Of National and Vernacular schools

So much has been said about our state of education. Of national and vernacular schools. Of the teaching of maths and science in English or in Bahasa Malaysia. Of Article 152. Of the decline of the English language. Of the quality of our graduates, or lack thereof.

Everyone seems to have something to say, no matter how really off tangent. And particularly when we talk about vernacular schools.

Early in the year, I thought with the Prime Minister's assurance that vernacular schools are here to stay, this would no no longer be an issue. We would stop talking about closing vernacular schools. We would accept that in this country, we would always have diversity. And one day, maybe even learn to truly celebrate this diversity. And we would always have a dual school system and the way forward would be to discuss on improving school management. Education reforms would centre on delivering quality and producing a thinking generation.

But no. Still an issue. Still very much a thorn. There are many who would still bemoan that vernacular schools promote racial segregation and obstuct national unity. Do they really? And they argue that if we really are Malaysians and if we want to see a truly 1Malaysia, we should send our children only to national schools. For country and unity.

Why do people think that if we are all educated the same way, speak the same language and suffer the same system, we will then be united.

17 years ago, I made the decision to send my child to a national school, rather than to a chinese vernacular school. It wasn't because I wanted her to mix with other races. It wasn't because I was turning my back on Mandarin. It wasn't because I was more malaysian.

Being the dreamer that I was, I wanted my kids to enjoy their growing up years. I wanted them to have time to play, watch TV, laze about, dream and go beyond textbooks. I wanted them to lose themselves in fairy tales and have a tad more imagination.

Yes, I knew in Chung Hwa school, she would most probably have far better teachers, master the mother tongue and be a mathematics genius. And she would learn discipline and be a very well mannered child. And would not have messy hair. A brighter future surely.

But I also know she would have endless pages of written homework. And not to mention the endless memorizing and reciting of multiplication tables. The regimented style, the rote learning - those weren't quite the turn on. Not for me.

So national schools or vernacular schools? There is no one right system of education. There is no moral high ground.

My beef is with those who refused to see it for what it is. What education must be, it must be relevant. Whether national or vernacular school, we should teach our children not only the rudiments of reading and writing, not only science and maths, but also allow them to think critically, and give them space to discover their talents and interests.

We tell our children what they can be. Do we also teach them who they are and who they can be?

Pantang. The Chinese way.

I am a first generation Malaysian Chinese. For the most part, I'm happy to be identified as such. Really. It's cool.

But. For the life of me, I can never understand why we have so many pantangs. (superstitions and taboos) A lot are downright crazy and ridiculous. No wonder they call us the kiasu, kiasi. and kiabo.

You see, for the Chinese, events are either auspicious (red) or not (white). The red kind of events are happy occassions like weddings, births, birthdays and festivals. The white kind are the bad stuff. Like deaths. Red and white can never mix. If you're getting married, you can't attend a funeral. Pantang!

Oh ya. Red and red also cannot mix. So if you're getting married, you cannot attend another wedding. Not even if she's your best friend. Pantang!

I am convinced that some of these pantangs are so designed to put women in our place and make us miserable.

Do you know that men are not allowed to do "female stuff" such as sweeping the floor or do the laundry or feed the baby? Bad luck. Pantang!

Women must let the men folk walk first. You girls, trail a few steps behind okay. What? Walk side-by-side? Bad luck. Pantang!

Girls, if you change seats at a meal, it probably means you're going to change husbands too. Oh and if you don't finish up your rice, count the number of grains you leave there. And that will be the number of pimples your hubby will have. And don't shake your legs. You're shaking the good luck away. Pantang!

When eating, never point your chopstick, knife or fork directly at someone, unless you want that someone to have an accident. And never talk when you are eating. Yap Fung. Pantang!

When using a broom, always sweep from behind the front door and progressively work your way to the back door. Do not sweep anything out of the front door. Never! Otherwise, no more good luck for you. Pantang!

And never let that broom sweep over your leg. Pantang!

Weddings are happy occassions and the rituals and taboos surrounding these are legendary.

First of all, you cannot marry anyone with the same surname. But if you're from a filthy rich family, and you want to keep the wealth within your family, ok-lah, you can marry that cute cousin. No kidding.

The wedding dinner should be a nine-course meal and fish must be served. The wedding flowers should never be yellow or white because these are the colours of death and poverty. Choose only red flowers. Square or rectangle cakes look like coffins. Get only round cakes and your marriage will last forever. No 4 tier cake. In fact no 4 anything or anywhere. "Four" is a seriously BAD word. Major Pantang!

Pregnancy and Giving Birth are also major happy events. And again a slew of taboos.

During pregnancy, the mum-to-be cannot sew. Cannot kill (not even mosquitoes). Cannot eat or drink anything that's dark-coloured, like coffee or soya sauce ( becos your baby will have dark skin and your mum-in-law will accuse you of having an affair with an Indian). Cannot eat or drink anything cold. Cannot paint (baby will have birthmarks). Cannot move your funiture around. Cannot get angry. Cannot attend weddings. Cannot attend funerals. Cannot have sex. Pantang!

Once the baby is born, the mother enters the Confinement period. But really, Confinement is just another name for Imprisonment. Thirty days of hell.

In confiinement, the mother cannot shower nor wash her hair for 30 days. In fact, she's not allowed to touch water. Pantang!

No fruits or vegetables generally. Cook everything with sesame oil and ginger. If possible, squeeze the juice out of those ginger and drink au naturel. I tell ya, it burns all the way down and I mean way way down. And no beef, lamb or mutton. Causes itchiness. Pantang!

Cannot go out. Cannot bring the baby out. Cannot switch on the fan. Must wear socks all the time, even in 34 degrees Celcius! Must drink only hot water. Pantang!

Cannot praise your baby. Not even if she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Cannot say good girl, or clever girl. Because the opposite will happen. And if someone else says that, quickly say Choi choi choi! Bad girl. Ugly girl.

Oh ya. CANNOT CRY.

These beliefs, taboos, superstitions, I used to laugh and brush them all off. Guess what. Still alive. But now, in my tender old age, I'm more sensitive to other people's sensitivities.

Still, I think it's true only if we believe it's true. I believe in God. Greater is He that is in me, than he that is in the world.  

A true friend

You know how, with some people, you find it so easy to be friends with. They are naturally friendly, naturally warm, and you feel an instant connection. Suddenly, WHAM! you feel you've known each other for years.

I am not one of those people. In fact, I've been labelled a Snob, more times than I care to count.

But I feel really lucky and blessed that I have met and formed real friendships with quite a few who are of the warm, fuzzy, caring, sort. The complete antithesis of me.

Like Jit Pang. A chance meeting at a christian youth camp in 1989 and we've been pals ever since. Lost touch for more than 15 years but then when we got back in touch, it's like hey, same same. Without skipping a beat, we could talk, scold and heap abuse at each other, like only the rarest of friends could.

This is an old picture, I was er.. 18, and thought big hair and looking like a lioness was cute. Arrggh. Yes, you can laugh.  

 This is him now, with his beautiful family. How he has grown ya.

Jit's been a youth pastor for a few years. He may be at a crossroad now, seeking direction, but I know he'll be OK. He will continue to touch many lives, cos his heart has always been for God. Never holier than thou, never judgemental. A true servant.

And a true friend.

Get Up. It's OK to fail.

Every once in a while, we stumble and fall. And we get overwhelmed by every crappy thing around us.

This, is for a friend, who feels she's not achieving anything. That everything seems to be leading to a dead end. But I know, she needs to get right back up and plod on.

So I've compiled a list of all these people who have had their share of failures, some seriously epic, but have all triumphed in the end. And what successes they were.

Harrison Ford - The Vice President of Columbia told this actor that he was never going to make it in the business. 

John Grisham - His first book was rejected by 12 publishing houses and sixteen agents.

The Beatles - Turned down by a recording company saying “We don’t like their sound and guitar music is on the way out”.

Beethoven - Told by a music teacher “as a composer he is hopeless”.

Walt Disney - Fired from a newspaper because he “lacked imagination and had no original ideas”.

Chicken Soup for the Soul.– Were told by Publishers that “anthologies didn’t sell” and the book was “too positive” Rejected a total of 140 times. It now has 65 different titles and has sold over 80 million copies all over the world.

Thomas Edison - Told by a teacher he was “too stupid to learn anything”.

Albert Einstein - Wasn’t able to speak until he was almost 4 years old and his teachers said he would “never amount to much” –

Michael Jordan - Was cut from the high school basketball team, went home, locked himself in his room and cried.

Marilyn Monroe – Producer told her she was “unattractive” and could not act.

Julia Roberts - Auditioned for All My Children and got rejected.

Stephen King- Received 30 rejections and the author threw it in the trash. Luckily his wife fished it out again and encouraged him to resubmit it. The book was Carrie.


Don't ever quit trying. You are better than a failed attempt.

Let's finish strong.

Breakfast @ Kuching

Kuchingites are a quirky lot. They can't live without kolok mee. It's just dry noodles really, with mince meat, cha siew and some red cha siew sauce.

I don't get how this can be so addictive. In fact, when I first moved to Kuching, I didn't appreciate it much. But ask any true blue Kuchingite. In fact, just mention kolok mee, and watch them get weak in the knees.

Now, Sarawak Laksa, I like. I can eat this everyday. It's very different from Penang Laksa. This, I liked from the first slurrp. This, I would kill for. I particular like the one from Chong Choon Cafe at Abell Road. That bowl, I would scrape till the very last morsel and then lick it clean. Yums maximus.

This next one is another fave of mine. Comfort food. Foochow mee sua, with red wine. I hear Foochow women take this five times a day during confinement. Lucky them. It's light, but so super delicious. The chicken and mee sua, so infused with the red wine and ginger broth, is just simply yums. Even Nat, my picky little eater, digs this.

Simple fare. Simply yums.

Tough questions kids ask

Clarissa's my first born. And from the time she could talk, she never stopped asking questions. Her inquisitiveness drove me nuts. She would ask questions like :

Why is there a voice inside the telephone?
Are there people inside the TV?
Can I telephone Barney?
What is a boy?
Why can't our dog talk?
Why does daddy snore so loudly?
Why does daddy fart so loudly?
Are the clouds crying again?

Lucky me, I always got the questions. Because Daddy would simply say "Go ask your Mummy".

But it's OK. I could answer her questions. And most of the time, I would always try to give her the honest lowdown, in words that she could understand. Why does daddy snore? Oh. He has a frog in his throat, darling. All grown-up men do.

When she was 4 years old, Alex was born. And all those answers I gave her, she passed on to Alex.



Did you know Alex, that daddy has a trumpet in his backside? That's why he farts so loudly.

The toughest questions tho, were about the birds and bees.

It went something like this :

Clarissa : How was Alex born, Mummy?

Me        : Well, you see this belly button? He squeezed out from here.

Clarissa : Oh OK.

               But how did he get in there?

Me        : Err.. well, Ahh... God put him in there.

Clarissa : Oh OK

The next day, Clarissa was at it again.

Clarissa : Mummy, Daddy said babies are made from sex.

Me        : Err... yes, that's right darling.

Clarissa : What is sex, Mummy?

Me        : Ummm.. it's like when a man and a woman kiss each other. Like what you saw on TV that

               day.

Clarissa : Ewww.. Like kiss naked? On the bed?
Me        : Err... yes, that's right darling.

Clarissa (huge eyes now) : Mummy! Did you and Daddy have sex before?

Me        : Err... yes.

Clarissa : That is disgusting !

Me        : Well I did it because I wanted you and Alex.

Clarissa : Oh. But it's still disgusting. 

               Must I have sex when I'm bigger?

Me        : Oh look at Alex. What's he eating?

Parenting. And that's how it's done.