THIS IS ME, 'THE MOTHER'

A good girlfriend said, "This is me, 'the mother'. Not some TV personality or friend...". This, she said of her picture with Baby R, her youngest, latching on for nourishment. Nourishment that only a mother can give to a child. Milk of her own blood, flesh, heart, mind, body, soul. Milk that if given, from a person, other than mother, makes another stranger's infant, one's own.

This as stated in the religion of Islam. The rights of a birth mother will be awarded to one's wet nurse, even when the service rendered is actually a binding contract involving the exchange of monetary rewards. Such is the power of this contact, of this arrangement from one body to another. One, when even if, a life did not originate from one's womb, or from one's ovaries, maketh another life that of one's own. Simply if milk flowed consistently from the mammary glands of one woman into the gut of an infant. That alone, awards you the status of mother.

Wet-nursing, a custom once widely practiced, then extinct is now revived once more in some posh parts of China due to the imitation infant formula scare. Give a human baby, the best of its best; human milk, that is. Not some pasteurised, powdered, herbivourous, non-human, non-highest ordered, grazing, domesticated animal's milk. Or worse, be tricked into levelling scoops of zero-nutrient formula.

Alas, I'm not lashing out on those who have chosen not to feed likewise. Please, no. I believe in the power of choice, informed or otherwise. I only want to draw upon the varied ideas behind these words: "This is me, 'the mother'."

Is it what we do or don't do that makes us a mother? Why would a wet nurse be accorded one of the most honoured and cherished title in this world? Is it the inevitable transfer of one's genetic information from milk to protein that creates a mother and child bond? Or is it the loving kindness and attention that is felt when two completely unlike individuals come together in the privacy of satiation and need? Or is it that rush of relief and comfort that flows with the onslaught of every let-down? Or is it the cognitive awe that one experiences, regardless of class or stature, when one is able to give life and nourishment to a completely helpless being? Or is it the warmth that you feel when the tender skin of private breasts rests upon the fluff of a newborn cheek? Or is it the cosmic feelings that arose as two souls unite; the souls of a mother and child?

I sit and I reflect upon the wonders of this magic. "This is me, 'the mother'...", who will give all of herself and her worldly posessions to nourish every domain in that life she calls her own. This is the mother who will fight all of her battles and demons, internal, external or otherwise in the hope that peace and prosperity prevails. This is the mother you will see anywhere and everywhere in this universe or even that speculated parallel dimension. This is the mother who has the penchant to stand past the last ovation. This is the mother who will pick up all the broken pieces even if her instincts urge her to allow the child, his own foils. This is the mother who will stumble and fumble and yet remain till death do us part. This is the mother I salute.

Stand please, all you mothers and take a bow.

SITI NURHALIZA WEDS DATUK K....WANG..KWANG..KWANG

I'm part relieved, part mad, that the wedding of this year has been finally formally announced.

Why, from the PR point of view, did they have to go round the merry-ol-bush before deciding to come clean?

Was Siti still awaiting the outcome of her 'istikharah'? Were the glitches of a non-unanimous family vote on the union still being ironed out?

And all those denials!! Sounds a tad like lies now that the truth is out. "Oooh..I didn't know why his family is at my family's place..." "PUHHH..LEASE!"

I would have found it far more respectable, her rights to privacy notwithstanding, that squeaky, clean, Siti had kept congruent to her image and come clean over a matter as MEGA as this!

It would have been a simple, "Yes, we're planning to be united in holy matrimony..it's just that the details have yet to be ironed out."

Rather than all those verbal deflections giving rise to so much controversy such that even her own official fansite had to be suspended until further notice.

All these leave one with a bad after taste..bad after taste.

GOSSIP FERMENTED does not make for juicy details.

Alas, I'm disappointed that her entourage of PR personnel couldn't craft this potentially huge, HUGE C.T. EVENT into something a lil, more harmonious.

OH Siti, my Siti, hope you get to redeem your end soon. And yes, please now don't be a wuz and go all secretive again! Just tell us the gutteral truth about why you fell for him.

REBIRTH

The blog which I had painstakingly laboured upon, is somehow gone to the wind. Moir does not know why and have given up trying to see what can be done to undo the technical glitch..

So very much UNLIKE LIFE, I will start again...rebirth. (Yeah, I know people claim they can be born-again whatever, but man, the past sticks on to you like stubborn lint!)

Yesterday, I attended the funeral of a friend from a much rather distant past. Last night, today and probably for some time more, life will not be the same.

Have you ever wondered what if tonight, is literally your last night on Earth? No more encores, no more re-dos, no more re-plays..

Six feet under, cremated or even preserved in cryogenic matter, the game ends here. You can purchase another ten dollars worth of tokens for the slot machine to churn your life into action but dead as a log, life ends there. FULL-STOP. DONE.

I thought once before when I lost the LOVE of my life, it meant life was done for. ZILCH. No more. I thought that's what it feels like to lose that last ounce of life. Completely devastated, you think life has ended and you might as well throw the towel in.

But yesterday, past mid-day, when I received the news that Y*** has passed on, this spirited, personable woman, who in part, reminds me of myself, time stood still.

I teach my students this phrase; 'rooted to the ground', my heart felt like that. It refused to budge for a nanosecond as I try not to let all the air be sucked right off my throat.

Impossible! In her prime, mid thirties. How can a person, so big in stature, suddenly in an instant, become part of a set of funeral rites? Unnatural..or is it?

I'm not close to her. She was an individual who formed part of a past memory. And yet, here I am today, rebirthing this blog with her story in mind.

Death is so final.

I laid up all night thinking. How much more awful it would have been if it was an actual close friend's funeral? What is 'Y***' 'doing' now? What if instead of 'Y***' it was me whose lying in that cold, dark grave? Would I know how to face the angel of death who faith decrees will come up to me..my soul..whichever?

Would I have had the chance to make peace or say good-bye to the light of my life? Would I rest in peace?

What would it feel like not to have to wake up and go to work anymore? Or play with the children? Or eat breakfast? Or even brush your teeth?

Then the inevitable happens..I knew I'm not prepared to go. No matter how I had once childishly ranted I was only because life threw a curve ball. Not when death feels this final.

I have not worked like I would live a thousand years more and I have not practised my faith like I would die tomorrow.

I'm not done preparing for that finality. The work must go on. As my darling 5-year old puts it, "She's gone to see Allah, ya Mama. We cannot talk anymore. We bathe her then we climb into the hole. Then we take her and put her in there. We call Papa, ya Mama. We ask him to come back. Singaporeans stay in Singapore, not Indonesia."

"Yes dear, we call Papa, ask him to come back soon. Then we continue to work some more. We stay in Singapore."

I still need to stay put here, alive and kicking.

IF I COULD.. I WOULD

IF I COULD..I WOULD..

pray five times a day without missing,

go under the knife for a tummy tuck, butt nip, breast lift and thigh augmentation..

fly to the moon,

get a wondrous essential oils massage once a week,

try bungee jumping,

run away with my first true love, (NO, not KS!),

wear make-up,

read in bed all day,

scold the mo**** f***** who jumped the unofficial roadside taxi cue,

swim free style,

start my own talk show,

abandon all my kids for two months to trek in the HIMALAYAS,

volunteer in UNICEF's world hunger missions to AFRICA,

find all of my long-lost friends,

cook an entire feast,

grow young again.

NOW, WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU COULD?

IF ONLY CONFIDENCE COMES IN A CAN..

We amuse over muses, life coaches, Oprah Winfrey and the likes of those who are able to draw out one's inspiration. We may even pay big money, if not, spend hours in front of that google box.

If only confidence comes in a can, like chicken mushroom soup, my daughter's favourite preschool snack.

I'd buy cartons of it for myself, my family, friends even foe because everyone needs a little of that every now and then, right? "Here, have a can, have some confidence."

I remember those times when confidence exudes and you blow your mind with the things you can do, beyond belief, beyond wonders.

I remember that one time when I completely believed in the wonders of a smile thrown my way from a senior in Drama Class. Out came the magic markers, scraps of scented paper and a heartfelt love poem. My hopes and dreams were sealed in that carefully-folded love letter, with all the confidence that only an eleven-year old could muster. As it turned out, this 15-year old wasn't really smiling at me but at that other tall beauty behind me who supposedly had pledged her sistahood! Imagine that! Misplaced confidence, misplaced confidence. (Shake your head fifteen times as you read this.)

Oh well, this once 15-year old heart-throb still grace my local google box and each time I see him, I chuckle at the thought of that lost confidence. How on earth did I think he was at all smiling at me?

Those who are wondering who this guy is...erm...don't even bother asking. I didn't know what I was thinking. But I'd have to add that he was kind when of course, with a much subdued chuckle, he opened my first ever, honest-to-goodness, love letter. He said, "Do continue to study hard and you may find somebody far better and nearer your age."

Oh man! I took his advice, hook, line and sinker! To save my broken ego and shattered over-confidence, I studied like there was no tomorrow. I came in second in my primary school that following year, beating over 400 other kids in that now, defunct school. Even the government deemed me good enough to top 10% of the nation's entire 12-year old cohort and thus I became a priviledged but green Tanjong Katong Girl.

I've yet to thank K.S. for his 'sagely' advice, though. Maybe, just maybe, someday, I'd be able to brew some confidence in a can and I'm sure gonna TM-label it as 'KS CONFIDENCE'.