GO AND FLY KITE

WOWED OVER WAU


Hidayat and Bazli with thier wau
Kampung girls waiting to fly thier kite

With teachers in the kite-making committee
Studetn smust don sarung kampung style for the photo shoot
That's Fahmy who helped me a lot with the competition


A group photo with the class form/subject teacher is a must

Extra points if they can drag the teachers to take photo with them

The sweet damsels of Kg Layang Abang Melayang
We helped Mercy Relief Organsiation to raise funds too
MRO merchandise sale for humanitatrian aids

Samuel with his students who did the kite

Our top winning group busy decorating their kite

Students from India also took part in the kite-making

The Korean girls showing off their henna painted hands

Giving some help to the group

You have got it right, young man

The wau is coming into shape.....good job boys

That's it! Use more paper to cover this frame

We all had fun with the kite-making

A job well-done folks!

GO AND FLY KITE

"The mark of a good kite is one that rises quickly and remains flying, no matter what the whims of the wind may be."

Don't call yourself a through-bred kampung child if you have not climbed any guava or rambutan trees, played fivestones, rounders, kuti-kuti, chapteh, jelong, kelerek, tarik upeh, marbles with 'homes' dug from the hard soil, ground chongkak using tamarind seeds or fallen into black murky longkang water while learning to balance on your dad's bicycle twice your size, and....and..... flown a 10-cent tracing paper kite with glass string you made your own.

Growing up in Kampung Melayu at Jalan Madrasah and Central at Jalan Kasturi, was one of the best moments of my lice....errr...I mean life though my hair was also full of lice during those time. Wrappimg my head with a kerosene-soaked towel would terminate their crawling and sucking of blood from my head and eradicate the itchiness of these blood-suckers caused.

There were no sex discrimination games in my kampung and that meant we girls would not be spared from being 'hantam and kutied' like mad by the boys when we lost the challenges or games. I used to reach home at twillight almost daily with swollen knuckles, bruised knees that ended up with keloids the size of 50 cent coin or a dress smelling of a dead rat from falling into the black longkang water when I lost my balance on the bike.

My reaching-home-late routine also meant getting endless scolding and beatings from my mum who would rather that I stay home and look after my younger siblings. That's the unwritten rule of being the eldest in the family which I did not strictly adhere to. I was always on MIA and a total failure. Mum gave up on depending on me at last and gave me the ORD.

I not only used to fly kites during my kampung 'daze' but also made my own glass string to fly them. You need to pound pieces of glass finely to have that extra 'oomph' for your kite string. We just couldn't wait for the soya sauce bottle to have its last drop. We need to act fast to put it aside otherwise the bottle would be sold to the karung guni man for five cents each. My aunt's mortar and pestle used to disappear mysteriously whenever she needed to make some sambal belachan. She soon realised that we would also disappear unannounced whenever she asked us about her rudimentary tool for pounding the sambal.

My cousins and I did not want to cross into her path of wrath if she discovered that we were the ones who had been playing hide-and-seek with her favourite mortar and pestle. She would beat the living daylights from us if she found out that we were the ones who had been using that cooking utensil to pound the glass pieces. Must I also mention that our thighs would be left with blue-black marks with her 360 degree pinch on our juiciest flesh with her superb manicured long nails which could double up as screws if you run short of any?

The glass powder was poured into an empty condensed milk can while 'air khak' would be added to it. Over some rocks, I would build a small fire to melt the two ingredients in the milk can. Once the mixture had liquefied, a spool of white string would go into it, and I needed to make sure that every part of it was covered with the 'air khak' mixture. A stick was used to stir the mixture too so that it would not settle too quickly. The next step got to be done fast. While still hot, the spool of string had to be taken out and gone round from trunks of trees to be dried. This was also the dangerous step to carry out for my fingers would definitely be cut and criss-crossed by the sharp-edged string.

Why do you need sharp glassy string to fly a kite? When your kite is air-borne, you would want to bring your opponent's kite down and let it nose-dive from the blue sky. Your razor sharp string is one way of ensuring that you could cut the life-line of your opponent's kite mid air and bring it down to earth in a rude shock. Your kite would then fly like the king of the sky at the same time manouvering safely from other kites which would want to cut you dead. Only your skills and sharp string could save the day for you. The whole village would proclaim you as The Kite King and the title would be yours if your kite remained as the lone survivor in the air. The proclamation is important for your ego and hard work even if you have to end up with bleeding fingers from drying and flying the glass-coated string.

Kite flying season was also a sad time. Young children would get knocked down by vehicles when they crossed busy roads blindly trying to capture the 'cut' kite which had to make its descend suddenly. The kite and the child might both end up lying on the road, injured, mangled or at times unable to be 'revived', flown or air-borne anymore. They lay still and stiff in the middle of the road. The life of the child was lost over the thrill of clutching a cut kite worth only 10 cents.

I organised the 'Wau Making Competition' in my school recently to bring the good old kampung days back again to our concrete jungle and to inject some fun into school life. The students were wowed by the wau kite-making for they had fun making their own kites and decorating them as well. The pictures will speak a thousand words.

CHAINED UP

The watches we ended up buying

A Puma watch for hubby

A simple Titus for me

A bag I bought from Siem Reap


The face of a man poorer by a couple of hundreds after buying the watches


I will squirt chilly sauce into your eyes if you say my watch is not nice!

WATCHING TIME

Had no intention of parting my cash with a watch though I had been mulling over the idea of laying my hands on a solid-stainless steel bracelet watch.

And...lo and behold hubby and I were drawn like magnets to a City Chain store with their huge discounts of up to 70% on watches when we popped into Sembawang Shopping Centre recently. Really, I hate all these adverts gimmick and claims of fantastic discounts. Not all of these sale talks are genuine but foolish people like me do get drawn to them like ants to sugar blindly at times.

Rummaging through the displayed watches, I fell in love with one which was offered at a 50% discount while hubby was Pumamised by an irregular watch face. He, being a fanatic watch-buyer also increased his collection of time pieces after trying out a few and ended up with one more Puma watch.

I vowed to be chained to my wallet the next time I do my retail theraphy when all those placards with huge discounts stare face to face at me. Does anyone have any tips on how to resist such sales?

DESARU BEACH

TO DESARU WITH DAIHATSU

My ever faithful and safe driver

Desaru las lost much of its charm and draw

The turqoise sky we saw

Me, mum and Tini

Tini takes care of mum well

Me and my menu planner and home director

I love you mum

We decided to come back to Desaru again

The open South China Sea in the background

Last weekend, we drove to Desaru since we had no planned destination. The rain had no mercy on us and throughout the journey we had to be extra cautious driving up the Kota Tinggi route. The Senai-Desaru Highway is under construction so we had to take the old route, deftly manouevering for two hours and cursing the lorries and busses infront of us for stalling our journey further. Once the highway is completed, it will slash travelling time from JB to Desaru. You just need to be behind the wheel for 45 mins to throw yourself into the sea.

We turned into the public carpark of Desaru at 5.00pm after stopping for some mee rebus and satay along the way. Streams of cars and visitors were heading for the carpark. The buntings along the road had alerted us of the Berita Harian fishing and a karoake competition for the folks there. Stalls selling Berita Harian merchandise, rinks, clothings and food populated the green patch opposite the carpark. The Joharians can nightingale their notes and pitch thorugh the microphones because our ear drums were entertained by some quality singing and rhythmn. No wonder Johor has produced top grossing singers. swingers and rockers like Amy Search and Mawi.

Desaru is still popular with the locals and is a top choice beach spot as a weekend escapade for the busy Yishunite, Woodlanders or Ang Mo Kians heartlanders. The hotels are pretty fully-booked by Singaporeans, judging by the number of Singapore-registered cars parked at the hotels and resorts lining the beach. I guess we need some peace and a slower pace of life once a while to keep our sanity and value add our life.

The greyish sandy beach stretches for about 25km and is under the constant lashing of the constructive swash and destructive backwash powers of the strong currents of the South China Sea. Casuarina trees swayed in the strong winds. My grievance is that more maintainance could take place here. A beach clean-up is necessary and more facilties could be provided for the beach-goers at the public beach area. I eyed the rundown water scooters at the water sports kiosk and shivered at their condition and safety they would offer to the aqua riders. Stringent measures on watersports safety can be looked into too.

No matter what I will still drive to Desaru.....just waiting for the highway to open up. My husband will be spared of the expletives I used against the big vehicles drivers who snailed our Kota Tinggi route then!

TOUCHING BASE

FROM PHASES TO FACES



Have not seen Jamal for about 22 years

Arshad used to live in the same block as us

Pai, the youngest of the brothers

Meeting old frendz again

Arshad has a big family of brothers and sisters

The bride's father and brother

Pau - the bride's mother

I used to tutor Wan (in the centre) when he was in Pri 6

Brothers of four

Zuraidah and Zubaidah - Capt Aman's daughter

Two brothers - Roslee and Pai

Hubby with Roslee

Attended an old neighbour's wedding invitation and for all you know I was surrounded by faces and characters who had crossed my life before. I was able to recognise some but unfortunately there were others whom I could not fit the jig-saw puzzle pieces though I tried hard to retrieve who they are from my memory data base. My friends and neighbours had changed so much that I had no inkling as to whom I was talking or vigorously nodding my head at. Strangely, they could recognise me and even recall my name. Wonder what had they been feeding their grey cells with? How embarrassing it was when these friends and neighbours had to prod my lump of brain, stir some grey cells with a stick in order to jolt my memory of them and their names.

I could see their eyes widening and mouth flapping in eagerness, hoping for me to shout out their names with an 100% accuracy. Alas! I failed them miserably and had nowhere to hide my silly face and the apologetic smile I had to wear throughout the day. When I made a wrong guess, dejection was written all over their faces. I swear I saw some who nearly wanted to aim a chair at me for forgetting their names. I must have eaten more than a dozen humble pies in my more than half century of living on that day alone due to my poor recollection of faces to the names. Gingko Biloba must come to my rescue now!

We had been friends or to state correctly our parents had known each other like 50 years back. We were staying at the far end of Jalan Eunos and our paths crossed often during our childhood days. The kampung was demolished in the 70's to make way for development and after more house-moving we reconnected at Bendemeer Road. Since then we had met or bumped into one another on happy and sad occasions.

Flash back:

Stayed at Jalan Ishak
Jalan Madrasah was next
Shifted to 1 Jalan Buntu. Near to Barrack Hitam. My HEAVEN!
Dad bought a house at 10 Jalan Kasturi
Pigeon holed at Block 23 Bendemeer Road, 12th floor

I must one day blog about my kampung daze and relive the best moments of my life!

THE MAGIC NUMBER

BIRTHDAY TAPESTRY


My family, my life



WHAT'S IN AN AGE?

Flowers, cakes, ice cream and a double digit number were the order for that day. I had just turned a year older though none of my passion in life is ebbing away. It was a simple celebration with the family and a lot of sinful eating from too much cream, sugar and calories. Isn't that what's all birthday celebrations are all about?


Mum and us


Nobody cared too much of the sugar and cream


Hubby gave me a pair of transition glasses, to see him better with my failing eyesight, I supposed. My sons Nizar and Thaqif presented me with a lovely card and a hazel nut cake while sister Ina surprised me with a bouquet of flowers and a cake too. I was counting the candles on the cake that night and tallying the years I have lived. I thanked Allah for being surrounded by the special people who have touched my life and made it more fulfilling and enriching by just being there for each day I breathe.


Red roses for me

My family has been the main force behind who I am now. I thought of the memories we had shared and realised that no passing years could erase them from me. These are the memories which were made to last and be cherished; great or small and all the cries or laughter all rolled up like the Fuji film negatives we had had of yesteryears. They could be unrolled, viewed under a strong light for me to refresh the memory and the event.

Another cake where the calories would download to the waist

Another year to my life is a reminder for me to give more and ask for less. A rude shock hit me hard on the head. A birthday is not about counting candles but counting the blessings you receive.

Feeding their dad, to make me less guilty of the sugar intake

Teddy bear, teddy bear touch the ground

Simple home-cooked food for us