Tuesday, October 7, 2008
When Love Comes A-Calling (Final)
THE solemnisation of marriage was a low-key affair held in June 2001, barely a month after he proposed. It was quiet and fuss-free, with only a few people in attendance, just the way they had wanted it.
But if they thought they could get away with it, they were grossly mistaken. Her brother informed he wanted to hold a grand wedding feast back in their ancestral home in Ipoh in her honour, to announce her marriage to the entire clan.
No way could she refuse the request, even if she wanted to. Of her father’s eight children from two separate marriages, she was his only daughter and her seven brothers wanted to do things ‘the proper way’ for their only sister.
In the end the newlyweds meekly acquiesced and held their collective breath, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.
One of their biggest fears was the threat of ‘bersanding’. They flatly refused to do it for fear of looking like a couple of ageing fools. Well, they were arm-twisted into doing it anyway!
Whilst Ashburn was none too pleased at the turn of events, he was gracious enough to realise he had not just married a woman but into an established, tightly-knit clan. She, on the other hand, fully understood the clan ethos, thus asked no questions.
When queried about his sudden marriage proposal, he sheepishly admitted that he was afraid someone else might come along and swept her off her feet. “I just knew she was the one and I didn’t want to lose her,” was his simple reply.
Whilst her children were elated at this new chapter in their mother’s life, his were a little more guarded. Whatever the case, the newlyweds had to tread carefully to ensure feelings weren’t bruised.
It has been seven years since. They are doing fine thus far. Alhamdulillah.
Note: She was thinking of putting her 'bersanding' picture to accompany this article, for its mirth value if nothing else, but thought the better of it. She didn't want to be held liable should anyone fell off his/her chair. Perhaps, if she could muster enough courage, she might.... :)
But if they thought they could get away with it, they were grossly mistaken. Her brother informed he wanted to hold a grand wedding feast back in their ancestral home in Ipoh in her honour, to announce her marriage to the entire clan.
No way could she refuse the request, even if she wanted to. Of her father’s eight children from two separate marriages, she was his only daughter and her seven brothers wanted to do things ‘the proper way’ for their only sister.
In the end the newlyweds meekly acquiesced and held their collective breath, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.
One of their biggest fears was the threat of ‘bersanding’. They flatly refused to do it for fear of looking like a couple of ageing fools. Well, they were arm-twisted into doing it anyway!
Whilst Ashburn was none too pleased at the turn of events, he was gracious enough to realise he had not just married a woman but into an established, tightly-knit clan. She, on the other hand, fully understood the clan ethos, thus asked no questions.
When queried about his sudden marriage proposal, he sheepishly admitted that he was afraid someone else might come along and swept her off her feet. “I just knew she was the one and I didn’t want to lose her,” was his simple reply.
Whilst her children were elated at this new chapter in their mother’s life, his were a little more guarded. Whatever the case, the newlyweds had to tread carefully to ensure feelings weren’t bruised.
It has been seven years since. They are doing fine thus far. Alhamdulillah.
Note: She was thinking of putting her 'bersanding' picture to accompany this article, for its mirth value if nothing else, but thought the better of it. She didn't want to be held liable should anyone fell off his/her chair. Perhaps, if she could muster enough courage, she might.... :)
Monday, October 6, 2008
When Love Comes A-Calling ( V )
May 2001
MAY proved a busy month on both professional and personal fronts. Workwise, she hardly had time to breathe. While it was bad enough that her client was very demanding, she also had to contend with additional workload.
She learned from an equally harassed senior colleague that financial institutions had that irksome reputation. More often than not, they were both merciless and disdainful in dealing with agencies that served and serviced them.
While she had the patience of Solomon, there were times when she felt like lashing back, especially when given the third degree by those still wet behind the ears.
These were the lightweights who knew not what they were doing, whose PR knowledge and expertise did not exceed their paper qualifications from some foreign universities.
Frankly, they were no match for practitioners with decades of on-the-ground experience, who knew the local industry like the back of their hands.
What really got to her most times was the fact that they balked at accepting professional advice from the very people they hired to do just that - advise them professionally.
She was so mentally exhausted that sometimes she just didn't feel like getting out of bed at all. Not wanting to go to work and earn one's daily bread was a dangerous state to be in, and she knew it.
Thankfully in Ashburn she found a sympathetic ear. It didn't really matter if he was doing his own bit of PR (who knows?) by gamely commiserating with her, either in the chatroom or over their endless teh tarik sessions. At least, outwardly, he showed that he cared.
The developing friendship naturally did not escape the eagle eyes of their chatroom buddies. There were good-natured ribbings all around whenever the two of them were in the chatroom together.
Whatever her innermost feelings insofar as Ashburn was concerned, her thoughts had yet to breach the normal boundary of relationship.
True, there was a hint of romance in the air, but there it remained - suspended and afloat in space.
Little did she realise this was where Ashburn and herself differed vastly. While she was in no rush to know where they were heading, he proved to be one man in a mighty big hurry.
It was late May and the evening air was cool to the touch when she settled herself comfortably, as always, in front of her desktop next to the open window.
The housework was done, the pile of office work that she brought home was finally taken care of, the cats were fed and the kids were watching TV. All was well with the world - or so she thought.
As usual, the chatroom was jam packed with chatters. It was one of the most popular local chatrooms at that point in time that entry had to be modulated to prevent system breakdown.
At its height, some 250 chatters crowded the room at any one time. One could hardly "hear' oneself, let alone focus one's attention to whatever that was being discussed.
One also needed nimble fingers and the ability to type very fast, or else one would be left far behind in chatdom, for there were multiple topics discussed at the same time, by different clusters.
She was thankful for her years of journalistic training, from the typewriter to the computer, for it had enabled her to pound the keyboards at a pretty decent speed.
Above the din, Ashburn beckoned. Distractedly, she joined in his chat with a few regulars. She had not gotten into her 'chat mode' yet. Usually it would take a few minutes for her to adjust to the surroundings and join the flow.
She did notice, however, that he wasn't quite his usual perky, gregarious self. His tone seemed somewhat subdued.
Suddenly the din and clamour mysteriously ceased. All chat stopped in their track and the room grew unusually quiet. She wondered why... until her eyes latched on Ashburn's last entry:
CAGE, WILL YOU MARRY ME?
Oh, for the love of God! She could feel the flush creeping up her face. All of a sudden, alone in front of a solitary computer, with a few cats for company, she felt exposed and stripped to the bone.
She, GildedCage, a loner in life who preferred feline to human company, who liked nothing better than anonymity and inconspicuousness, had been proposed to in a roomful of faceless entities; some friends and many strangers.
With the room suspended in motion, she felt lost beyond words. Jumbled thoughts raced through her mind: "Is this for real? He can't be serious, can he? What if he is? Hell, what am I to do?"
The words of her mother, uttered hardly a fortnight before, suddenly came flooding back. "Tak percaya tengoklah, jodoh awak dah sampai." Oh, Mak. Oh Mak. Is this it?
She was jolted out of her reverie when Ashburn repeated the question.
Scanning the list of chatters, she spied PalmGrower, a chatroom old timer in his 40s from Batu Pahat and one of their closest chat friends. "Help me out here Palmie, please," she pleaded, not knowing what else to say.
The good-natured Chinese man responded, "Hehehe, Cage. Only you can answer that question and you better think fast. He's waiting and so are we!"
Slowly, feeling both defeated yet exhilarated at the same time, she typed with trembling fingers, spelling out each alphabet as she did: YES ASH, I WILL.
MAY proved a busy month on both professional and personal fronts. Workwise, she hardly had time to breathe. While it was bad enough that her client was very demanding, she also had to contend with additional workload.
She learned from an equally harassed senior colleague that financial institutions had that irksome reputation. More often than not, they were both merciless and disdainful in dealing with agencies that served and serviced them.
While she had the patience of Solomon, there were times when she felt like lashing back, especially when given the third degree by those still wet behind the ears.
These were the lightweights who knew not what they were doing, whose PR knowledge and expertise did not exceed their paper qualifications from some foreign universities.
Frankly, they were no match for practitioners with decades of on-the-ground experience, who knew the local industry like the back of their hands.
What really got to her most times was the fact that they balked at accepting professional advice from the very people they hired to do just that - advise them professionally.
She was so mentally exhausted that sometimes she just didn't feel like getting out of bed at all. Not wanting to go to work and earn one's daily bread was a dangerous state to be in, and she knew it.
Thankfully in Ashburn she found a sympathetic ear. It didn't really matter if he was doing his own bit of PR (who knows?) by gamely commiserating with her, either in the chatroom or over their endless teh tarik sessions. At least, outwardly, he showed that he cared.
The developing friendship naturally did not escape the eagle eyes of their chatroom buddies. There were good-natured ribbings all around whenever the two of them were in the chatroom together.
Whatever her innermost feelings insofar as Ashburn was concerned, her thoughts had yet to breach the normal boundary of relationship.
True, there was a hint of romance in the air, but there it remained - suspended and afloat in space.
Little did she realise this was where Ashburn and herself differed vastly. While she was in no rush to know where they were heading, he proved to be one man in a mighty big hurry.
It was late May and the evening air was cool to the touch when she settled herself comfortably, as always, in front of her desktop next to the open window.
The housework was done, the pile of office work that she brought home was finally taken care of, the cats were fed and the kids were watching TV. All was well with the world - or so she thought.
As usual, the chatroom was jam packed with chatters. It was one of the most popular local chatrooms at that point in time that entry had to be modulated to prevent system breakdown.
At its height, some 250 chatters crowded the room at any one time. One could hardly "hear' oneself, let alone focus one's attention to whatever that was being discussed.
One also needed nimble fingers and the ability to type very fast, or else one would be left far behind in chatdom, for there were multiple topics discussed at the same time, by different clusters.
She was thankful for her years of journalistic training, from the typewriter to the computer, for it had enabled her to pound the keyboards at a pretty decent speed.
Above the din, Ashburn beckoned. Distractedly, she joined in his chat with a few regulars. She had not gotten into her 'chat mode' yet. Usually it would take a few minutes for her to adjust to the surroundings and join the flow.
She did notice, however, that he wasn't quite his usual perky, gregarious self. His tone seemed somewhat subdued.
Suddenly the din and clamour mysteriously ceased. All chat stopped in their track and the room grew unusually quiet. She wondered why... until her eyes latched on Ashburn's last entry:
CAGE, WILL YOU MARRY ME?
Oh, for the love of God! She could feel the flush creeping up her face. All of a sudden, alone in front of a solitary computer, with a few cats for company, she felt exposed and stripped to the bone.
She, GildedCage, a loner in life who preferred feline to human company, who liked nothing better than anonymity and inconspicuousness, had been proposed to in a roomful of faceless entities; some friends and many strangers.
With the room suspended in motion, she felt lost beyond words. Jumbled thoughts raced through her mind: "Is this for real? He can't be serious, can he? What if he is? Hell, what am I to do?"
The words of her mother, uttered hardly a fortnight before, suddenly came flooding back. "Tak percaya tengoklah, jodoh awak dah sampai." Oh, Mak. Oh Mak. Is this it?
She was jolted out of her reverie when Ashburn repeated the question.
Scanning the list of chatters, she spied PalmGrower, a chatroom old timer in his 40s from Batu Pahat and one of their closest chat friends. "Help me out here Palmie, please," she pleaded, not knowing what else to say.
The good-natured Chinese man responded, "Hehehe, Cage. Only you can answer that question and you better think fast. He's waiting and so are we!"
Slowly, feeling both defeated yet exhilarated at the same time, she typed with trembling fingers, spelling out each alphabet as she did: YES ASH, I WILL.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
When Love Comes A-Calling ( IV )
May 2001
SHE felt terribly guilty. It had been three days since her mother returned from performing the umrah (small haj) and she had yet to drop by her sister's house in Shah Alam to visit the old lady.
At the back of her mind she knew, if she kept deferring the visit, she might just miss Mak altogether, for the old lady was itching to return home to Dungun as soon as she could, to her flowerbeds and potted plants and the odd cat or two that always strayed into her compound.
At the office, work was piling up. The client was being particularly difficult - pickier and pettier than before - and as senior consultant, she had to bear the brunt of their frequent outbursts.
The pressure to deliver was also mounting that she sometimes felt like leaving consultancy work altogether. Perhaps she should return to the less challenging, definitely more manageable corporate PR.
As far as affair of the heart was concerned, she had not really given it much thought. The idea of taking the friendship with Ashburn to the next level wasn't in the works. At least not on her part.
Ashburn seemed a decent enough guy and she felt comfortable with him. They had known each other all of two months, so she wasn't going to lose sleep over anything. That just about summed it up.
She found him down-to-earth and likeable. She appreciated his humility despite the high perch he occupied in the corporate world prior to his early retirement to devote his time to golf.
She was also privy to some personal heartaches that he carried within him. Further, she knew he loved his three children (then in their late teens and early twenties) to bits (he spoke gushingly of them), although he had not spent time with them often enough.
It was during one of their frequent 'teh tarik' sessions that they discovered their paths had crossed once before, in London in the early months of 1976.
He was then 23, in his final semester at the University of Westminster, and due to graduate in mathematics and computer science in June.
She had recently turned 21, had been married for two years and had just given birth to a baby boy three months before at the University College Hospital in Euston Square.
Her studies had been put on hold due to her 'brought-forward' marriage and she had intended to continue it when they returned to Malaysia in due time.
[She married on the 100th day of her late father-in-law's death, to fulfil his final wish made the night before he was assassinated, that he wanted so much to see his eldest son wed and to receive his first daughter-in-law. Suffice to say her simple 'aqad' was a tearful occasion.]
They both had frequented Malaysia Hall in Bryanston Square for different reasons; he, to play table tennis with friends and she, to have her meals at the cafeteria while on weekend outings with her baby boy.
It was a marvel that they both remembered each other. He recalled a tall and fair, fresh-faced woman who looked too young to be a mother, yet she was. He told her that he often wondered the identity of the woman.
She recalled an unkempt student with owl glasses and torn jeans, always spending time at the pingpong table. She told him that he stuck to her mind because of his messy, nerdy appearance.
It was a Saturday when she finally made it to her sister's house in Shah Alam. Her mother wasn't in the best of health before going to Mecca - her knees were giving her trouble - but while in Holy Land she was able to walk and climb unaided. And she certainly looked fit after her return.
Her mother had always been firmly anchored, a woman of few words. But this time she just couldn't wait to relate her Mecca experiences to her eldest daughter.
"Mak ada benda penting nak cakap kat awak ni," she started in a rush. "Masa Mak panjat Jabal Rahmah* tu, Mak asyik terbayang muka awak aja. Mak rasa awak ni nak bertemu jodoh." The words came tumbling out, breathlessly.
["I have something important to tell you. While climbing the Jabal Rahmah, your image kept flashing in my mind. I think you are about to meet someone you will marry."]
She almost choked on her tea. Jodoh? Kawin? Who with? Who's talking matrimony?
"You've got to be kidding, Mak," she responded incredulously. "I have been single for so long I don't think I want to kawin anymore. Whatever for? I am 47! I don't have the urge to kawin. On top of that, I don't even have a calon (candidate) and I certainly don't know of anyone crazy enough to marry a decrepit old woman like me!"
But her mother was not to be denied. "Tak percaya tengoklah. Jodoh awak dah sampai," (wait and see if you don't believe me, for your time has arrived) said she adamantly, with such conviction that it sounded almost believeable.
That, well and truly had her feeling somewhat unsettled.
[Note: According to Tradition, Jabal Rahmah, also known as Mount of Mercy, situated in Arafat just outside Mecca, was the place where Adam and Eve were reunited after being thrown out of Paradise. Unmarried pilgrims usually say a prayer here asking for Divine intervention and blessing to find their life partner].
SHE felt terribly guilty. It had been three days since her mother returned from performing the umrah (small haj) and she had yet to drop by her sister's house in Shah Alam to visit the old lady.
At the back of her mind she knew, if she kept deferring the visit, she might just miss Mak altogether, for the old lady was itching to return home to Dungun as soon as she could, to her flowerbeds and potted plants and the odd cat or two that always strayed into her compound.
At the office, work was piling up. The client was being particularly difficult - pickier and pettier than before - and as senior consultant, she had to bear the brunt of their frequent outbursts.
The pressure to deliver was also mounting that she sometimes felt like leaving consultancy work altogether. Perhaps she should return to the less challenging, definitely more manageable corporate PR.
As far as affair of the heart was concerned, she had not really given it much thought. The idea of taking the friendship with Ashburn to the next level wasn't in the works. At least not on her part.
Ashburn seemed a decent enough guy and she felt comfortable with him. They had known each other all of two months, so she wasn't going to lose sleep over anything. That just about summed it up.
She found him down-to-earth and likeable. She appreciated his humility despite the high perch he occupied in the corporate world prior to his early retirement to devote his time to golf.
She was also privy to some personal heartaches that he carried within him. Further, she knew he loved his three children (then in their late teens and early twenties) to bits (he spoke gushingly of them), although he had not spent time with them often enough.
It was during one of their frequent 'teh tarik' sessions that they discovered their paths had crossed once before, in London in the early months of 1976.
He was then 23, in his final semester at the University of Westminster, and due to graduate in mathematics and computer science in June.
She had recently turned 21, had been married for two years and had just given birth to a baby boy three months before at the University College Hospital in Euston Square.
Her studies had been put on hold due to her 'brought-forward' marriage and she had intended to continue it when they returned to Malaysia in due time.
[She married on the 100th day of her late father-in-law's death, to fulfil his final wish made the night before he was assassinated, that he wanted so much to see his eldest son wed and to receive his first daughter-in-law. Suffice to say her simple 'aqad' was a tearful occasion.]
They both had frequented Malaysia Hall in Bryanston Square for different reasons; he, to play table tennis with friends and she, to have her meals at the cafeteria while on weekend outings with her baby boy.
It was a marvel that they both remembered each other. He recalled a tall and fair, fresh-faced woman who looked too young to be a mother, yet she was. He told her that he often wondered the identity of the woman.
She recalled an unkempt student with owl glasses and torn jeans, always spending time at the pingpong table. She told him that he stuck to her mind because of his messy, nerdy appearance.
It was a Saturday when she finally made it to her sister's house in Shah Alam. Her mother wasn't in the best of health before going to Mecca - her knees were giving her trouble - but while in Holy Land she was able to walk and climb unaided. And she certainly looked fit after her return.
Her mother had always been firmly anchored, a woman of few words. But this time she just couldn't wait to relate her Mecca experiences to her eldest daughter.
"Mak ada benda penting nak cakap kat awak ni," she started in a rush. "Masa Mak panjat Jabal Rahmah* tu, Mak asyik terbayang muka awak aja. Mak rasa awak ni nak bertemu jodoh." The words came tumbling out, breathlessly.
["I have something important to tell you. While climbing the Jabal Rahmah, your image kept flashing in my mind. I think you are about to meet someone you will marry."]
She almost choked on her tea. Jodoh? Kawin? Who with? Who's talking matrimony?
"You've got to be kidding, Mak," she responded incredulously. "I have been single for so long I don't think I want to kawin anymore. Whatever for? I am 47! I don't have the urge to kawin. On top of that, I don't even have a calon (candidate) and I certainly don't know of anyone crazy enough to marry a decrepit old woman like me!"
But her mother was not to be denied. "Tak percaya tengoklah. Jodoh awak dah sampai," (wait and see if you don't believe me, for your time has arrived) said she adamantly, with such conviction that it sounded almost believeable.
That, well and truly had her feeling somewhat unsettled.
[Note: According to Tradition, Jabal Rahmah, also known as Mount of Mercy, situated in Arafat just outside Mecca, was the place where Adam and Eve were reunited after being thrown out of Paradise. Unmarried pilgrims usually say a prayer here asking for Divine intervention and blessing to find their life partner].
Saturday, October 4, 2008
When Love Comes A-Calling ( III )
March 2001
SHE replaced the phone in dismay. The invitation to lunch had put her in a quandary. While she still had reservations about meeting fellow chatters in person, declining it proved tiresome because they flatly refused to take no for an answer.
Alcan, TigerWoods, Maxine, MarineSWS, Trixi, Bruno, PrivateEye, Natasha, Beatrice, Jolene, MadFarmer, JustMe, Hansolo, HotSucculentLips, ImprovedFiddle, Babelicious, Chinapek, Snowy, Miki, RetiredGigolo, KenSlowhand, Tee-Moon, Drakkar Dynamic, Ghost, WolfgangAmadeusMozart a.k.a.WAM - to name but a few - their fanciful nicks rolled off her tongue with ease.
The sense of camaraderie was palpable and she felt it. What they had in that room was exceptional; sparkling wit and innuendos, witty repartees and lively bantering, delicious one-liners and droll put-downs. She was amongst strangers, yet felt so belonged.
In the end, she decided to throw caution to the winds. What the heck, she could cope with losing the GildedCage mystique. If they had no qualms about revealing their true identity, then she would have no reason to worry about making known hers.
The lunch at Madam Kwan's in KLCC was a real eye opener for her. She suddenly realised she had been trading off-colour jokes and friendly insults with a motley band of men and women who, in their everyday skin, were as different from their chatroom persona as chalk and cheese.
Dour-looking managing directors and straight-faced CEOs, voluble lawyers and teachers, doctors, engineers, architects, business owners, a landscape designer, a Ministry's departmental head, a florist, a freight forwarder, a couple of titled personalities, an assortment of personnel in differing industries - these were the people she had been having so much fun with in the room.
Some of them were at the lunch. They chatted, in person this time, amiably over noodles and coffee. The atmosphere was relaxing. But where was Ashburn?
The lawyer nicknamed Natasha (Nat) suddenly sidled up to her, mobile phone in hand. "Here, Cage. Someone's on the line for you and he's pretty pissed too, ha ha ha ...."
It was Ashburn and he was enroute to Johore Bahru. "These people are too much, " he whined. "They purposely didn't tell me they had organised a luncheon to meet up with you, or else I would have rescheduled my meeting."
They exchanged pleasantries and he extracted a promise from her to meet some time in the coming weeks. She was surprised at the relative ease of their conversation; it was as though they were old friends who had known each other for years and had met a hundred times since.
April 2001
It was the chatroom's first ever dinner and dance, a black tie affair that had her stomach in knots for days prior to the event.
She had never been one for socialising and didn't like going out at night. In fact, she always tried to wriggle herself free from having to attend functions and events unless they were client-related.
But this was different. She was finally going to meet Ashburn face to face and she didn't have a clue of what to expect. One thing for sure; she would not recognise him from Adam. All of a sudden she felt very apprehensive.
She did the usual pre-'special evening' routine (not that there were many) - shopping for a new dress and a new pair of shoes. She even got herself a new hairdo. At times she felt like a blathering idiot. The kids weren't helping, of course. They were full of mirth at their mother's unusual predicament.
She tried to calm herself down by imagining him having his own litany of woes. He must be worried about the odd uban (grey hair) or two, she thought (surely he must have some, at 49!) The guy was no spring chicken himself, after all.
She got to the hotel ballroom on time and settled herself in, making light conversation with fellow chatters she already knew from the luncheon the month before. Chatter Nat came around to inform Ashburn had yet to arrive.
"Cage, that guy is perpetually late. He is never punctual for any of our gatherings. He takes his own sweet time. I'll let you know when he saunters in." Oh, So he was one tardy fellow. This didn't look good. She was a stickler for punctuality.
Soon enough, the big man arrived and was warmly greeted by fellow chatters. Nat came around once again and whispered: "There, that's your muse, Ashburn."
She stole a quick look from her corner at the new arrival. Hmm, he didn't look too bad. He stood there, right at the back of the hall with his back against the wall, scanning the ballroom for an unfamiliar face - hers.
She knew he didn't have a clue of what he was looking for. They had never met and he didn't know her from the proverbial Eve. He spent a good 10 minutes observing before finally taking his seat.
Nat once again sidled up to her side. "Oi Cage, take that fellow out of his misery lah. He was trying to figure out which one is you. He won't be able to, for sure. So be a darling and go introduce yourself."
Sighing, she stood up and took measured steps to the far end of the hall for her moment of truth. Upon reaching the back of his chair, she held out her hand and said: "Hi, I am GildedCage and you must be Ashburn. Nice to meet you."
He turned around, startled, and immediately stood up. They were of the same height and she was staring into his face. He gave her a once-over, his smile breaking into a wide grin. Then he cheekily drawled: "Hello there! Hmmmmm.... I like what I see!" They both burst out laughing.....
SHE replaced the phone in dismay. The invitation to lunch had put her in a quandary. While she still had reservations about meeting fellow chatters in person, declining it proved tiresome because they flatly refused to take no for an answer.
Alcan, TigerWoods, Maxine, MarineSWS, Trixi, Bruno, PrivateEye, Natasha, Beatrice, Jolene, MadFarmer, JustMe, Hansolo, HotSucculentLips, ImprovedFiddle, Babelicious, Chinapek, Snowy, Miki, RetiredGigolo, KenSlowhand, Tee-Moon, Drakkar Dynamic, Ghost, WolfgangAmadeusMozart a.k.a.WAM - to name but a few - their fanciful nicks rolled off her tongue with ease.
The sense of camaraderie was palpable and she felt it. What they had in that room was exceptional; sparkling wit and innuendos, witty repartees and lively bantering, delicious one-liners and droll put-downs. She was amongst strangers, yet felt so belonged.
In the end, she decided to throw caution to the winds. What the heck, she could cope with losing the GildedCage mystique. If they had no qualms about revealing their true identity, then she would have no reason to worry about making known hers.
The lunch at Madam Kwan's in KLCC was a real eye opener for her. She suddenly realised she had been trading off-colour jokes and friendly insults with a motley band of men and women who, in their everyday skin, were as different from their chatroom persona as chalk and cheese.
Dour-looking managing directors and straight-faced CEOs, voluble lawyers and teachers, doctors, engineers, architects, business owners, a landscape designer, a Ministry's departmental head, a florist, a freight forwarder, a couple of titled personalities, an assortment of personnel in differing industries - these were the people she had been having so much fun with in the room.
Some of them were at the lunch. They chatted, in person this time, amiably over noodles and coffee. The atmosphere was relaxing. But where was Ashburn?
The lawyer nicknamed Natasha (Nat) suddenly sidled up to her, mobile phone in hand. "Here, Cage. Someone's on the line for you and he's pretty pissed too, ha ha ha ...."
It was Ashburn and he was enroute to Johore Bahru. "These people are too much, " he whined. "They purposely didn't tell me they had organised a luncheon to meet up with you, or else I would have rescheduled my meeting."
They exchanged pleasantries and he extracted a promise from her to meet some time in the coming weeks. She was surprised at the relative ease of their conversation; it was as though they were old friends who had known each other for years and had met a hundred times since.
April 2001
It was the chatroom's first ever dinner and dance, a black tie affair that had her stomach in knots for days prior to the event.
She had never been one for socialising and didn't like going out at night. In fact, she always tried to wriggle herself free from having to attend functions and events unless they were client-related.
But this was different. She was finally going to meet Ashburn face to face and she didn't have a clue of what to expect. One thing for sure; she would not recognise him from Adam. All of a sudden she felt very apprehensive.
She did the usual pre-'special evening' routine (not that there were many) - shopping for a new dress and a new pair of shoes. She even got herself a new hairdo. At times she felt like a blathering idiot. The kids weren't helping, of course. They were full of mirth at their mother's unusual predicament.
She tried to calm herself down by imagining him having his own litany of woes. He must be worried about the odd uban (grey hair) or two, she thought (surely he must have some, at 49!) The guy was no spring chicken himself, after all.
She got to the hotel ballroom on time and settled herself in, making light conversation with fellow chatters she already knew from the luncheon the month before. Chatter Nat came around to inform Ashburn had yet to arrive.
"Cage, that guy is perpetually late. He is never punctual for any of our gatherings. He takes his own sweet time. I'll let you know when he saunters in." Oh, So he was one tardy fellow. This didn't look good. She was a stickler for punctuality.
Soon enough, the big man arrived and was warmly greeted by fellow chatters. Nat came around once again and whispered: "There, that's your muse, Ashburn."
She stole a quick look from her corner at the new arrival. Hmm, he didn't look too bad. He stood there, right at the back of the hall with his back against the wall, scanning the ballroom for an unfamiliar face - hers.
She knew he didn't have a clue of what he was looking for. They had never met and he didn't know her from the proverbial Eve. He spent a good 10 minutes observing before finally taking his seat.
Nat once again sidled up to her side. "Oi Cage, take that fellow out of his misery lah. He was trying to figure out which one is you. He won't be able to, for sure. So be a darling and go introduce yourself."
Sighing, she stood up and took measured steps to the far end of the hall for her moment of truth. Upon reaching the back of his chair, she held out her hand and said: "Hi, I am GildedCage and you must be Ashburn. Nice to meet you."
He turned around, startled, and immediately stood up. They were of the same height and she was staring into his face. He gave her a once-over, his smile breaking into a wide grin. Then he cheekily drawled: "Hello there! Hmmmmm.... I like what I see!" They both burst out laughing.....
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Pak Abu's Karaoke Raya
This is what happens when karaoke kakis get together. Syed (left) and bachelor boy Affendi (right)
slugging it out in a competition.
Pak Abu is referee..
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Never Say Never - An Interlude
YOU know what they say about saying 'never'. While all's fair in love, never ever say 'never', for it tempts Fate. Stick to a non-committal 'maybe' or 'perhaps' or even "que sera sera".
If you want to add an element of drama to it, you can always mutter under your breath, with the appropriate facial expression, of course: "I don't know if I can ever love again".
Not only it sounds dramatic enough, it may also spare you the embarrassment should a knight in shining armour arrive sooner than expected and sweep you off your feet.
At least you can blame Fate. "Dah takdir" (it's fated) or "Dah jodoh" (we're meant for each other), or "Bukan aku cari!" (I didn't go looking for him!"), also with the appropriate facial expression, of course. A hang-dog look wouldn't go amiss here.
I've had girlfriends who, in the aftermath of a broken love affair, tearfully proclaimed to all and sundry that they would never ever trust another man for as long as they live, only to see them hanging on the arms of a new beau before the tears run dry.
What's the deal here? I asked. "So that I can dump him before he dumps me like the last one did," said one. "Oh, it's just lust!" proclaimed another. Whoa!
And then there are those who lament: "I'll never fall in love again. All men are good-for-nothing SOBs. Beasts!" I'm afraid this is where Fate is tempted the most.
More often than not, Fate would wickedly manoeuvre these hapless women into falling in love, again and again, with nothing but beastly SOBs.
Don't say you have not been warned...
If you want to add an element of drama to it, you can always mutter under your breath, with the appropriate facial expression, of course: "I don't know if I can ever love again".
Not only it sounds dramatic enough, it may also spare you the embarrassment should a knight in shining armour arrive sooner than expected and sweep you off your feet.
At least you can blame Fate. "Dah takdir" (it's fated) or "Dah jodoh" (we're meant for each other), or "Bukan aku cari!" (I didn't go looking for him!"), also with the appropriate facial expression, of course. A hang-dog look wouldn't go amiss here.
I've had girlfriends who, in the aftermath of a broken love affair, tearfully proclaimed to all and sundry that they would never ever trust another man for as long as they live, only to see them hanging on the arms of a new beau before the tears run dry.
What's the deal here? I asked. "So that I can dump him before he dumps me like the last one did," said one. "Oh, it's just lust!" proclaimed another. Whoa!
And then there are those who lament: "I'll never fall in love again. All men are good-for-nothing SOBs. Beasts!" I'm afraid this is where Fate is tempted the most.
More often than not, Fate would wickedly manoeuvre these hapless women into falling in love, again and again, with nothing but beastly SOBs.
Don't say you have not been warned...
Selamat Hari Raya Aidil Fitri
Sunday, September 28, 2008
When Love Comes A-Calling ( II )
What are the odds of meeting your soulmate in an Internet chatroom, only to discover he is a silent voice from your distant past? You do the maths. For chatter GildedCage, it's already a done deal.
Seven years have passed since that fateful evening when GildedCage ('Cage' to her chat buddies) and fellow chatter Ashburn virtually met. It was a chance meeting that would ultimately take them down the road to matrimony. Yet the wonder of it all has never really sunk in for her and she doesn't even know if it ever will.
February 2001
She was such a klutz in dealing with all things electrical and mechanical and now she had just added the Internet to a long list of gizmos she kept a wary distance from.
She could never fully comprehend the functionalities of her DVD player, camera, handphone, convection and microwave ovens, remote control panels, or anything with multiple buttons on them. She got confused easily.
The Internet was a recent addition to her life. Of course she had known of its existence for a while. In fact, part of her had wanted to explore this new avenue everyone was excited about, but she was afraid of getting lost in the maze.
But since her appointment as editor of her NGO's weekly newsletter, she had no choice but to chalk up the miles on the new information highway. The said NGO was foreign-based and in more ways than one Net-dependent, so she had to go with the flow.
Soon her children realised a new word had crept into their mother's vocabulary - chatting. Mum had apparently discovered a chatroom while riding the Net waves, and went into it with the fervour of a religious fanatic.
While they were happy she had found a new hobby, they weren't so thrilled about her hogging the computer to chat with her newfound friends.
But seeing the changes in her - it was as though she had just awoken from a long, deep slumber - they decided perhaps chatting was her scene, after all.
It was on one of those quiet nights while chatting with her regular 'kakis' in the chatroom that she saw an unfamiliar nickname entering and being greeted with a raucous welcome by her new friends.
Obviously a room old-timer and a he, judging by the nick 'Ashburn' (then again you could never tell in this virtual world), he was warmly introduced to her by a fellow chatter.
She was riveted by the nick 'Ashburn', translated into Abu Bakar (although she learned much later that he was neither Abu nor Bakar), because Abu Bakar was the name of her father who had passed away just three months before.
In the presence of an obvious chatroom supremo, the newbie chatter in her felt somewhat intimidated, so she quietly retreated to her corner to observe the good-natured banterings amongst them.
Soon enough, he graciously manoeuvred her back into the room's chatflow, for which she was thankful. It wasn't fun feeling like a wallflower in a roomful of party revellers.
And so it was; they met virtually most nights to chat and share views about everything under the sun. They found a common interest in reading and singing and spent hours discussing books and songs.
She learned he was into golf, Herman Hesse, Dean Koontz, Stephen King and swing bands - in that order. He learned she couldn't have enough of true-crime whodunits, was a diehard fan of crime writer Ann Rule, devoured autobiographies like there was no tomorrow, and that she loved the ballads of Anne Murray and Karen Carpenter.
She found the friendship comfortable. It was akin to slipping into a pair of worn loafers, a perfect fit. She had some unsolicited details of his life, courtesy of those chatters who knew him personally and had met him. By the same token, she told him a bit about herself; not much, just enough to keep the friendship on an even keel.
While she found him smart, well-schooled and intriguing, she had no desire to meet him, nor anyone else from the chatroom for that matter. She drew a line at knowing them in the flesh because she wanted to keep the illusion intact....
Seven years have passed since that fateful evening when GildedCage ('Cage' to her chat buddies) and fellow chatter Ashburn virtually met. It was a chance meeting that would ultimately take them down the road to matrimony. Yet the wonder of it all has never really sunk in for her and she doesn't even know if it ever will.
February 2001
She was such a klutz in dealing with all things electrical and mechanical and now she had just added the Internet to a long list of gizmos she kept a wary distance from.
She could never fully comprehend the functionalities of her DVD player, camera, handphone, convection and microwave ovens, remote control panels, or anything with multiple buttons on them. She got confused easily.
The Internet was a recent addition to her life. Of course she had known of its existence for a while. In fact, part of her had wanted to explore this new avenue everyone was excited about, but she was afraid of getting lost in the maze.
But since her appointment as editor of her NGO's weekly newsletter, she had no choice but to chalk up the miles on the new information highway. The said NGO was foreign-based and in more ways than one Net-dependent, so she had to go with the flow.
Soon her children realised a new word had crept into their mother's vocabulary - chatting. Mum had apparently discovered a chatroom while riding the Net waves, and went into it with the fervour of a religious fanatic.
While they were happy she had found a new hobby, they weren't so thrilled about her hogging the computer to chat with her newfound friends.
But seeing the changes in her - it was as though she had just awoken from a long, deep slumber - they decided perhaps chatting was her scene, after all.
It was on one of those quiet nights while chatting with her regular 'kakis' in the chatroom that she saw an unfamiliar nickname entering and being greeted with a raucous welcome by her new friends.
Obviously a room old-timer and a he, judging by the nick 'Ashburn' (then again you could never tell in this virtual world), he was warmly introduced to her by a fellow chatter.
She was riveted by the nick 'Ashburn', translated into Abu Bakar (although she learned much later that he was neither Abu nor Bakar), because Abu Bakar was the name of her father who had passed away just three months before.
In the presence of an obvious chatroom supremo, the newbie chatter in her felt somewhat intimidated, so she quietly retreated to her corner to observe the good-natured banterings amongst them.
Soon enough, he graciously manoeuvred her back into the room's chatflow, for which she was thankful. It wasn't fun feeling like a wallflower in a roomful of party revellers.
And so it was; they met virtually most nights to chat and share views about everything under the sun. They found a common interest in reading and singing and spent hours discussing books and songs.
She learned he was into golf, Herman Hesse, Dean Koontz, Stephen King and swing bands - in that order. He learned she couldn't have enough of true-crime whodunits, was a diehard fan of crime writer Ann Rule, devoured autobiographies like there was no tomorrow, and that she loved the ballads of Anne Murray and Karen Carpenter.
She found the friendship comfortable. It was akin to slipping into a pair of worn loafers, a perfect fit. She had some unsolicited details of his life, courtesy of those chatters who knew him personally and had met him. By the same token, she told him a bit about herself; not much, just enough to keep the friendship on an even keel.
While she found him smart, well-schooled and intriguing, she had no desire to meet him, nor anyone else from the chatroom for that matter. She drew a line at knowing them in the flesh because she wanted to keep the illusion intact....
Saturday, September 27, 2008
When Love Comes A-Calling ( 1 )
THE year was 2001. Fourteen long years had passed since her big 'D' in 1987. The four children whom she had raised single-handedly had grown into adulthood. Three had joined the workforce while the fourth was on the threshold of college.
Life couldn't have been sweeter, for her labour of love had begun to bear fruit. She knew she had made the right decision not to remarry. She had the children with her and in the final analysis, that was what counted. Nothing else mattered.
The small but thriving public relations consultancy she had so lovingly built and nurtured since 1990 upon leaving journalism, unfortunately didn't have the strength to withstand the onslaught of the 1997 financial crisis. It buckled under a pile of debts and collapsed.
Undaunted, she sold off her house, well below market price too for times were bad, to pay off creditors. It was back to ground zero for her, having to start all over again, this time poorer than the proverbial church mouse. Yet she remained upbeat for she had always been the kind of woman resilient in the face of adversity. It wasn't for her to brood or indulge in self-pity. What good could that possibly do?
"Ya Allah, I leave my fate in your hand for you know what's best for me. Guide me, light my way, Ya Allah, for you are the All-Knowing." That was her consistent prayer.
Her business might not have lasted but she was extremely proud of her achievements, limited as they were, for wasn't it the fruit of that labour that put food on the table and those kids through college? Ever an optimist, her glass was never half empty.
The dawn of 2001 saw her in the rat race once again, as senior consultant in an established public relations outfit somewhere in Petaling Jaya. She was back in her element, writing copiously for a financial institution client.
As always, her social life was non-existent. Well, almost. A loner by nature, she had always preferred feline to human company. Besides her children, those rescued strays, their numbers fluctuating every so often, were her pride and joy.
And then there was her weekly commitment to an NGO that she joined four years before. She was a born volunteer, taking after her late grandmother, and the organisation was her platform to do her bit for the betterment of her community.
Money she didn't have much but spunk she had plenty. She had never forgotten the bad times; she knew exactly what it was like to be at the receiving end of someone else's kindness. It was time for her to return the favour. And returned it she did, many times over.
Life couldn't have been sweeter, for her labour of love had begun to bear fruit. She knew she had made the right decision not to remarry. She had the children with her and in the final analysis, that was what counted. Nothing else mattered.
The small but thriving public relations consultancy she had so lovingly built and nurtured since 1990 upon leaving journalism, unfortunately didn't have the strength to withstand the onslaught of the 1997 financial crisis. It buckled under a pile of debts and collapsed.
Undaunted, she sold off her house, well below market price too for times were bad, to pay off creditors. It was back to ground zero for her, having to start all over again, this time poorer than the proverbial church mouse. Yet she remained upbeat for she had always been the kind of woman resilient in the face of adversity. It wasn't for her to brood or indulge in self-pity. What good could that possibly do?
"Ya Allah, I leave my fate in your hand for you know what's best for me. Guide me, light my way, Ya Allah, for you are the All-Knowing." That was her consistent prayer.
Her business might not have lasted but she was extremely proud of her achievements, limited as they were, for wasn't it the fruit of that labour that put food on the table and those kids through college? Ever an optimist, her glass was never half empty.
The dawn of 2001 saw her in the rat race once again, as senior consultant in an established public relations outfit somewhere in Petaling Jaya. She was back in her element, writing copiously for a financial institution client.
As always, her social life was non-existent. Well, almost. A loner by nature, she had always preferred feline to human company. Besides her children, those rescued strays, their numbers fluctuating every so often, were her pride and joy.
And then there was her weekly commitment to an NGO that she joined four years before. She was a born volunteer, taking after her late grandmother, and the organisation was her platform to do her bit for the betterment of her community.
Money she didn't have much but spunk she had plenty. She had never forgotten the bad times; she knew exactly what it was like to be at the receiving end of someone else's kindness. It was time for her to return the favour. And returned it she did, many times over.
Many a times too she reflected, in her moments of solitude, how difficult and heartbreaking it was for a single mother like her to live life decently, given the stigma and deep-rooted prejudices of a society partial to her kind.
One thing for sure, though; she had long ago decided never to let the narrow-mindedness of a select few dampen her joie de vivre, her joy of living, of life.
Such was the situation in the early days of 2001. The future looked rosy, there was light at the end of the tunnel after all....
Friday, September 26, 2008
The Elviza Writing Writuals Tag II
the odd, sentimental piece - a gift of love
views from my study
God knows I don't deserve any praise nor tag with my haphazard writing and spasmodic, disjointed thoughts. Elviza, you are too kind. The only mitigation I can offer is that they are written from the heart, if that is of any consolation. Here goes..
Q1. Where are you?
In my study which doubles up as my private sanctuary. There's a window to my left, with an unappealing view of Taman Tun rooftops. Looking down, I can see the swimming pool, the wading pool, the tennis court and the two badminton courts.
Q2. What are you writing with?
I no longer own a single, decent writing instrument. There was a time when I was the proud owner of several rather pricey ones with colourful, fancy designs (all of them Waterman, my favourite brand), including a Mont Blanc which was a gift from a daughter. But I lost them all due to carelessness and negligence.
There are a few 'el cheapo' ballpoint pens, freebie pens and a whole stack of 2B pencils, in an unused porcelain mug in its new role as a pen receptacle, on my Ikea-purchased working table. And I keep two Stabilo ballpoint pens (RM4 each) in my handbag for signing purposes.
Q3. What is the oddest object in front of you?
A fancy-looking porcelain table clock, with the etching of a duck wearing a grey bonnet tied with a blue ribbon, and pushing a flower-laden wheelbarrow. There's a yellow duckling standing by the side of the wheelbarrow. The clock, still in working condition, is about 15 years old and badly chipped in places. But it is not going anywhere because it is a gift from a daughter.
Q4. What are you listening to?
Usually the sound of silence because noise distracts. When squeals of laughter from the kiddie pool reach up to my room, I'd close the window and switch on the air-cond. But right now, it's the distant drone of the morning traffic.
Q5. Is there anyone else in the room?
No, no one comes near when I am at the laptop. But I miss feline company oh so very much when I write. In my pre-condo days, the cats would clamber all over me for the best spot to curl up and sleep while I work.
Q6. What time of the day is it?
Dawn is my hour. Words tumble fast and furious in the morning and my train of thoughts doesn't get derailed easily.
Q7. What do you do when you are looking for inspiration?
Old photographs, letters and cards. Sometimes I'd rummage through my book collection for ideas.
Q8. What is guaranteed to remove your concentration?
Any unanticipated show of affection; a sudden peck on the cheek or a gentle squeeze of the shoulders is enough to shatter my peace and solitude, but who's complaining?
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