Bring the Briyani on!

What are the chances of enjoying mutton briyani next to a briyani food critic?

I would say zilch...unless of course you're accompanying the food critic.

I clearly do not know any food critic (certified ones of course. My parents don't count) but somehow, that chance materialised yesterday. It all started after my boss and I were considering the available venues for a nice lunch after a meeting. Stuck in an area notoriously known for economy rice packs or banana leaf lunches, I suddenly remembered a nice nearby place which I think my boss would like (and giving me a chance to escape from banana leaf meal. I'm not exactly a vegie person and banana leaf really means vegie dishes piled to the max). And that was how we found ourselves in the nice orange bungalow which many people wouldn't know that it's really a restaurant.

Our arrival was greeted by an empty dining hall with only waiters standing by the door. It suited us fine (although I'm not sure whether my boss was confident enough at this point in time. She may be thinking whether I'm crazy enough to bring her to an isolated bungalow) and we soon settled down with the menus. Having been to the restaurant once before, I held the upper hand (if any) and knew what I wanted even before the waiter asked us in Mandarin, "Do you speak Mandarin?". My boss shook her head, causing the waiter to leave us while we make decisions worthy of the United Nations i.e. what to have for lunch! I chose mutton briyani in a slightly embarassed demeanour as it happened only seconds after I proclaimed that a person is nuts to order briyani for lunch. I even had the audacity to remind my boss about an earlier occasion when we had a heavy lunch at Hilton and how I spent the remaining working hours staring at the computer screen. So I may now be in my boss' eyes, a certified nut who's unable to work after a heavy lunch (I hope she will forget about this when the time comes for increments and bonuses *crosses fingers with a solemn expression* =p) .


And if that was not bad enough, I found myself rattling on almost every trivial matter under the sun. Obviously, we had the entire bungalow to ourselves (minus the waiters and cooks, perhaps) so I didn't really bother to 'click' on the sensor mode. I think I was in the midst of condemning KLIA as nothing better than a ghost city or trying my best to persuade my boss to go for a holiday in shopaholic heaven South Korea when a voice suddenly put a brake on our (one sided, I think) conversation.

This man was apparently sitting at the table next to ours all these while. I found it strange why he chose to sit next to us when there were like a gazillion empty tables available for him to choose from. Anyway, I thought (seriously, I did) he could be some sort of government secret spy out to catch people badmouthing the government (and at that moment, frightening stories heard began to play havoc with my mind. But then again, the absurdity in actually thinking about it could be because I was hungry and the mutton briyani was taking its own sweet time to arrive) but after he removed his shades, clearly he was not a spy.

As I was the one doing the talking at that time, he directed his gaze at me and asked on how we got to know about the restaurant. My boss decided to be very helpful and pointed at me as the reason why we were there. On that cue, I explained to this stranger that I only got to know about this place after being introduced by friends. I thought that was the end of the conversation but it was not to be. Instead, he continued by asking on the dishes that I've tried. I half expected him to laugh when I said the only dish I've tried was the mutton briyani and that is the same dish I've ordered for today as well. Well, he didn't and said in a serious tone that he's actually a food critic sent to this restaurant by word-of-mouth on the superb briyani. He too ordered the mutton briyani and at that moment, I was left to wonder whether he is one of my kindred spirits (not the romantic sort but more towards those who has no qualms to help themselves to a generous plate of briyani anytime, any day and has no idea what fitness is all about).

I was tucking into my plate of briyani as was he when he remarked that it's really something for the restaurant to be named Rumahku (My House in the Malay language), patrons present to be all Chinese (I didn't have the heart to confide that I am a Malay) and dishes served boasted a rich Indian flavour. Haha, 1 Malaysia anyone?

Because I know (well, based on what he had told us) that he's a food critic, I can't help but sneaked a few glances as to his expression while he was eating his mutton briyani. I know I enjoyed my briyani well enough to see that his expression was rather, well, expressionless. The notebook on the table remained empty without jottings. So there I was, having enjoyed my briyani very much and at the same time, in trepidation awaiting for his verdict. If he disliked it, then my tastebud must be really abnormal even if there's such a thing as one man's meat is another man's poison. On the other hand, if he agrees that there's something about the briyani here, then that's a good reason enough for me to come again and again.

Unashamedly, I asked him on where I can get good briyanis. He recommended a few, the best being a restaurant in The Weld on Jalan Chulan and above Starbucks. Having made a mental note, he added further that if I'm a frequent traveller to Singapore, I may like to drop by a shop named 'Islamic' on Arab Street for an authentic Singaporean Briyani. After being done with the hits, he then told me of the misses, briyani places which used to be good but are now at best, highly overrated and not worth our time. I remember those places very well because I used to go there myself but as I will not risk making defamatory statements about these dining establishments, you can ask me personally. Other than that, I will not disclose.

Before we left for our car, this stranger (whose name remained unknown) hinted that he will eat at the restaurant in two weeks' time. Not knowing what to reply, I could just offer a small smile and as a goodbye, remarked "Perhaps we would be able to try The Weld's briyani in the mean time!".

Bring the Briyani on!

The injustice of it all

Today is in one word, crappy.

One matter which I am assisting my boss was fixed for decision today on whether the prosecution had established a prima facie case against our client. My boss had asked me earlier during trial whether our client will get an acquittal or otherwise. While I agreed with him that our client had a strong case, I did tell him that our opinion doesn't count because I seemed to feel that the Judge (as learned as he may be) was not going to be on our side. So when today came, I hoped against hope that my gut feeling will be proven wrong. Alas, the Judge wanted to prove that my hunch was right. He ordered for our client's defence to be called based on what he called as brief reasons (and those which we call as ridiculously absurd grounds). In fact, we wondered whether the Judge had the time to read our submission as none of the grounds we raised were touched in the 20 minutes-odd reading of his brief reasons. Instead, it seemed as if we would be much better off in being silent throughout the trial as the judgment was, if I may point it out, an adoption of the prosecution's arguments in toto.

Our client chose to give sworn evidence, namely testifying from the dock. Any accused person has the right, once his or her defence is called, to choose from three alternatives. He or she could either elect to remain silent, give unsworn evidence i.e. written statement or the path that our client had chosen. Our client's choice which was made with legal advice would necessarily mean that he will be subjected to a gruelling procedure of examination-in-chief (EIC) by us, cross-examination by the prosecution and re-examination (Re) by us if necessary. Had he chosen to give unsworn evidence, he does not need to endure the whole EIC,cross and Re but he must be advised that unsworn evidence will not hold as much weight as sworn evidence.

Being the defence team also means the right to request that the prosecution makes available, witnesses which were not called during the prosecution's case. We had argued that the failure to call several key individuals would raise an adverse inference against the prosecution under section 114(g) of the Malaysian Evidence Act. While I had learned of this 'adverse inference' during my university days, never did it come alive or 114(g) becoming a section that easily roll s off my tongue as much as what I've experienced while assisting my boss in trials. A layman may understand from the meaning of the words 'adverse inference' itself. But from the legal perspective (or at the very least, my own humble opinion), adverse inference is an argument that one raises before the Court against the prosecution on the assumption that had they produced the individuals concerned, the testimonies would not have been in the prosecution's favour. Yet, this argument never found favour with the learned judge. Instead, the judge looked the other way and held that two of the witnesses which were called by the prosecution (whom we had submitted as unreliable witnesses out to save their own necks and are in every sense of the word, accomplices) had proven by way of their evidence of our client's guilt. It is interesting to note that while the judge was mindful of the fact that the evidence of one accomplice could not corroborate another accomplice, he literally forgets that principle the next second and stated that evidence given by the two witnesses mentioned earlier were corroborated by, among others, other witnesses (which we had pointed out as fellow accomplices too).

During the entire period which the brief reasons were read out by the Judge, I found myself writing them down but I could not understand a single word at all. All I understood was that an act of injustice has been carried out. How could there be a prima facie case when we have pointed out the gaping holes in the prosecution's case? Why is one man burdened with rebutting the statutory presumptions when the presumptions had been in itself, rebutted by the material contradictions in the evidence of the prosecution's witnesses? I thought those two questions, if they had been answered in the first place, were enough to acquit our client. Unfortunately, I am just a lowly defence counsel and am not the learned judge. Perhaps that's where the difference lies.

The defence is now scheduled to proceed for hearing in the upcoming months. And given the judiciary's direction for speedy disposal of cases, the judge has even fixed two Saturdays for hearings. Seriously, hearings on Saturdays?! And this is what we get from a judiciary which may have good intentions to clear the backlog in cases but fail to appreciate a fundamental element in any legal proceeding. The Court is there to ensure that justice is served and not to go all out in notching up points in their Key Performance Index. Cases (each as individual and distinct as they could possibly be) are not to be likened to factory products which must be processed and shipped out according to the fixed schedule. Due to KPIs, trials are going at full speed with requests for adjournment rarely being entertained as well as without care on whether the counsel is adequately prepared. I am not sure whether the judiciary is aware of this (or it has become a fact easily forgotten given their high standing) but a day remains at 24 hours max. Even if we forgo our sleeping hours, we will still be rushing from pillar to pillar (and possibly dying) in our efforts to meet their demanding deadlines for filing of submissions and other miscellaneous stuff. Lawyers need time to prepare for their clients' matters especially when it involves freedom of liberty. And that can't be compromised for this KPI rubbish.

Any idealistic law student (and I was previously one of them) will tell you that justice delayed is justice denied. As a litigation lawyer, I now have the opportunity to bear witness that justice hurried is justice buried. I'm very afraid that the lady of justice with her eyes blindfolded may just not be able to see that those appointed to serve justice may be the very tool that allows injustice.

Curiosity kills?

And now I know. At least, part of it.

Syazana suddenly sms-ed me out of the blue and asked for my birth time. Knowing my family's affinity for astrology readings and the likes, I knew what she was trying to do. It must have something to do with online readings which we occasionally indulge ourselves with.

What I didn't expect was that she actually went to meet a Korean fortune teller and read my fortune without my knowledge or permission! Well, she paid for the services but imagine your own sister knowing more about your fortune than yourself. That's harrowing, to say the least. As I told her indignantly, "We were supposed to do that when I visit you in Korea next year!". But if you don't know my sister (and most of you don't, whoever you are), she must be one of the most incorrigible beings to be born into this world. Despite doing something about me without notice, she even had the audacity (did I say she is incorrigible? I did, didn't I?) to taunt me with her cheeky emoticons, clearly relishing at the prospect of knowing something I do not know.

So what did she discover about me? Obviously, I am not going to tell everything here but it does provide some sort of answer to certain questions which have been running in my mind. What freaked me more was that this Korean fortune teller hit bullseye for most of her answers! She could tell my sister with conviction that my personal life pales in comparison to my professional pursuits. I heard the recording and although it was in Korean, I could hear my sister chuckling as the lady suddenly said in a very loud voice, "Motte" when it came to whether I would have romantic interests. By the way, 'motte' (please excuse if the hangul romanization is wrong) is the korean term for 'no' or 'non-existing'.

You see, whenever people queried me on the issue of having a better half, I would always say that it is like choosing apples. Bad apples are easily available on the ground without us having to work for it while good apples require some determination and effort to climb and pick. Yet, this Korean fortune teller went one step further in pointing out that I was not even settling for good apples. I only look for those exceptional apples fit for Gods. Needless to say, bad apples are not even in my dictionary. And judging from the fortune teller's comments, I may not even settle down anytime soon. I'm sure my relatives and friends will gasp and shake their heads in resignation, haha. Unfortunately, I am not so sure as to whether the Korean fortune teller's words are strong enough to rebut those incessant 'And when is your turn?' coming from every possible grandmas, aunties and heck, even cousins younger than me.

Oh, and I'm supposed to be rich in my own right. I was happy with that (and my mind automatically starts to visualise a couple of Roberto Cavallis, Manolo Blahniks and Dior creations as things I can wear once and dispose) until my sister added impishly that it's my money but I won't exactly be the 'Hey, Big Spender!'. Instead, the Korean fortune teller said that my money will go mostly towards my immediate family members. Well, I can't say that it's a bad thing but the statement really caught me by surprise. As it is, my earning is pretty average but that doesn't stop me from splurging whenever the urge arises or 'SALE' rears its pretty ugly head. In fact, I thought I was going to be a certified Imelda Marcos (her having an extensive fashion collection, not her being a dictator's wife) once I have tons of money.

The Korean fortune teller also pointed out that what I'm doing now is what I'm destined to do. According to her, my line of work would involve a lot of reading and that I will never stop studying. I guess she perfectly summed up my job description where every brief received would mean reading the cause papers, case law and to figure out which part of the law can be applied to client's advantage or circumvent client's loopholes. While I'm sure my bosses will be happy to hear this (not that I will tell them anytime soon), it does confirm that I'm bespectacled for a good reason!

And at the risk of being seen as an intolerable vain-pot, writing is apparently my forte. I have to admit, I find writing enjoyable. But I do not know and neither will I confirm whether my writings give its readers the same enjoyment I have received in writing them. I could only hope yes. Judging from this blog alone, I will write when there's something that cannot be left unwritten or when the mood strikes. This blog is my sounding board which I hope have entertained and will continue to entertain the silent reader(s) out there, whoever you are. I do know that two of my silent readers are Mom and Dad who would read my entries no matter how boring or silly the topics may be. Perhaps I could do an entry on the silent readers sometime in the future =)

Anyway, Syazana did not manage to tell me everything the Korean fortune teller told her. And I'm not sure if I want to know either. Some things are better left unsaid. If I'm to know everything, that I'll only be settling down later in life or that I would have more money than I could ever imagine, wouldn't I be guilty of ignoring the beauty of the present for the glimmer of the future?

Most of all, how can I brace myself against an onslaught of information from a stranger who seems to know me from within? Even my blood relations and close friends do not know of what I've suddenly 'acquired' unless they were told in confidence. Yet, this lady could tell my sister (who had known earlier, thank God. Otherwise, Syazana would have freaked out in Seoul) that I've the ability to 'read'. I would find myself wanting to know more and more.

So will I be the cat which will be defeated by its own curiosity? I don't know.

Being tagged

I went out for lunch the other day with two of my female colleagues as well as two male colleagues. While we were waiting for our food to arrive (and the service was exceptionally slow that day. It was either the waiters were in their 'not-listening' mode or the cooks simply not bothered enough), the guys started chatting about a certain girl whom one of them found to be attractive. Well, that's what guys talk about anyway (no surprises there) so the rest of us, being the feminine gender, were just listening passively as they went on and on about this girl in question. However, the chat soon spiralled into some sort of argument.

What basically happened was this.

Guy A argued that he doesn't understand why a girl needs to say that "she's single but unavailable" when the whole status would have simply been explained as "unavailable". Guy B then replied (and I must admit, he could have been a champion for the feminine movement) that by choosing 'single but unavailable', the girl is merely trying to brush off the boy's attention in a polite manner. Guy B further stressed his point by saying that girls are usually sensitive and they take extra caution for the guys not to 'lose face' over the unrequited affections.

At this point, one of my female colleagues sided with Guy A and her argument was that the girl should just have said that she's unavailable and that would be the end of the chapter. I wanted to stay silent but I couldn't resist. I found myself torn between the two sides of the argument, each with compelling reasons.

I agree with Guy A's point as calling a spade, a spade. What is the effect of calling oneself as 'single but unavailable'? Is it saying no in a gentler manner so as not to offend the interested party? Or is it the girl's attempt to create a mysterious aura around her and getting the guys to wonder that the catch has just gotten more tempting? Bottom line is that if a girl doesn't like the guy who caused her to think of ways to reject him, then say that she's unavailable. Taken. There's no point in settling for a beating-around-the-bush alternative when a simple no would suffice. Isn't that the beauty of freedom in speech? To say what you want without thinking how it may offend the listener. But then again, we shouldn't discount the fact that quite a number of men are not able to handle rejection. Although literature often refers to 'hell hath no fury as a woman scorned' (and this itself is a form of gender discrimination ignored by many), I am sure the same would apply to men as well.

On the other hand, I could not help but concur with a greater force over Guy B's position. There could be many instances whereby the girl in questioned is indeed single and looking for her Mr. Right. So what is she supposed to do when a guy approaches and she doesn't feel that he's the one? So it would be in all honesty, her position remains that she's single but not available for that particular person's attention and/or affection.

I'm stating as a personal opinion that yes, the feminine gender is sensitive and at the same time (and I expect brickbats thrown by my own sisterhood), we are more manipulative than the men. We always want to have the cake, eat it and don't gain weight. We could easily say that we're unavailable when that particular man does not command our attention and affection. However, the word on our supposed 'unavailability' may spread thanks to the scorned man and where would that leave us? In short, we could be ruining our chances with other fishes in the sea. So yes, saying that the girl is 'single but unavailable' is just enough to thwart off the unwanted attention and at the same time, keeping our options open for the right person that comes along.

I tried to discuss the above with my Dad later in the evening. My Dad then asked with a deadpan expression, the following.

"What about married and available?"

Well, that's another story.

Change

For my uncle's Raya open house today, I chose to wear a black kebaya top with a green themed kain (cloth) tied in what they called as 'pario' style. The cloth is essentially a long piece tied around the waist and kept in its place using one brooch. I then opted to complete the look by wearing my new high white heels and a simple green necklace as accessory.

I've seen girls wearing this type of fashion before. So it shouldn't be a big deal.

What I forgot was the fact that I'm pretty known for my lackadaisical attitude when it comes to dressing.

My next door neighbour saw me as I was about to enter my car and commented to my mother, "Now, that's a change. I've never seen her in a formal kebaya attire".

My mother replied "Well, it's time for her to change and start dressing herself better!".

I was aghast at both my neighbour's comment and Mom's subsequent reply. Alright, I admit that my idea of fashion is anything comfortable which usually translates to a pair of shorts and a tee-like top. But when the occasion calls for it, I do dress myself up. Perhaps my clothes were not able to match other girls' trendier styles but the point is, I do try to present myself a lil better.

And even my male cousins had the audacity to comment, upon looking at my new white heels, that they never thought I would be one to wear those kind of shoes. Hmm...it's as if even though I share the same gender as their wives/girlfriends, I am somehow constantly the one not caught by fashion demands. I could only look at them and say with all the patience I could muster, that I do have a collection of heels. It's only a matter of occasion or choice in me deciding to wear what I'm wearing at the moment.

With my cousin, the birthday girl.

With my second cousins who must have been surprised by my attire tonight. To their credit though, they did not say anything

Anyway, I do not know whether the change in my personal style was influenced by the fact that I'm getting 'younger' by the year or simply a need to change what others have grown to be accustomed to. Change is good, right?

The day (or week) after

Like many other things, Raya too, had the anti-climactic feeling once it arrived. No doubt I preferred the serenity of the fasting month but at the same time and in some deep, deep part of my heart, I would look forward to Raya. And that feeling of anticipation is always the night before Raya when you're smack in the middle of bustling activities in preparing for Raya.

This Raya however, was different in so many ways.

For the first time since I was three years old, I celebrated Raya with my parents as the 'only' child. Syazwina spent hers in freezing Tasmania while Syazana attended classes at her SNU which is one educational institution pretty oblivious to Raya. Because my sisters were not here, I spent the night before Raya figuring out how to work my camera's timer so that I can take a couple of family pictures of my parents and myself. I heard before that desperation really works wonders and it worked for me. Imagine, I had the camera for ages but never really bothered to find out the camera's features. After all, Syazwina was always available with her camera and she could, without doubt, produce way better pictures than all of us combined. Once I've figured out that the camera's timer was not exactly rocket science, I then spent Raya morning (while Mom tried to cajole Dad into wearing his baju Melayu) trying to find the best spot to place the camera for the family shots.

Our 2010 Raya family picture minus 2. Just to prove that I actually managed to set the camera properly

My parents' customary Raya photo. The picture would have been better if not for Dad's tormented look, haha.

And unlike previous years where my house will always have homemade Raya cookies and delicacies for visitors, my mom and I did not bake any cookies or cakes at all! Going by the normal standards, that is pretty close to 'Armageddon'. This year, I had the great idea (but could be trying on the wallet) to bring 'Death by Chocolate' to our relatives' houses in lieu of Mom's usual cakes. In fact, we settled for cakes bought from Bandung and the reliable Pizza Hut in the event visitors drop by our house. Anyway, there's only so much ketupat and the likes that visitors can eat and we have to bear in mind that ours would neither be the first nor last house they'll visit in a day. Let ours be different.

Mom opening the cake's box. Looking on would be Mom's brother who is my competitor for chocolate goodies

Personally, this was the Raya where I actually wore traditional dresses (be it baju kurung or kebaya) for the first three days of festivities. Some of you may wonder why this is a big deal or why I even took time to write about it. Well, those who know me (especially my relatives) will remember that my siblings and I would only wear baju kurung for the early half of the first Raya before tossing them for something more casual (read: jeans, tops or dresses). It could be because I'm older or the fact that I've suddenly (due to circumstances beyond my control, whatever it is) acquired quite a tidy number of traditional dresses awaiting for reasons to be worn.

First Raya: Red/Maroon (the exact colour is disputed)

Second Raya: Go Green with Mom who conveniently said that she prefers to wear something other than baju kurung

Third Raya: Blue (well, similar tones to it)

I also took advantage of Raya by taking more pictures with and of my family (both near and extended) members. Before this, I would never be the one whipping out the camera or asking relatives to pose for pictures. Yet, having come across old family photos of my siblings and I stashed in others' collections and us having few or none for ourselves made me reconsider the importance of photos. I wanted to have something that I can flip through in the future and be reminded that we were there at that particular time. And that was what I did. During our Raya visit to my paternal aunty's house, I was rather sad to think that despite our close bond, there were never really pictures taken. Obviously, we visit each other often but somehow, the need to snap that moment in time would be ignored or left forgotten.

My family with my aunt's family. Three are missing from this picture but it's better than having no picture at all

With my maternal aunt and my cousin's wife

On the third day of Raya, Mom and I went back to Johore (one which was initially intended as a day trip) to attend a Raya gathering for Mom's clan. While the venue was superb in terms of scenic background, the same could not be said about the gathering. Others were rushing to take shots with the Ruler's immediate family members (and reducing the besieged individuals to mere mannequins in Madame Tussaud) but Mom and I minded our own business. Instead, we roamed the palace's grounds and had a field day taking pictures in and out of the buildings. In fact, I found the company (my cousin, a few of my second cousins, Mom and her sister) to be willing partners in crime. They were lively and equally eager to indulge in a few shots rather than sitting still like many others.

With my cousin (in red) and second cousins. Could you hear the faint sounds of the background music which is rather familiar to Kuch Kuch Hota Hai? You didn't? It's your loss then.

The 'younger' members

Don't you just love the lights and pillars behind us? I do.

The customary group shot

I love old photos so when I saw this hanging on the wall, I just couldn't resist =p
On a more serious note, I believe this picture was taken either late 19th century or early 20th century. Just see all those ladies with their dresses and hats.

Mom (who took this shot) said we're almost (I repeat, almost) looked like part of a beauty pageant. But someone must explain Boy's presence though, haha

At the behest of my grand-aunt and my aunties (they can be really persuasive when they combine forces), Mom and I made an impromptu decision to extend our stay in Johore Bahru. Along with the rest, we visited many relatives on Mom's side that I did not know before. On a hindsight, I have to say I enjoyed this trip because it was in a way, an eye-opener. I have never gone on any trip with this particular company and the time spent, for me anyway, allowed me to get to know them as well as other grand-uncles and grand-aunties better.

Well, that was the brief (haha, could my writings ever be considered as brief?) recap of the first three days of Raya 2010. Hope you (if you celebrate Raya) had a good Raya celebration or if you prefer (for Malaysians who are non Muslims), a good long weekend. Since our return from Johore, I've resumed working, had a couple of medical leave (I blame it purely on the frightening amount of calories-laden food consumed within the first three days and the fatigue from non-stop visits to relatives' houses) and it is now the weekend again.

And everybody knows what weekend means during the Raya month. More open houses. More visits. More food. Can I stop here and take a breather?

Another Raya

In a few hours' time, the fasting month will come to an end and Syawal arrives to denote the beginning of festivities. Known in some parts of the Muslim world as 'Eid-ul-Fitri' or 'Raya Aidil Fitri' or 'Hari Lebaran', to me it has always been simply 'Raya'.

And Raya is only Raya when -

(a) we get to buy new baju kurungs and new shoes. In those days, there was no question of whether it's tight-fitting kebaya, modern kebarungs, see-through baju kurungs or lacy what-nots. Mom decreed that we are to wear simple cotton baju kurungs and that's that. The only choice we could make (or squabble on) was the colour and design. Mom also used to sew the baju kurungs for us but that soon paved way into tailored or ready-made outfits. As for the shoes, well, that's the time we get to pick either new Mary-Janes or in one particular year, ankle high black shiny boots. I could still remember that year when we insisted (for vanity's sake) on wearing the boots during our yearly visit to our maternal grandmother's resting place. Instead of the usual slippers which would have made our lives much easier, the three of us had much difficulty in trudging through the muddy pathway of the cemetery. Our black boots which were once so pretty and shiny are now muddied. Needless to say, that was the only time we wore new shoes on first day of Raya;

Picture of my siblings and I during one of the 1980's Rayas taken at our late grandfather's house. During those days, Raya fashion is dictated by what Mum decreed it to be.

Us with my late maternal grandfather, Mom and our uncle's wife. Until today, our hairstyles in the picture remained a sensitive issue =p

Us with my mom's brother. Notice my sisters' sleepy look? And ignore my expression, thank you very much

(b) we wake up early in the morning and gleefully await our 'reward' for completing our fasting successfully. You see, fasting is a requirement for all practising Muslims but how do you explain that to young kids that they can't eat, drink etc for an entire one month? Mom and Dad figured out that the best way to get us to fast was to provide incentives. For every weekday that we fasted, they would give us RM1. That sum doubles if we manage to wave away the fridge's temptations on weekends. And if we complete one whole month without any gaps, then the total amount would be doubled! Added with the customary duit raya, we can't help but feeling rich =) But before any of you start to think that the practice is still ongoing, let me just clarify now. We stopped receiving the 'reward' after completing primary school and after that, we fasted on our own, having understood that it's a religious requirement;

Syazwina and I comparing our loot =p

See how happy I was counting money? Back then, even piles of RM1 could make me feel like a millionaire (not that I understood what a millionaire was at that age)

(c) we spent the first half of the day at my maternal grandfather's house. To the adults, it was a chance (never mind the fact that they tend to meet up almost every other day or week) to meet up and share stories (the same stories my Dad would point out to be old soup boiled for the umpteenth time). To the kids, it was simply a visit to the bank's vault! Imagine, Mom's siblings totalling 7 would gather at my grandfather's house and each of them would give us Raya angpaos. With a simple kiss on their hands (well, more like the forehead touching their hands, haha) and a mumbled 'Selamat Hari Raya', we would receive pieces of red notes. Some of them would be more generous and depending on our age, we could receive up to RM100 each. And each year, Dad commented that we're too spoiled for our own good while Mom would defend her family's practice as being a mere once-a year thing.

After my grandfather's passing, the tradition has now changed. We now meet up at Mom's eldest sister's house. Even then, the feeling is not the same as there is some truth that you need the presence of the family patriarch or matriarch to make the celebrations complete. Cousins that I grew up with and whose faces are also a must have also since gotten married and they too will be absent as they spend their Rayas with their spouses' families;

One of those Raya gatherings on Dad's side. Pictures do tend to bring back flashes of memories which is especially poignant when those who were with us are no longer here. The boy in the purple baju melayu who's caught on camera drinking passed away a few years ago.

One of those rare pictures with my paternal grandmother. She passed away when I was in Primary 6 and her absence is continually felt, most keenly during times like Raya.

One of the later Rayas in my late grandfather's new house. Syazwina with (a few of) our male cousins, our baby cousin (who's now in Form 1 already) and the same aunt who appeared in the earlier picture

Mom (the one in green and sitting on the bench) with her sisters as well as her sister-in-law (the one with the brown tudung, extreme left)

(d) our tiny tummies (shrunken after a month of fasting) suddenly found spaces it never knew existed and consumed in a day, enough calories to kill any healthy person. Breakfast would be ketupat, sambal kacang, rendang, ayam goreng and the same meal would repeat for lunch and dinner. Add in the variety of Raya cookies (and everyone just keeps offering which they will feel umbraged if we decline or eat less than ten of each type), the free flow of carbonated drinks, other food goodies and you'll understand why we need the fasting month; and

Ketupat best served with my favourite dish, sambal kacang with lots of beef. Picture taken by Syazwina.

Some prefer the above lemang than ketupat. For me, I think the latter wins hands down. Pic credit: Syazwina

Either way, both ketupat and lemang are accompanied with perennial favourites i.e. sambal kacang, rendang, ayam goreng and the likes.

Weighing scale, anyone? Pic credit: Syazwina

Raya cookies. Ours are always homemade thanks to Mom. She bakes and we gobble them up. Pic credit: Syazwina

Mom's pineapple tarts. Seriously, you could not find these tarts anywhere. Those being sold or mass produced are usually the rolled pineapple tarts. They look good but are much better as they melt inside our mouths. Pic credit: Syazwina

(e) we 'balik kampung' on the 2nd day of Raya. To us, 'kampung' was always Muar, Johore and it took us quite a few years before realising that the 'kampung' in question was not really our kampung after all. Having grandparents who had moved from their respective hometowns to work in Kuala Lumpur, we are the epitome of city kids who call someone else's kampung as theirs. Anyway, the part which I remembered most about our annual trips to Muar was the bickerings between cousins on who gets to sleep where (this was important because the house had this long hall and only one fan. So, it usually boiled down to whose mattress was laid out first), the long queues to use the toilets (there were only one toilet and one bathing room inside the house. There is another toilet outside the house but who would want to use the latter in the early hours or late night?) as there could be at around 20 people in the house at any one time and finally, chasing the chickens when the adults were not looking. The grand lady of the house would often remind us that while these chickens would often end up in the curry pots, she did not want the chickens to die of premature heart attacks. Well, her words entered our left ears and immediately disappeared through our right ears the moment we see some unsuspecting chickens pecking the grounds.

Now, the house in Muar has been left vacant with no one returning for Raya. It's a sad fact but life goes on. My family now occasionally returns to Seri Menanti, Negeri Sembilan (my father's hometown) in search of the familiar faces that my Dad grew up with. However, the house that my Dad grew up in has also been demolished and in its place now is the police station. Who would ever want to admit that your old house is now the village's police station? If we're up for it, we would also make the journey to Johor Bahru to visit Mom's other relatives or Kluang where my grand-aunt lives;

(f) the whole family is complete. I used to disregard the importance of having everybody around because our family was always complete for each Raya since we were born. Yet, the time must come for us to leave the safety net of our homes in search of education. While I remain at home, my two younger sisters are now in Australia and South Korea respectively. Year 2008 was the first time that saw our family pictures without Syazana. With year 2010's Raya, the family picture will only be that of myself and my parents as Syazwina too has flown to Australia; and

It was always the three of us. In fact, my Mom's friend even called us the 'gediks' for always sticking with each other, oblivious to others present

My two sisters who are now abroad and have unashamedly ordered for their duit raya from me to be deposited into their respective accounts. As for their other duit raya, I'm the designated collector with no collection fees imposed at all!

Syazwina and me during 2009's Raya. That year, the theme was 'green' not so much because we're environmentally conscious people (what's recycle again?) but because somehow, the available designs in green were much better than the rest

Another picture of the two of us. Syazana was obviously missing from the picture so she took revenge by tagging everything else in the picture as hers

Us with our second cousins. All were into the 'earthy' tones by coincidence.

Our 2009 family Raya picture. Pic credit: Syazwina

Our complete 2007 Raya family picture. Pic credit: Syazwina

g) the evergreen Raya songs are played on the radio. Popular tunes sung by the late P. Ramlee, the late Saloma, Sharifah Aini and the late Sudirman are the things needed to remind us that Raya is here. I grew up with those songs and somehow, listening to these songs puts me in a time warp when snippets of previous Raya celebrations with everyone (including those who has since passed on) will be played in my mind. Okay, that sounds morbid but my point is, better old evergreen tunes than the modern rubbish that some people have the audacity to call as music. I had the unfortunate privilege of listening to a modern remake of a popular Raya song during my drive from office and I felt sick to the core. Not only did it sound entirely different but what I knew as 'Dendang Perantau' now sounded like a song sang by a drunkard. In my humble opinion, stop messing around with the old tunes (and spare us from the hearing ache) and create something new instead.

And I lament how people nowadays are no longer sending Raya cards to each other. While I'm guilty of being lazy in buying cards and hauling my bottom to the post office to actually send those cards that I bought, I do appreciate receiving cards from friends and relatives alike. The feeling of fingering a Raya card from a distant location surpasses that which comes with receiving a simple sms. One may argue that it's the thought that counts but somehow, I couldn't really find an 'aye' to that argument. Sms-es are so impersonal and with one touch, can be sent to hundreds of individuals. Sms-es are not things you can keep over the years for fear of burdening your phone inbox. Neither is it the same feeling to print those sms-es out and seeing them in print if we compare them to the sender's actual handwriting. I've received cards during school days that must be complete with 'Pecah Kaca Pecah Gelas, Sudah Baca Harap Balas' to ones that simply stated 'Dear..., Selamat Hari Raya, Maaf Zahir & Batin. Regards, XOXO' and signed by the respective senders. I've also received countless sms-es with elaborate phrases but with no inkling on who was it from unless I've saved the number as belonging to a friend or relative. No guessing as to which ones I will keep...

This entry has been quite a long one (and I honestly planned to write a very short piece) considering my duty to help Mom out in the kitchen. Well, I'm honest to admit that Mom does most of the preparations while I just pop in once in a while to check on what's cooking. But the house cleaning cannot be postponed anymore and I've to leave the comfort of the computer for the vacuum cleaner.

From the bottom of my heart, I wish everyone a happy and blessed Eid celebrations. Maaf Zahir & Batin for any wrongdoings or words which had unintentionally left any of you umbraged (but that is not to say that I will not repeat them in the coming years!=p).

Sojourn in Launceston

August 2010 started off with a bang. Alright, I know it's already September but hey, it's my blog and I decide what I want to write and when. You can choose to skip this, no worries =)

Youngest sister flew back from Korea during the last few days of July and the whole family then flew to Tasmania, Australia to visit my second sister. We were in the Land Down Under for 12 days. I've planned (really!) to post an entry about this family trip weeks ago but since that was evidently unsuccessful, let's just be content with this. Anyway, we took Airasia and reached Melbourne in the early hours of 2nd August. Contrary to frightening stories we heard about Airasia's seats or Melbourne's notoriously strict customs officers, our trip was surprisingly pleasant. It was also during this flight that a Chinese lady who was seated next to me (and who I might say, enjoyed herself a bit too much in laughing at my lack of ability to inflate my neck-pillow) turned out to be my Mom's ex-colleague. As I justified to my sister during the flight, who would have known that my (unintentional) sit-down comedy would be the means that connected my Mom with her long lost friend!

The above is what two bored sisters did while waiting for their flight

The parents. I do not know why Mom's expression was like that. Perhaps she was trying to stop us from taking pictures, haha.

Once we reached Melbourne, we had barely a few hours before catching the Jetstar flight to Launceston. Everything was great (we breezed through customs while others had everything in their luggage scrutinised or in worse cases, seized) until we discovered that Melbourne Airport was experiencing problems with their luggage conveyor belts. This would repeat itself during our Melbourne-LCCT flight home. Seriously, one would expect that an international airport such as Melbourne's would be accustomed to a high number of flights and that they should always have a back-up plan if there's a glitch. People were queueing in loooonnnggg lines and while we had actually reached the front of the line, we were told to leave as our flight was 2 hours away. And when we actually came back within the stipulated time (i.e. 1 hour before our flight), the line was still long. Hence, we had no choice but to apply for special permission to go straight to the counter for bag drop or we risk missing the flight!

Launceston was everything that I remembered it to be. Although a little 'kampung' for most people, my parents and I do find Launceston a similar city to Cardiff Wales. With grid-like shops that close at 5.30 p.m. sharp and a lone cinema which caters to every Lonnie resident, it was a small quaint city. And because we had rented a car for the entire period, Mom and Dad need not take the Metro buses which ply most parts of Lonnie. Now, the car was superb. In fact, our rented car was better than our own cars in Malaysia. It was a shiny grey Ford Falcon with seriously huge boot compartment. I'm not kidding. Initially, we thought the car rental company was just giving us the usual 4-door sedan and because of that, we have to make a few trips to transport our luggages. With Ford Falcon however, one trip was more than enough as we managed to stuff around 100 kgs to be brought to my sister's house!

Our (rented) car before the attack(s) of the Tasmanian birds

My sister's house is a small 2 bedroom place on Windsor Street, a stone's throw away from her campus. Except for the part that the house can get pretty cold during night time, we had nothing to complain about. Oh wait...I forgot the fact that most Tasmanian birds must have slept in front of my sister's house because come every morning, there will be reminders of their visits. I've seen birds' poo in other countries but they cannot challenge the Tasmanian birds in any way. With the Ford Falcon's grey exterior as the background, these birds somehow managed to poo-sue artistic endeavours by leaving their poo splattered all over the car. And we're not talking about miniscule poo. We're talking about big chunks of poo which were hard to remove and in some cases, even provided an insight into what the birds had for lunch!

Truth be told, we did nothing much in Lonnie. Mom and Dad were contented to be driven to the local supermarkets (I can never view Woolworths, Coles and Kmart the same away again.) almost every day. There was always something to be bought for the house or for my sisters. On my part, I learned from my second sister that the fun in getting a good chocolate deal is exhilarating! Their supermarkets would compete in giving chocolate bargains and that would leave me totally crazy! At the end of our stay, I must have purchased more than 20 kg of chocolates.

Mom and Dad waiting while we bought packets of rice with spicy beef curry. Picture was taken during our first day in Lonnie.

And that's the most frequented Brisbane Street where Wendy's on one corner and Myers on the other

Mom and Dad in front of Woolies.

Syazana having her picture in front of Lonnie's sole Korean Church

Waiting for dinner at Morty's Food Hall. This was during the second night in Lonnie.

How's this for pancake? The whip cream and bananas simply left us wanting more

Devonshire pancakes. This was Syazana's and my second trip to Morty's while the parents stayed at home

Syazana trying to show that she can enjoy both for dinner

Us and the Tasmanian version of 'Death by Chocolate'. I must say, their chocolate cake is waaaayyy richer than ours.

We did go to the Cataract Gorge for a ride on the 'Basin Lift' on 5th August 2010 (and since my youngest sister missed the trip, I accompanied her again on 10 August 2010) and some mini trekking in the cold weather before calling it a day. It was especially entertaining to see my parents rode the chairlift. Oh, and while we didn't manage to catch sight of kangaroos, we did see lots of wallabies. Let the pictures describe it better =p

We tried to get the concessions for adults (the chair lift ride) but since no one else was around, the attendant gave us the family package =)

Dad's gleeful expression as they boarded the chair lift

Welcome to Cataract Gorge. I'm a little shy so I hope a side glimpse of myself will do.

Two camera-friendly wallabies going their way to welcome visitors

The parents and the lone wallaby

The walk after the wallabies

Mom about to walk on the Alexandra suspension bridge. If you can see the words, someone had altered it to 'Please do rock the bridge!'

Mom and Dad with what must be the tallest (and most humongous) tree we've ever seen. Now, if only they'll play the music so that my parents can indulge in a Hindi movie scene

Dad: This is what happens when one is married far too long. You just follow your wife!

I know they're my parents (forgive my bias) but isn't this picture just adorable? =p

Us on the Alexandra Bridge

Syazana showing us why three's a crowd

The whole family also embarked on a cross-country trip to Hobart, a 2 hour drive from Lonnie. As usual, I was the appointed driver and while my sisters snoozed the hours away, I had to make do with miles and miles of open land space as well as a high number of sheep and gigantic cows.

What are you looking at?!

Syazana and her many admirers

And all I got were pictures of their behinds!

On our way to Hobart, we stopped at this place called Campbell Town for a short break before reaching the Cadbury Factory.

The first picture taken in Campbell Town. It certainly was not the last for Syazana

Trying to have a conversation in front of a historic log. Well, weirder things have happened elsewhere

Okay, am seriously unsatisfied with this picture. For the record, I just happened to be standing on the lower end of the street. Honest!

It was in Cadbury Factory that I realised I died and went to heaven. There was nothing worth mentioning about the tour because watching a video on how chocolates are made just don't count! But the chocolate shop (which again, added to my collection of chocolates rather extensively) and the super delicious chocolate hot drink really made my day.

I've been to the chocolate lovers' heaven / haven!!!

The Cadbury lady showing us how they would pour the chocolate concoction into those ice-cube plates. Wanted to snap a picture of the replica of the machine but where I was seated was just not good enough

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my home away from home. The Cadbury Shop :)

Digging out the moolah


It's all mine. MINE :)

I was not satisfied with the bags of chocolates we bought so I decided to take along the life-size cadbury bar with us.

You do know I'm kidding right?

Tired with chocolate shopping (it was an arduous task, mind you), we had to enjoy cups of hot chocolate at the Cadbury Cafe

Three cups of hot chocolate ranging from mildly sweet to the super-duper really fattening drink. Not a good idea if you're watching your weight

The next stop was Mount Wellington which my sister recommended for us to have a full view of Hobart. We drove up the mountain and what started out as rain pellets turned out to be snow!!! It was sheer amazing because no one expected snow at this late stage of winter. The scenes leading up to the peak of Mt. Wellington could have been mistaken as pictures one will usually see in Hallmark's movies or Christmas cards. We did not manage to view Hobart (because the snow was just too heavy) but we did enjoy ourselves frolicking in the snow. Enjoy the pictures below!

Minutes after arriving on Mount Wellington. The car looked clean because Dad had braved the chilly weather and literally 'snow-washed' the car =p

Mom, my youngest sister and myself. There is another picture of my incorrigible sister dropping snow on my head but obviously, I won't put that picture here.

Mom and my second sister.

Syazana just could not resist the 'flying' pose. I can never figure out why.

My two sisters. I used to call them the twin terrors.

In front of what I could only describe as 'lots and lots of snow'.

Our only family picture on Mount Wellington. Took Dad a lot of persuasion to leave the heated comfort of the car.

Just to prove a point that we've reached the 'Pinnacle'.

We made the 'Mayfair Plaza Motel' our home for the next two nights in Hobart. Having stayed there, I would recommend this place to anyone who wants to visit Hobart. It's close to attractions and restaurants are plenty within walking distance. The fact that McDonalds is our next door neighbour really helps too. Coles and Woolies are also nearby should there be a need to stock up on the foodstuff.

As our visit to Hobart coincided with the weekend, we had the opportunity to visit the famed Salamanca Market. Well, I could now understand its famed repute as we could get great bargains and good food for reasonable prices. I do believe our wallets were considerably lighter after visiting the market. We bought quite a variety of things, from sunnies to huskies as well as more clothes and tasmanian leatherwood honey!

Part of the long stretch of stalls that make what Salamanca Market famous. Noticed the mountain? It's Mount Wellington on a clear day.

The photographer, the model (the one with the red beret) and yes, the one who likes to pose in what he calls as the 'korean style'

Mom and me before the shopping onslaught

Syazwina trying to haggle. She ended with Henry the Bear and Syazana later bought Henry II. See below

And here's Henry II!

Henry the Bear with a beary (fairer) cousin as well as Syazana's friend (who is also considered Syazwina's twin)

Me trying to contain my 'glee' before the first bite of ferrero rocher gelato

It was coincidental that Mom was in the shadows and Dad with the 'halo' effect

It was also in Hobart that my sister and I had this pretty funny encounter with two Greek guys (I think they were greek) who ran the 'Mykonos' fish-n-chip takeaway shop. Dad was pretty famished and he told us to get the customary fish and chips sets as well as an extra bag of chips for dinner. When we reached the shop however (which is barely 3 minutes away from the motel), we changed our minds. We settled for one fisherman's basket, one fish and chips and the extra bag of chips as requested by Dad. The Greeks looked at us (two tiny Asian girls who could easily be blown off by the Tasmanian wind) and I guessed they must be perturbed by the amount of food we ordered. In fact, they asked us how many exactly are sharing the meals and even when we said three pax, they repeatedly asked 'More chips?!'. Only after we received the packages do we understand the incessant 'More chips?!' as the portions were nothing less than humongous!

It was decided that on our way back to Lonnie, we would drive to Ben Lomond for a spot of skiing. Yet, we were also pushing our luck by settling for a leisurely ride home, stopping in small villages like Sorrel (where we had our breakfast in Penny's) and Ross (dubbed the cleanest village in Tasmania!). We also opted not to take the highways and instead, opting for the unbeaten track between the Tasman and Midland Highways. It was again miles and miles of land and flocks of sheep providing the visual entertainment. We even drove to parts where we believe the 'Bogans' live and stopping for any reason was out of the question. By the time we drove up Ben Lomond, specifically Jacob's Ladder (which was quite dangerous as it required vehicles to be equipped with snow chains and we had none with us!) it was already dark. With my parents already insisting that we call it a day, we had to drive away, our hopes of skiing remained unfulfilled.

Dad and Syazwina walking on the streets of Ross village. Picture was taken by Syazana from inside our car. I have to ask this - don't you think this picture has that paparazzi-ish feeling?

We did manage to stop in Kings Meadow (another small town), had a customary visit to the local Coles before finally reaching home. Another two days were spent in Lonnie where we (finally) visited Syazwina's faculty and took a few shots around the city.

Our family picture (minus the actual student - Syazwina) in front of the only available university emblem. Kindly excuse my dad's pose, he's just displaying a bit of the matrix cum queer eye for the straight guy persona

We passed Albert Hall countless time every day we were in Lonnie. Dad said we must take pictures in front of the yellow-green building so we did.

Having seen Schonbrunn Palace in Vienna, I kinda like how Lonnie's Albert Hall is very much similar

There was also a funny episode to be recorded. We had already driven ourselves to the Launceston Airport about twenty minutes from my sister's home, hauled out the luggages and was about to return the car when my Mom realised something. In her bid to ensure that nothing of our stuff got left behind, she had unwittingly brought along my second sister's winter jacket. I could understand her position as my sister's jacket is the same colour as mine and Mom must have thought that the extra jacket was mine. In the end, Mom and I had to drive back to the house we thought we had bid farewell to while Dad and my youngest sister wait in the airport.


The flight back to Melbourne was uneventful. As we reached Melbourne around 3 pm on 11 August and our flight to KL was only at 9 am 12 August 2010, Dad suggested that we take the shuttle bus into Melbourne City and see what the city has to offer. On paper, that was a good idea as one would be crazy to wait in the airport for a period of more than 12 hours. However, by the time we reached Melbourne City, it was already close to 5 pm and shops close latest at 6.30. We did however, managed to reach the Southern Cross Bus Terminal, had Subway at Spencer Street Mall, did a spot of shopping and took a 2 hour ride pass on their Metro trams. We returned to the airport close to 10 p.m. before sleeping the night in the airport. Apart from me who experienced sleeping a night in an airport (it was in the Dubai International Airport to catch a flight home to KL from Vienna), this experience was the first for my family members. Seeing that there were suspicious characters loitering around (they did not seem to be travellers waiting for their flights. Instead, they tended to wait by the entrance doors), we took turns to sleep as our hand luggages need to be watched. It was also an experience for my family members to have their 'sahur' with McDonalds as the next day marked the first day of fasting. Needless to say, the flight home was pretty much sleeping the hours away without the usual food.

Dad must be thinking why on earth did he agree to join us for this ride

On the way to Spencer Street Mall

Dad and me in the Melbourne tram. Gosh, that red hat is very striking but I can't resist buying it from Salamanca

Drinking her last bottle of water before imsak (Tullemarine, morning of 12 August 2010)

Fancy a flight to Beijing Sgwtghai? =p

It had been a long time since our last family trip and I definitely hope for another one in the near future. While my second sister is still in Australia, I think it will take little persuasion for my dad (and none at all for my Mom who is an avid traveller) to join us (my youngest sister and myself, both who are ready to drop everything and go) for yet another Lonnie sojourn. Perhaps we could be more ambitious the next time around and hop over to New Zealand for a couple of nights. We'll have to wait and see. In the meantime, I'm keeping my fingers crossed.