People! People!
I am seeing drafts here that were never posted onto the blog. Something about a little mishap with an Iphone?
Don't chicken out you all!
I've posted in some really sad stuff...did I regret it?
He he he YES.
Go figure.
Nina Bobs
Saturday, March 28, 2009
A conversation overheard.
My husband is not a great story teller. We've discussed this many a times. We've even fought about it. And on the rare occasion I have actually sulked from sheer frustration.
He likes to dive into a story right in the middle of it. Forget an introduction to the whole thing, forget looking forward to a scintillating sketch of each of the character in the story. Expect to be served the plot (you wouldnt even realise you were in the middle of the plot, so busy are you trying to figure out the story), anticipate a possible lack of climax and certainly expect to have a puzzled expression on your face at the end of it.
He tells me,well he retorted rather, that my inability to follow his story is because my electric circuit up there is not quite what it is supposed to be. You know...my brain cells are a lacking. How dare he...
Unfortunately, on days when I need the story to be told quickly and succintly I would stop him the minute I realise that he was already on the plot. Gestapo style, I would ask, "Who's A? Who's B? or even "How many people are there involved in this story? Since he said this, then he said that, then he said the other thing. Not sure if it is a 'one' he or a three 'hes'. He would get so peeved, but to his credit he would take up the challenge to tell the story better.
I had an amusing night tonight.
I was not in the mood for a chat because Kim and Hidayah were stealing sips from my specially ordered Iced Lemon Tea. Hidayah had just returned home after attending a summer fashion show. While I was mooching about on the couch, I overheard their conversation. Fortunately, both of them were at the same level - fashion show being the big clue.
Now keep in mind that my husband is not the best of story teller, and that my sister tends to get rather lost when the plot gets too complicated.
Kim: You know fashion designers make a lot of money, Hidayah."
Dayah: Hmm oh yeah? How do you mean?
Kim: Yves Saint Laurent's boyfriend just sold a painting. Paid a lot of money for it.He was really good at buying paintings.
Dayah: You mean YSL? How did he buy? (she didn't dare say 'Yves Saint Laurent - pronounciation phobia if you catch my drift).
Kim: No, he was good at spotting a deal.
Dayah: The boyfriend?
Kim: Like Pablo Picasso would give him a painting. He knew so many people.
Dayah: He had a boyfriend?
Hello people, are we on the same page here?
Unlike Elvis I couldnt leave the building so I listened on while the conversation tapered off to a new topic.
Dayah: Do you think they're happy?
Kim: Who? (Good boy...better clarify the characters)
Dayah: The designers.
Kim: I think Tom Ford is happy.
Me: Who is he?
Kim: He's very famous.
Me and Dayah exchanging looks. Have no idea who this 'very' famous person is. Conceited ignoramuses that we are.
Conversation goes on,
Kim: Balmain designed for the Queen of Thailand.
Dayah: Oh yeah?
Kim: You know Balmain?
Dayah: What's that?
Kim: The French house. And they have this Danish guy, Eric Mortensen. He's from Flat Fish.
Dayah: I thought it was French? He sounded French.
Kim: No. Yes. Balmain is French. But this Danish guy, he works there.
Dayah: He did?
Kim: Balmain is the house you know. There are people working there.
I gave up stifling my laughter and laughed my head off!!!
Lesson learnt. Evidently, Kim now realises that he is not Scheherazade. And it seems that Hidayah's confidence in her brain cells oxygenation was clearly shaken from this little conversation with Kim.
As for me, after re-reading what I wrote so haphazardly - I've got to scratch my head and confess, I'm no Enid Blyton either.
P.S. Since this is very revealing of my two beloved ones characters, I had to seek permission before publishing such an intimate memoir. Both, gave me the go-ahead.
He likes to dive into a story right in the middle of it. Forget an introduction to the whole thing, forget looking forward to a scintillating sketch of each of the character in the story. Expect to be served the plot (you wouldnt even realise you were in the middle of the plot, so busy are you trying to figure out the story), anticipate a possible lack of climax and certainly expect to have a puzzled expression on your face at the end of it.
He tells me,well he retorted rather, that my inability to follow his story is because my electric circuit up there is not quite what it is supposed to be. You know...my brain cells are a lacking. How dare he...
Unfortunately, on days when I need the story to be told quickly and succintly I would stop him the minute I realise that he was already on the plot. Gestapo style, I would ask, "Who's A? Who's B? or even "How many people are there involved in this story? Since he said this, then he said that, then he said the other thing. Not sure if it is a 'one' he or a three 'hes'. He would get so peeved, but to his credit he would take up the challenge to tell the story better.
I had an amusing night tonight.
I was not in the mood for a chat because Kim and Hidayah were stealing sips from my specially ordered Iced Lemon Tea. Hidayah had just returned home after attending a summer fashion show. While I was mooching about on the couch, I overheard their conversation. Fortunately, both of them were at the same level - fashion show being the big clue.
Now keep in mind that my husband is not the best of story teller, and that my sister tends to get rather lost when the plot gets too complicated.
Kim: You know fashion designers make a lot of money, Hidayah."
Dayah: Hmm oh yeah? How do you mean?
Kim: Yves Saint Laurent's boyfriend just sold a painting. Paid a lot of money for it.He was really good at buying paintings.
Dayah: You mean YSL? How did he buy? (she didn't dare say 'Yves Saint Laurent - pronounciation phobia if you catch my drift).
Kim: No, he was good at spotting a deal.
Dayah: The boyfriend?
Kim: Like Pablo Picasso would give him a painting. He knew so many people.
Dayah: He had a boyfriend?
Hello people, are we on the same page here?
Unlike Elvis I couldnt leave the building so I listened on while the conversation tapered off to a new topic.
Dayah: Do you think they're happy?
Kim: Who? (Good boy...better clarify the characters)
Dayah: The designers.
Kim: I think Tom Ford is happy.
Me: Who is he?
Kim: He's very famous.
Me and Dayah exchanging looks. Have no idea who this 'very' famous person is. Conceited ignoramuses that we are.
Conversation goes on,
Kim: Balmain designed for the Queen of Thailand.
Dayah: Oh yeah?
Kim: You know Balmain?
Dayah: What's that?
Kim: The French house. And they have this Danish guy, Eric Mortensen. He's from Flat Fish.
Dayah: I thought it was French? He sounded French.
Kim: No. Yes. Balmain is French. But this Danish guy, he works there.
Dayah: He did?
Kim: Balmain is the house you know. There are people working there.
I gave up stifling my laughter and laughed my head off!!!
Lesson learnt. Evidently, Kim now realises that he is not Scheherazade. And it seems that Hidayah's confidence in her brain cells oxygenation was clearly shaken from this little conversation with Kim.
As for me, after re-reading what I wrote so haphazardly - I've got to scratch my head and confess, I'm no Enid Blyton either.
P.S. Since this is very revealing of my two beloved ones characters, I had to seek permission before publishing such an intimate memoir. Both, gave me the go-ahead.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Lyttle Times
Hi everybody
It's me again... and i have created a new blogger of my family - http://lyttletimes.blogspot.com/ it's a bit rough and since you guys still use the blogger from time to time, I might as well create one to pen my thoughts to it.
Julia xx
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Alena, Muslims are violent because of Islam.
Hi all, a conversation with a Danish neighbour of mine started this off. I would like to post it on my Facebook under 'Notes', but do you think my argument is utter rubbish?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He said to me, “I strongly dislike the Chinese, and I have to tell you, Alena, that I feel the same way about the Islamic faith. It’s because of this violent faith that the Muslims are like that.”
I couldn’t put my thoughts together as I digested this statement in those fleeting seconds. But as I gathered my wits, it was on the tip of my tongue to ask him, “And what do you know of the Islamic faith?” But I didn’t do this.
He started me thinking though this friend of mine.
His hypothesis is that because these violent people are Muslims and are adherents of the Islamic faith, it is therefore valid to state that there is a valid causal relationship between the Islamic faith and violent Muslims. How valid is this?
Let me put it this way, can I say that the American white supremacist movements find its most passionate followers from the Christian white population residing within the American Bible belt region. Therefore, I will simply conclude that Christianity is the source of this value? Would this be valid?
Fortunately, I know a little bit more about Christianity than my dear friend does of Islam. I know that many call themselves Christians and are far from being white. I also know that many white Christians would find such a value abhorrent. But most importantly, I know that the Bible doesn’t teach Christians such racist values. So inadvertently you would never find my coming to such a simplistic and may I say, dangerous, conclusion.
How about this?
Let’s take a look at three countries with the largest population of Muslims in the world, Indonesia, Pakistan and India. Historically, have they been mired in poverty? What of literacy rates? Highly educated population? How about economic stability and prosperity? What of political strife? Corruption and bribery?
Let’s also not ignore the fact that many Muslim countries despite their poverty are also repositories of immense natural resources (more of a curse than a blessing?). Oil in Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Iran, Brunei, Nigeria, Indonesia, Malaysia just to name a few, and that too only in one resource.
Could it be possible that there exists a valid causal relationship between increased propensity for conflicts in places rich with natural resources? I could be wrong, it could be that American’s arrival on Iraq’s shores have nothing to do with oil. It could be that historical British and Russian interests in Iran had nothing to do with oil.
Could it be possible that when one is deep poverty, uneducated, living in a country rife with corruption, oppression and transgressions of human rights one would have greater tendencies towards violence?
Could it be possible that when someone is uneducated, poor and in despair, hatred and violence is easily incited?
Or am I reaching for the stars here?
Here are some facts.
The advent of Islam brought with it advances in mathematics, science, medicine and astronomy to name a few. The advent of Islam that has it’s humble beginnings in the middle of the Arab dessert resulted in an empire that extended across the globe and left a rich legacy of art, culture, architecture etc. Let’s not talk about the endowment of women’s rights in a time when such a thing was unheard of, or even its high standards of rules of engagement in war that is comparable to today’s international standards. It is a religion that values life, education, knowledge, and encourages the questioning mind.
Can I therefore conclude absolutely without doubt that the Islamic faith is the cause of regressive thinking that exists in parts of the Muslim world?
A favoured example by many to illustrate Islam’s inherently ‘violent’ nature is to quote the issue of suicide bombing. The reward of 72 virgins for those who commit these ‘noble acts’ is the popular belief. Is this the argument in which one find a leg to stand upon?
I would like to provide those who believe this with a simple challenge – give me one quote from the Quran that sanctions suicide in any form. You would be surprised, I hope pleasantly, that the Quran states in the harshest terms the consequence of those who die by suicide. As a brethren of the Christian and Jewish faith, Islam condemns suicide in the strongest language. There will be no virgins awaiting the one who commits suicide.
If that is not enough, have a look at the statistics. The country with the lowest suicide rate in the world is an Islamic nation. But let’s not stop there, Islamic countries generally have low suicide rates. Could it be that eternity in hell is a strong deterrent? Could it be that Islam plays a constructive role in this?
I don’t know, but it does leave me pondering. It stops me from jumping quickly to conclusions. It certainly provokes the detective in me to read and read and read. Especially about other religions.
I hope that the next time someone chooses to express strong opinions about Islam to me, that he or she does so with some knowledge of my faith. It is a faith dear to my heart, it is a faith (shockingly enough) that resonates beauty and peace. But perhaps, it will remain an unknown jewel to many.
I write here on this space, not in defense of Muslims who commit acts of violence. Or Muslim who hijack the religion of Islam to lend nobility to their shallow cause. I write here in defense of a great religion that many are determined to condemn without even an iota of accurate knowledge.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He said to me, “I strongly dislike the Chinese, and I have to tell you, Alena, that I feel the same way about the Islamic faith. It’s because of this violent faith that the Muslims are like that.”
I couldn’t put my thoughts together as I digested this statement in those fleeting seconds. But as I gathered my wits, it was on the tip of my tongue to ask him, “And what do you know of the Islamic faith?” But I didn’t do this.
He started me thinking though this friend of mine.
His hypothesis is that because these violent people are Muslims and are adherents of the Islamic faith, it is therefore valid to state that there is a valid causal relationship between the Islamic faith and violent Muslims. How valid is this?
Let me put it this way, can I say that the American white supremacist movements find its most passionate followers from the Christian white population residing within the American Bible belt region. Therefore, I will simply conclude that Christianity is the source of this value? Would this be valid?
Fortunately, I know a little bit more about Christianity than my dear friend does of Islam. I know that many call themselves Christians and are far from being white. I also know that many white Christians would find such a value abhorrent. But most importantly, I know that the Bible doesn’t teach Christians such racist values. So inadvertently you would never find my coming to such a simplistic and may I say, dangerous, conclusion.
How about this?
Let’s take a look at three countries with the largest population of Muslims in the world, Indonesia, Pakistan and India. Historically, have they been mired in poverty? What of literacy rates? Highly educated population? How about economic stability and prosperity? What of political strife? Corruption and bribery?
Let’s also not ignore the fact that many Muslim countries despite their poverty are also repositories of immense natural resources (more of a curse than a blessing?). Oil in Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Iran, Brunei, Nigeria, Indonesia, Malaysia just to name a few, and that too only in one resource.
Could it be possible that there exists a valid causal relationship between increased propensity for conflicts in places rich with natural resources? I could be wrong, it could be that American’s arrival on Iraq’s shores have nothing to do with oil. It could be that historical British and Russian interests in Iran had nothing to do with oil.
Could it be possible that when one is deep poverty, uneducated, living in a country rife with corruption, oppression and transgressions of human rights one would have greater tendencies towards violence?
Could it be possible that when someone is uneducated, poor and in despair, hatred and violence is easily incited?
Or am I reaching for the stars here?
Here are some facts.
The advent of Islam brought with it advances in mathematics, science, medicine and astronomy to name a few. The advent of Islam that has it’s humble beginnings in the middle of the Arab dessert resulted in an empire that extended across the globe and left a rich legacy of art, culture, architecture etc. Let’s not talk about the endowment of women’s rights in a time when such a thing was unheard of, or even its high standards of rules of engagement in war that is comparable to today’s international standards. It is a religion that values life, education, knowledge, and encourages the questioning mind.
Can I therefore conclude absolutely without doubt that the Islamic faith is the cause of regressive thinking that exists in parts of the Muslim world?
A favoured example by many to illustrate Islam’s inherently ‘violent’ nature is to quote the issue of suicide bombing. The reward of 72 virgins for those who commit these ‘noble acts’ is the popular belief. Is this the argument in which one find a leg to stand upon?
I would like to provide those who believe this with a simple challenge – give me one quote from the Quran that sanctions suicide in any form. You would be surprised, I hope pleasantly, that the Quran states in the harshest terms the consequence of those who die by suicide. As a brethren of the Christian and Jewish faith, Islam condemns suicide in the strongest language. There will be no virgins awaiting the one who commits suicide.
If that is not enough, have a look at the statistics. The country with the lowest suicide rate in the world is an Islamic nation. But let’s not stop there, Islamic countries generally have low suicide rates. Could it be that eternity in hell is a strong deterrent? Could it be that Islam plays a constructive role in this?
I don’t know, but it does leave me pondering. It stops me from jumping quickly to conclusions. It certainly provokes the detective in me to read and read and read. Especially about other religions.
I hope that the next time someone chooses to express strong opinions about Islam to me, that he or she does so with some knowledge of my faith. It is a faith dear to my heart, it is a faith (shockingly enough) that resonates beauty and peace. But perhaps, it will remain an unknown jewel to many.
I write here on this space, not in defense of Muslims who commit acts of violence. Or Muslim who hijack the religion of Islam to lend nobility to their shallow cause. I write here in defense of a great religion that many are determined to condemn without even an iota of accurate knowledge.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
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Saira Mohamed
Saira Mohamed was born on 19 February 2009- 10.37pm.
It was a really tough and long labour, and even with epidural, I was struggling. Halfway through, I had a temperature and Saira was also born with a temperature. She was put in neonatal ICU for a few days for observations but alhamdulillah, we were able to take her home after 5 days.
She is doing great now and I am enjoying my little baby. She feeds every 3 hours or so, and keeps me awake at night, but hey- this will not last long and I am going to enjoy every minute of it.
Akir and I are grateful for this addition to our little family.
Tia
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Akir's and Tia's new Mini Dinnie!
Dearest Tia, Akir and Omar,
Hence, I would like to say, "CONGRATULATIONS on the birth of your baby daughter, Saira (did I spell that correctly? For that matter, did I get her name right?).
Tia, I hope you are recovering well from the delivery. Though your FB shoutout seems to indicate that you are indeed recovering well, what days exactly are you counting?
Do post in pictures of the little one whenever you can, so that Auntie Nina and her other far flung relations could have a little peek of our latest celebrity.
Enjoy your sleepless nights, breastfeeding frenzy and most of all, every little delight that this little girl brings you. Is Omar overjoyed? Not too disappointed that it's not a brother this time I hope.
Looking forward to hearing about the other coming deliveries. I hope you guys won't forget to update me so I can make the blog announcements.
Love you all,
Auntie Nina Bobo
p.s.
Aisha, thanks for that sms - you are a gem!
As is the tradition, the announcement of a new Mini Dinnie is made here on the blog.
Tia, I hope you are recovering well from the delivery. Though your FB shoutout seems to indicate that you are indeed recovering well, what days exactly are you counting?
Do post in pictures of the little one whenever you can, so that Auntie Nina and her other far flung relations could have a little peek of our latest celebrity.
Enjoy your sleepless nights, breastfeeding frenzy and most of all, every little delight that this little girl brings you. Is Omar overjoyed? Not too disappointed that it's not a brother this time I hope.
Looking forward to hearing about the other coming deliveries. I hope you guys won't forget to update me so I can make the blog announcements.
Love you all,
Auntie Nina Bobo
p.s.
Aisha, thanks for that sms - you are a gem!
The Courage of a Five Year Old Thai Boy
After much debating, I finally decided that I was not going to throw Taufik a birthday party. Instead, he is allowed to invite two good friends to enjoy a day at the Dream World amusement park with him.
That's how he ended up inviting Yuta and Ninja with him. Yuta is half Japanese and half Thai, Taufik spends almost every evening playing with Yuta after school under the care of Krit. Krit is a Thai friend of mine, who runs the children's centre here with his partner Noni. He is a fantastic guy who has taken Taufk and Yuta under his wings. Together with Krit, the two boys learn to play basketball, ride their bicycles all over the place, splash in the water on hot days and have many all-boys adventures together.
Ninja is a boy Taufik befriended during the times he spent at his nanny's house. A big time ultraman fan, they've had many fist fights. It i's a friendship that has endured one flying kick after another. He is the boy that Taufik plays rocks and pebbles with, the one whom he enjoyed many escapes from slum dogs with and other adventures that abounds in these khlong neighbourhoods.
So we picked both boys up and made our way to Dream World. I gave Taufik fair warning before the expedition begun that he would have to, no matter how difficult, play fair with both friends. He must not exclude either from invitations to ride or to a game. And be especially sensitive about involving both in everything that's happening. A tough challenge for a child with a short attention span but he did it so well. Lesson 1.
It was an illuminating day for me watching these three boys.
Yuta came into the car with a birthday gift for Taufik. A lego Police car that probably costed Baht 890. Beautifully wrapped with a handsome card to match. Ninja came without any, he can't afford to give Taufik anything material, only his wonderful company. He came with the best clothes his mother could find and an adult cap to shield him from the sun. The contrast in their apparel was so apparent whenever the three of them were huddled together. But Taufik was oblivious and so it seems was, Ninja. Lesson 2 (I think that one is more for me though).
On the way there, Ninja's inexperience in car rides was made known. As we arrived at our destination, he vomited out his breakfast. He was nauseous from sitting in an enclosed moving vehicle. What a terrible thing to happen to a little child. His clothes were drenched with vomit, and that large green hat that tipped low over his head was also ruined. I gave him a hug, we all said, "Mai pen rai." That it was alright. Nothing that can't be cleaned and here you go, here's a change of clothes for you.
Taufik ventured as far as his nose into the land of taunts. He teased Ninja over his vomiting, but was soon set straight by Na (his nanny). "Do you know you're making Ninja sad?" she asked Taufik in Thai. "Do you know that he feels terrible to have vomited? To have his clothes soiled? He has never been in a car ride. Please don't do that to your friend." Taufik felt awful about it when he realised what he was doing. Surprised to learn that someone has actually never had a ride in a car. Lesson 3.
Dream World was a culture shock for Ninja. The first park ride terrified him into silence. But did it stop him? No it did not. Though he did not go for seconds like Taufik and Yuta did. He rode every single ride at least once. These fearsome rides was not going to make him a bystander,it was not going to exclude him from the centre of fun. He clutched desperately to Krit as we fumbled in the darkness through the Ghost House. The ghosts were real to him. He gripped the railings tightly as we rode in roller coaster space shuttle, where all there was ahead of us was darkness and the terrible feeling that we would fly off course. He paddled and back peddled arduously on the little child canoe, trying his best to catch up and not hold back the line.
He was such a courageous boy.
We went into Snow Town. Ninja was freezing, his little knobbly knees were really feeling the chill. But he dragged that sled up the icy hill and went speeding down with fear in his eyes. But fear was not the only emotion there, there was also pride at having succeeded in doing this thing.
We ate our lunch. Got drenching wet riding Super Splash. Enjoyed cotton candies and took a last ride on the train around the park. Then it was time to go home. The minute Ninja's head hit the car seat, he out like a light. The day certainly took it's toll on him.
One day perhaps I can share with Taufik what I have learnt and seen today. One day perhaps if I can ever speak Thai fluently I can share with Ninja's mom the story of her son's bravery. I think she should be so proud of her son.
For me, I was touched deeply by this boy's acts of courage. Would I have had such a courage at age 5? i don't know really. But I know what I saw, and it was a beautiful sight. That perhaps was the biggest lesson, and funny enough, it was a lesson for me.
That's how he ended up inviting Yuta and Ninja with him. Yuta is half Japanese and half Thai, Taufik spends almost every evening playing with Yuta after school under the care of Krit. Krit is a Thai friend of mine, who runs the children's centre here with his partner Noni. He is a fantastic guy who has taken Taufk and Yuta under his wings. Together with Krit, the two boys learn to play basketball, ride their bicycles all over the place, splash in the water on hot days and have many all-boys adventures together.
Ninja is a boy Taufik befriended during the times he spent at his nanny's house. A big time ultraman fan, they've had many fist fights. It i's a friendship that has endured one flying kick after another. He is the boy that Taufik plays rocks and pebbles with, the one whom he enjoyed many escapes from slum dogs with and other adventures that abounds in these khlong neighbourhoods.
So we picked both boys up and made our way to Dream World. I gave Taufik fair warning before the expedition begun that he would have to, no matter how difficult, play fair with both friends. He must not exclude either from invitations to ride or to a game. And be especially sensitive about involving both in everything that's happening. A tough challenge for a child with a short attention span but he did it so well. Lesson 1.
It was an illuminating day for me watching these three boys.
Yuta came into the car with a birthday gift for Taufik. A lego Police car that probably costed Baht 890. Beautifully wrapped with a handsome card to match. Ninja came without any, he can't afford to give Taufik anything material, only his wonderful company. He came with the best clothes his mother could find and an adult cap to shield him from the sun. The contrast in their apparel was so apparent whenever the three of them were huddled together. But Taufik was oblivious and so it seems was, Ninja. Lesson 2 (I think that one is more for me though).
On the way there, Ninja's inexperience in car rides was made known. As we arrived at our destination, he vomited out his breakfast. He was nauseous from sitting in an enclosed moving vehicle. What a terrible thing to happen to a little child. His clothes were drenched with vomit, and that large green hat that tipped low over his head was also ruined. I gave him a hug, we all said, "Mai pen rai." That it was alright. Nothing that can't be cleaned and here you go, here's a change of clothes for you.
Taufik ventured as far as his nose into the land of taunts. He teased Ninja over his vomiting, but was soon set straight by Na (his nanny). "Do you know you're making Ninja sad?" she asked Taufik in Thai. "Do you know that he feels terrible to have vomited? To have his clothes soiled? He has never been in a car ride. Please don't do that to your friend." Taufik felt awful about it when he realised what he was doing. Surprised to learn that someone has actually never had a ride in a car. Lesson 3.
Dream World was a culture shock for Ninja. The first park ride terrified him into silence. But did it stop him? No it did not. Though he did not go for seconds like Taufik and Yuta did. He rode every single ride at least once. These fearsome rides was not going to make him a bystander,it was not going to exclude him from the centre of fun. He clutched desperately to Krit as we fumbled in the darkness through the Ghost House. The ghosts were real to him. He gripped the railings tightly as we rode in roller coaster space shuttle, where all there was ahead of us was darkness and the terrible feeling that we would fly off course. He paddled and back peddled arduously on the little child canoe, trying his best to catch up and not hold back the line.
He was such a courageous boy.
We went into Snow Town. Ninja was freezing, his little knobbly knees were really feeling the chill. But he dragged that sled up the icy hill and went speeding down with fear in his eyes. But fear was not the only emotion there, there was also pride at having succeeded in doing this thing.
We ate our lunch. Got drenching wet riding Super Splash. Enjoyed cotton candies and took a last ride on the train around the park. Then it was time to go home. The minute Ninja's head hit the car seat, he out like a light. The day certainly took it's toll on him.
One day perhaps I can share with Taufik what I have learnt and seen today. One day perhaps if I can ever speak Thai fluently I can share with Ninja's mom the story of her son's bravery. I think she should be so proud of her son.
For me, I was touched deeply by this boy's acts of courage. Would I have had such a courage at age 5? i don't know really. But I know what I saw, and it was a beautiful sight. That perhaps was the biggest lesson, and funny enough, it was a lesson for me.
The Expat Bubble Challenge
Life as an expatriate means that you're in danger of living in a bubble. The bubble of expatriate living comprises of ladies lunches, children's playgroups, charity bazaars, shopping excusions, and expensive sit down dinners with others like you. This is of course not true for every expat, there are many out there who strive to strike a balance in their life, by being active in charity, caring and hugging an orphaned child once a week, teaching at a poor children's home and organizing charity events.
But the danger of living in an expat bubble is a real one if you're not vigilant. It's the easier route. It becomes a safe and comfortable routine. It is an envied life after all.
As a result, bringing up children meaningfully can be quite challenging. In Malaysia, my children would experience friendships with people from different social classes as a given. But here in Thailand, private international schooling means friendship with friends from affluent backgrounds. This neighbourhood we live in, where more than 50% are expatriates means the same.
There are benefits I admit. Dealing with people from a multitude of races, languages, religious beliefs and cultures is fantastic exposure. It nurtures a healthy respect for the fact that people are different.
"Mommy, William and Nicky are not Muslims right, since they eat pork?" my son asked me. "Yup that's right, they're Christians." "Do they believe in God?" he continued. "Yes, they certainly do." "Auntie Julie is very nice Mommy, she doesn't let me eat pork in her home."
"Mommy, why is my Mae Na praying to the Buddha statue?" and "Did you know Mom, my friend Adi is a herbivore? He only eats vegetables!" and recently, "Do you think I am handsome like Obama? But I want to be handsome and pink like Far." What a cultural melting pot!
I strive my very best to teach my son to internalise the belief that we have in our family. That we are Muslims and that we strive to be better Muslims everyday. That he should be proud to be a Muslim. But I also teach him that people believe in different things, and we should appreciate it, respect it and support them in their endeavour to embody their values.
It is an experiment that I hope would result in one more individual in this world that approaches life not only with a sincere respect for the fact that people are different, but that this difference is to be valued, enjoyed and celebrated. I hope and pray that I succed. I do realise that I must also have these values within me. And I hope I have.
So in this parenting journey I have had made some choices that has caused my friends to feel aghast, disgusted, or simply respectful disagreement. I have made some very tough choices, that I may not repeat again.
I encouraged my son to spend his time at his nanny's house. Playing with the children from the khlong slum. Playing with rocks and pebbles, fighting with ultraman wannabes, running barefooted, but most of all nurturing friendships with children completely different from him.
A European neighbour of mine thought I was batty, though he never expressed it. I could see it in his eyes. But interestingly enough, today his child is allowed to spend her time at the maid's home. I am happy to have changed his perspective.
Through the hardwork of persuading my husband, I've managed to send Taufik off to two trips upcountry with his nanny during New Year and Songkran. He lived the Thai farm life, riding tractors, tracking through paddy fields, splashing in the rivers, spearing fishes, cooking over kitchens with huge bonfires, sleeping on the floor battling mosquitoes and watching cows and buffalos being slaughtered before the big celebrations.
Would I do it again? Every moment he was gone, I was trembling with fear. And unfortunately, I do not think I have the strength to let him go for another one. Traffic accidents is something real to me. But it was worth it! He had the time of his life. He loved it so much. He has the Thai ability to enjoy the simplest things in life, like having a quick picnic at the open back of a pick up truck.
It has also been a lesson in life for me. As my life with Na and her husband Somporn intertwines ever more with time. In a country where social hierarchy rules the day, I am breaking some conventions yet trying to maintain a healthy respect. I've learn to express my opinions on difficult issues with those I know that strongly disagrees with me, and was happy to discover that our friendship not only endured but is enriched by it.
And I learn something new everyday...even after 8 years of living here.
But the danger of living in an expat bubble is a real one if you're not vigilant. It's the easier route. It becomes a safe and comfortable routine. It is an envied life after all.
As a result, bringing up children meaningfully can be quite challenging. In Malaysia, my children would experience friendships with people from different social classes as a given. But here in Thailand, private international schooling means friendship with friends from affluent backgrounds. This neighbourhood we live in, where more than 50% are expatriates means the same.
There are benefits I admit. Dealing with people from a multitude of races, languages, religious beliefs and cultures is fantastic exposure. It nurtures a healthy respect for the fact that people are different.
"Mommy, William and Nicky are not Muslims right, since they eat pork?" my son asked me. "Yup that's right, they're Christians." "Do they believe in God?" he continued. "Yes, they certainly do." "Auntie Julie is very nice Mommy, she doesn't let me eat pork in her home."
"Mommy, why is my Mae Na praying to the Buddha statue?" and "Did you know Mom, my friend Adi is a herbivore? He only eats vegetables!" and recently, "Do you think I am handsome like Obama? But I want to be handsome and pink like Far." What a cultural melting pot!
I strive my very best to teach my son to internalise the belief that we have in our family. That we are Muslims and that we strive to be better Muslims everyday. That he should be proud to be a Muslim. But I also teach him that people believe in different things, and we should appreciate it, respect it and support them in their endeavour to embody their values.
It is an experiment that I hope would result in one more individual in this world that approaches life not only with a sincere respect for the fact that people are different, but that this difference is to be valued, enjoyed and celebrated. I hope and pray that I succed. I do realise that I must also have these values within me. And I hope I have.
So in this parenting journey I have had made some choices that has caused my friends to feel aghast, disgusted, or simply respectful disagreement. I have made some very tough choices, that I may not repeat again.
I encouraged my son to spend his time at his nanny's house. Playing with the children from the khlong slum. Playing with rocks and pebbles, fighting with ultraman wannabes, running barefooted, but most of all nurturing friendships with children completely different from him.
A European neighbour of mine thought I was batty, though he never expressed it. I could see it in his eyes. But interestingly enough, today his child is allowed to spend her time at the maid's home. I am happy to have changed his perspective.
Through the hardwork of persuading my husband, I've managed to send Taufik off to two trips upcountry with his nanny during New Year and Songkran. He lived the Thai farm life, riding tractors, tracking through paddy fields, splashing in the rivers, spearing fishes, cooking over kitchens with huge bonfires, sleeping on the floor battling mosquitoes and watching cows and buffalos being slaughtered before the big celebrations.
Would I do it again? Every moment he was gone, I was trembling with fear. And unfortunately, I do not think I have the strength to let him go for another one. Traffic accidents is something real to me. But it was worth it! He had the time of his life. He loved it so much. He has the Thai ability to enjoy the simplest things in life, like having a quick picnic at the open back of a pick up truck.
It has also been a lesson in life for me. As my life with Na and her husband Somporn intertwines ever more with time. In a country where social hierarchy rules the day, I am breaking some conventions yet trying to maintain a healthy respect. I've learn to express my opinions on difficult issues with those I know that strongly disagrees with me, and was happy to discover that our friendship not only endured but is enriched by it.
And I learn something new everyday...even after 8 years of living here.
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