Burger burgers? Hey, I say the animals who died for the meat contributed to art. I can't say the same for many many other places.

I down my burger with a Coke and follow it up with the Project Burger home-made Nutella ice cream. I have been doing this once a week for three weeks running (the rest of the week I’m a good girl with food, of course *wink wink*).

I love this place. The food is fab, I like that it’s owned and run by an industrious young man (and his side-kick). I like that it’s homey. I support any local eatery that is so serious about taste and quality. This is artisan burgery at its best. A friend of mine has likened it to a fledgling Kuching potential for Yay Sammich.

They are located directly opposite the giant Giant signboard at Stutong en route to UNIMAS. Yes, it’s a housing area. Here’s the FB link. Now get over there and support Calvin and Lucky Kho.

The Project Burger sign and menu

Humble packaging but a formidable home-made special. I liken it to The Last Polka home-made artisan ice cream of KL fame.

FB I Love You, I Hate You

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sun, 29 Dec 2013 05:09:00 +0000

After eight years, my love-hate affair with Facebook continues.

I love FB. It connects me with family from the other side of the world, people whom I love and whom I would otherwise have little contact with if they didn’t take formidable 20-hour flights to get here once every few years. It’s reconnected me with friends from my childhood, friends who have left this town and made lives for themselves elsewhere. I couldn’t even remember some of them until …ding! The “Friend Request” tab has a +1 (sometimes +29) on it. I love that I can chat to my old uni mate in Adelaide every morning as she goes to work, share in the joys of her time with her son, their dog, her family. I relish the times when I see my panda enthusiast friend potter off to China to see her furry adopted family. We help each other spread news of strays in need around the country. I have friends who live in the highlands whom I would not be able to chat with regularly about anything and nothing if it weren’t for FB chat. Some conversations you just don’t pick up the phone and dial over. They’re too random, irrelevant and in-the-moment.

I love posting pictures about my dogs, my apple crumble, my bread, my feet, the worm in my garden and I love it when you post your pictures silly pictures from your life up. I love that I get news from CNN, BBC, CNBC, The Straits Times, the Borneo Post, WWF, the latest digs in town, sushi from JP Mart, professional stuff and everything else I like that lifts my spirits all on my landing page. It means I don’t have to move much beyond wriggling my fingers for the world to come to my window (…Mac window).

I hate FB. I hate that it fuels my addictive tendencies, the Candy Crushes and Bejeweled and Zumas of the FB-niverse. I hate myself for the time I waste on it. It’s coke to an addict. I hate that my writing for leisure suffers….has suffered….tragically and beyond, because there’s only 24 hours in a day. I hate that I sleep late the lame excuse of Candy Crush. I hate that my journalling has stalled, and don’t even talk about other simple pleasures like sketching. Reading a real book? I went from 12 a year to two. Appalling. I hate that I use FB to avoid things that I should do, things that take effort, like the book that’s waiting to be born.

SO….

No, I’m not deactivating my FB. It’s meant to be a tool, not a master. I still love it for all the things I love it for. BUT, I am taking charge and this is what I’ve done:

Deleted all my game apps on it
Re-started writing daily
Re-started sketching, though not daily
Reactivated my blogs to doing at least two entries a month (they are here and here)
I’m on my third book in two months

That leave my FB-ing time to just about an hour a day in total. Life’s too short to be just FB-ing for no reason.

I'm going to post this entry as a link on my FB status now. Then you'll have to excuse me. Gabriel Garcia Marquez beckons.

Clara's Sphere

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Tue, 24 Dec 2013 12:27:00 +0000

I met Clara at a weekend event out by the beach. She has a regular job but she was selling second hand

Clara with Sphere books

books at a beachside stall. It’s a venture with friends that do two things:

Sell affordable books to the public.
Use the profits of the sales for community work in Miri

They are called Sphere. The books are secondhand from the US, in mint or near-mint condition. No old-book, mildewey, mouldy smells at all. They range from RM8-RM15, sometimes more depending on the book and the edition.

Clara and her friend Malcolm practically bubbled with verve and vive, and they knew what they were talking about. They love books, which is always a great conversation starter for me.

I didn’t get a lot of details about how Sphere got going. It had to do with getting people to read and using the profits from affordable books to help underprivileged kids in Miri.

Meanwhile, on another sphere (pun intended), Malcolm works in one of Kuching's newest gym. He gave me a 7-day free trial. I went, I liked it, and now I've signed up for two months to try it out before committing myself further.

The Mountain Walker

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Tue, 05 Nov 2013 03:28:00 +0000

I met her a few years ago, on my way up Jade Dragon Mountain in Yunnan. She was in her 60s then. Every day she would walk or ride her horse up the mountain, accompanied by her dog.

"I take tourists up the mountain. Every day", she beamed. Not all the way up because the snow-covered slopes are unreachable on horseback. Besides, not all tourists would want to get to the peak at almost 19,000 feet.

I can’t imagine doing that walk every day. But she did it with a smile and those rosy cheeks. I'd never met such an young old person either before that. And it was a breath of fresh air. I call her the mountain walker.

I never asked her her name.

SSPCA Stray Dog Survey

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sat, 07 Sep 2013 07:12:00 +0000

A survey is not a survey without
maps 'n stuff.

Volunteered to be part of a city-wide survey of stray dogs for the Sarawak Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SSPCA). Was in a team of two, and since both of us were into folding bikes, we figured the best way to go about doing it was on wheels. SSPCA and Kuching City South Council were the main folks behind this. They were aiming for over 100 volunteers. As it turned out, they got about 50.

It was simple, and a little bit similar in nature to the line transect surveys I used to do for wildlife in the forest. Our task was to scour an area for dogs in public areas. We got assigned to the city centre. Because we were on our foldies, we got to go to places ‘where no man has gone before’…..well, not really, but we got to explore back alleys, fishing wharfs, an ice factory, and weave our way around places where dogs would go to avoid too much human activities.

In just two hours, over just three main sections of the city centre, we got 27 dogs. Most were strays.

Some were fisher dogs (cos they hung out by fishermen’s boats), others looked like they own a coffee

This guy saw us watching him and
decided to spy on us behind some cars.

shop or two, and some were obviously property owners without collars and roamed free.

Kuching has its share of stray dogs. You get a gist of how people feel about that by the way they look in general. My faith in the kindness of my fellow citizens is often restored when I come across healthy, happy strays. Even more so when I see folks feeding them. It promptly dissipates when I come across dogs with flaps of skin falling off their skull where they’ve been splashed by hot oil, all skin and bones. You know the drill. Makes me want to go up to whoever the jerkhead human is and kick them really hard.

Who was it that said that the greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated? I’d like to think that there is some kindness in the people who live in this town, especially when it comes to animals. Please, Kuching, don’t let me down.

Job done - Tarlia checks the data form as we sit down for coffee and muffin.

It was brilliant weather for riding today. My foldie enjoyed it too.

Read Tarlia's account of our little adventure here.

Sunday Market's Last Day

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sun, 30 Dec 2012 15:44:00 +0000

Fresh, beautiful, RED chillis.

Fresh fruit, veggies, jungle produce, wild honey, local grown stuff (including avocado and herbs), poultry, meats, pets, potted plants, fruit tree saplings, toys, clothes, shoes, handcraft, souvenirs. Now, I don't know about you. But that's pretty much what a hypermarket is. Kuching's had one for at least 25 years. We call it Sunday Market, at Satok. Well, as of next week, it WAS at Satok.

This much-loved fixture and local institution will be relocated to a standard institutionalised market design on the other bank of the Sarawak River as of next week. Change is the only constant in life, they say. But I'm not sure if this particular change is a good one. In one fell swoop, the spirit of my Sunday Market is going to be gutted.

A thousand and one bloggers and photographers have gone on the ground to say their goodbyes. So I'm not going to add to that list. I dragged my sleepy ass there this morning to talk to the vendors and hear their stories. Here are just some of those, plus a street photo homage to my favourite market in Kuching.

The Lady with the Delicious Kuih Cincin and Sago Biscuits

"I don't want to move. I've been here for 20 over years. Look at the amount of space I have here. It's 8 by 8 there. It's partitioned and cramped".

There was a resigned sadness in her voice, even though she looked defiant and confident.

Uncle Kueh

"I'm not going over. I can't be bothered with the traffic jams. It's guaranteed, those jams. In that part of town! By the river! You give me a call and come to my house if you want old prints of Kuching. This is an original postcard sent to my father in 1934. He was working for Land and Survey in Sarikei, and a church member from St Thomas, our church, sent this to him. VIPs have tried to buy this off of me for thousands of ringgit, but no, I'm not selling. Even the Governor came and took pictures with me just two weeks ago."

The Best Apam Balik in Town

"We'll move over, eventually. I'm taking a break first."

This guy and his kids sell the best peanut butter pancake (Apam Balik) in town. RM0.70 a pop, it's a bargain. He's the only one churning them out with traditional kerosene cookers. I'm really hoping to see him at the new place after his break.

"It's our last Sunday! Take a photo of me!"

I loved that some of the fishmongers BBQ their fish for sale. Will I get to have this choice at the new place?

Barrrrbequuueeeeeee!

I love the toy section too. The tacky orange cat was tempting.

This old guy is a throwback to my childhood. I used to hang out with mum at grandad's shop in the oldest part of town. Everybody sold things in a mish mash no-system kind of way. It was so cool. So alive. Such spirit and character.

What's wrong with a little bit of disorganisation?

Ah well. The Sunday Market is gone. I find it hard to believe that the new premises can or will evoke the same inspiration, spirit and soul as this one. Maybe in another 25 years perhaps, but I don't see it being the beautiful vibrant mess that makes the old Sunday Market what it is was.

Change is surely a constant. But some things could stand to be around for a while, especially when they are part and parcel of what makes Kuching.....well, Kuching.

Methinks we are too quick to make new memories sometimes.

At the Stutong Community Market Car Boot Sales

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sun, 24 Jun 2012 10:37:00 +0000

Ahh. Car boot sales - pre-loved items and potential treasure troves of retro collectibles. Who doesn’t like them? They’re fascinating treasure troves of pre-loved items and retro collectibles. Plus, there’re often hand-made crafts and curiosities. I especially enjoy rummaging through pre-loved toys.

SSPCA's adoption drive.

I moseyed along to the Stutong Community Market Car Boot Sale today and checked out the stalls. The Sarawak Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SSPCA) was there with a pet adoption drive. The local council was there to register pet owners for subsidised pet neutering (good job, MBKS!)

It's always fun to rummage through clothes and old books decked out behind someone's car or truck. It's like a license to nose around. Got myself a couple of Marimo balls, cute little tumbleweeds of freshwater algae from the Akan Lake in Japan. They’re like pet plants, and definitly better than pet rocks because they grow, you don’t need to feed them, you can talk to them and they’re cute. They grow at the glacial rate of 2-5mm a year. So a 95cm Marimo would roughly be about 200 years old. There is a fledgling Marimo ball community in Sarawak. Find them on FB here.

Very big Marimo balls.

Found loads of pre-loved stuffed toys. Got really tempted by a giant frog. Almost bought some funny looking dogs for my dogs. Somehow, I didn’t feel right dooming them to death by teethy canine jaws.

Sadly, car boot sales and flea markets do not happen often enough in Kuching. Why is that, though? Expensive rental? Unpreditable tropical weather? No interest? Who knows? I just know that these things not only work in KL, they thrive. Ah well, back to my regular routine until the next one comes round.

Toysss!

Plastic skates. Very '80s.

The young organisers who made it happen.

More Than A Decade of Elephant

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Fri, 30 Mar 2012 11:32:00 +0000

Sitting in a corner, forced to do nothing but play with my mind, I'm not sure if I vegetate as I meditate or meditate as I vegetate but I certainly elevate. My state of mind, that is. This down time is bliss. And as I let my eyes roll over the textures of the place, I find myself completely in the moment of being in the Elephant. There are 18 tables tonight. The waiting staff have been here for at least six years. They know me by sight. I've given my doggie recipe to the nice waitress. Her kids love them. She's made it a point to be extra nice to me ever since.

I've been coming to the Elephant for at least 11 years. My friends and I started the Kuching BookCrossing chapter here, I brought most of my favourite people here; I've vegetated, meditated, gravitated, levitated here. It's never failed me.

I still love the home made focaccia bread. When I seek comfort, I go for the jumbo submarines. Tonight I had the smoke duck aglio oglio. It's orgasmic.

How many times have you heard me say I don't do free advertising unless it's a place I absolutely love and believe in? Too many.

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 05:10:00 +0000

Browsing through my photos on a lazy Saturday afternoon, I was just thinking how fireworks are so ruddy difficult to freeze on a camera. And that led me to another thought: I don't bring my camera out with me as much anymore. There's only one reason for that - I can't be arsed to keep switching from wide to telephoto lenses, which upsets me. Because those lenses cost me a bomb, and now I'm implying all I need is an 18-200mm versatile lens????? Geez Louise......

BACKEREI (because I'm in the mood but the equipment's wrong)

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 08:37:00 +0000

Two things glared at me today:
1. I spend too much time in front of the Mac, iPad and iPhone.

2. For once, I made time for a paperback and my journal.

And then I discovered, just as I snuggled into my seat at Backerei, with wonderful bready smells wafting from their ovens, that my fountain pen is dry.

Bloody hell. I skipped my regular kickass yoga for a dry fountain pen.

Never mind. Since I'm here at Backerei, Kuching, I'm telling ya, drop by and check out their pastries. Pretty kickass themselves. I'm counting 27 varieties so far. And that's not including the sandwiches. Plus, the coffee is only rm2.90. That's pretty fantastic for a deli-setting like this.

I don't normally advertise a place for free, but I like this place and I want to see it around for a long time to come.

Why Hello, Awesome

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 07:06:00 +0000

I'm supposed to be cleaning out my kitchen cabinets. Which is why I've decided that it is crucial that I write this post right this very second. It's a post so urgent that I have to drop everything to complete, especially if 'everything' means 'to clean out my kitchen cabinets'.

So 2012 dawns sunny, wonderful and smelling of awesome. In fact, smelling awesomer than last year. And the year before. And the year before that. You get the idea.

No resolutions this year. Just get on with it. Live life, joy through every pore. Love everyone, including the a@#h!@#s; but at a distance. And it's perfectly ok to steer clear of them because life's too short and you shouldn't be wasting time on them. Wish them well and move one. They have a right to enjoy life as well.

Through circumstances completely outside of my own planning and doing, I ended up going out of the country this Christmas, which felt very weird because Christmas was always parties and friends at home. And so with some trepidation, I flew the pad and ended 2011 with a bang. Why do I always get so drastic? Tattoos and dreads? But oh so fun! They are pretty heavy, and they tug on the scalp somethin' fierce. But I love the rasta effect. Definitely my kind of look. Gonna have them permanently when I retire to my beach front home. :-P

In the meantime, I think I'm gonna go practice writing 2012 instead of 2011. The kitchen cabinets can wait.

Oh, by the way, I brought dreadlock extensions back. I think my hairdresser is the only joint in town that has them right now. Just in case anyone wants to try them out.

White Tropical Christmas and other thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 06:42:00 +0000

If there could be an equivalent to a white Christmas in the tropics, today would be it. It hasn't stopped pouring since last night. It's as if there's a leaky pipe in heaven and the angels are in the middle of fixing it. Meanwhile, divine water trickles, pours, trickles down to earth, leaving me somewhat anxious for my flight to my secret getaway in a few hours. It's complete misery out there.

Ideally, Christmas would be filled with people I love and like descending on me all at once. And if I had that every day, it would be Christmas all year long. This year, the people I love and like have been descending on me. Just not all at once. And for the first time EVER, I'm going away for Christmas. As usual, a part of me screams "GO! FLY! DON'T COME BACK! GO OUT AND LIVE AS MANY DIFFERENT LIVES AS YOU CAN!" By and large it's a part that has been dormant for years. It rarely rears up; only when I'm feeling pernickety beyond belief (PBB) and I only feel PBB once in a while, especially when it's that time of year combined with when I have so many things and projects I want to do but haven't done any of them because life happens.

But thankfully, I'm also surrounded by old and new friends who are more than decent human beings. That means I shall not fly just yet.

I wasn't going to blog. I almost gave up on blogging. But, one indulges oneself in one's diversions and little distractions. So, against better judgement, I am drawn to a Christmas day blog entry.

Ah, the rain has stopped, and the anxiety is assuaged a little. The pipe must have been fixed.

A blessed Christmas. Don't wait all year to show goodwill toward men (and women).

Photo: The celebration at church last night, which I enjoyed immensely.

My Grid-it

noreply@blogger.com (Cynfulwords) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 03:04:00 +0000

This is my Grid-It organizer system, entirely perfect for the messy organized scatterbrain *points at self* who:
1. Gets lost even with those girly organizer bag-inside-a-bag systems.
2. Prefers something that doesn't scream "YOU'RE SUCH A GIRL"
3. Prefers to have all her things stuck to a medium like Velcro so she can rip them off and put them back easy-peasy.
4. Has a weakness for functional things which are really cool-looking at the same time.
5. Likes to be a little different. Just a little.

This thing fits everything from my hand cream to my back-up portable charger. There's also my eye drops, Thai hot oil for reviving fainting yoga buddies, fountain pens, refills and adaptor wires. How much can a girl (or guy) ask for? The system comes in various sizes, from pen and key-holder size to mine, which is the ideal size I reckon; to really big, almost A4 sized.