Moving Day

On Friday, we upped from our office of 6 years to move to a nicer location.

I hate moving. It's a pain. All that packing and unpacking, and re-packing. We won't miss the old place much. It was a shitty location without much to offer. Except the food. And the sparkling reception we get at the local coffee shop. :)

It's Saturday and at 6:49pm, we're still in the office. And the place is still a mess.

I hate moving.

Massage

Last night was the second round of our Ante-Natal classes. This time, we learnt stretching, breathing and relaxing.

Our class this time around was conducted by two physiotherapists and held in the Rehabilitation Centre of DSH. Towards the end of the night, this young lady physiotherapist was giving us instructions and tips on massaging. Yes, daddies have a role to play too!

As we did an exercise on back massage, the physiotherapist made her rounds to make sure we're doing it right. Then she came round to Mae and me.

"Aah... this one's good," she said out loud. And all the other folks turned to look.

And suddenly all the expectant mommies ditched their husbands and made a beeline at the foot of Mae's bed. "Do me next!" "No! Me first" "Please, me first. I'll pay you, okay!?" Suddenly all the women in the room wanted a taste of my massaging prowess. I knew then as I have always known; mine were the hands that were made for the pleasure of womankind.

Okay. So it didn't quite happen that way. But heck, it felt good to know that I had the makings of masseur! Hahahahah!!!

"Honey, you proud of me?" I asked, quite shamelessly.

"I'm always proud of you," said the clever woman who will enjoy good massage for the rest of her life.

Sick

I'm sick. I hardly get sick, except for my constant battle with my blood pressure and that stupid pain in the ball of my left foot. But you know what I mean.

There is a raging tempest where my brain used to be. Every sinew in my body untwining and unraveling, snapping and crackling. And the shadow of death is looming over this broken body beckoning me to let it all go. Okay. I exaggerate. I do that everytime I'm sick. Everytime I get sick, I slip into this mini-depression and wish that I was dead or something. I'm a whiner, what can I say.

Whiners need TLC. But even that I managed to screw up.

Last night I was exceptionally crabby. It was the flu, but I didn't know it then. I just felt crappy. Mae said something and I snapped at her, "Go to sleep lah!" Half an hour later, I had begun to feel the full effects of the flu so I resigned to bed.

True to the whiner that I am, I tried to weasel sympathy from Mae. "Honey, I don't feel well," I said in my most pitiful, quivering voice. And Mae said, "Go to sleep lah!" Boy, did that sting. But I knew I had it coming. So I went to bed wallowing in self-pity.

This morning, I awoke as cheerful as a church on Monday. Mae saw and took pity on me. Her big hulking giant had fallen and can't get up.

Thank God. Nothing cures a flu faster than a little TLC. :)

Apparatus

Today I had an epiphany. It's rare, but yes, every now and then I do get a flash of brilliance. Today, I realised what's missing in our lives.

Have you ever noticed how we're clever folks, us humans? We wear clothes and we invent stuff. And thanks to our genius, we have an array of nifty little gadgets to help us get by in our daily lives.

We have toothpicks that help us remove the rest of our meal from between our teeth. We've got cotton buds and those tiny little "scoop" things to rid our ears of the gunk that build up inside. Manicurists use a little device that helps them push in our cuticle so we have neat and tidy nails. Heck, we even have that nasty little piece of metal to help us pop our pimple or squeeze out that blackhead.

"So, how come we don't have anything to pick the booger from our nose," I ask Mae, "Don't we deserve a pick or something when we go for gold?". Mae, being Mae ponders seriously upon this enquiry as she does with every question that I ask. Hehheheh!!

"I know!" she exclaimed as it hits her. "It's because we don't need them. We can reach in all by ourselves."

I still think we need an apparatus for nose-picking. If not for our noses, then for Baby's. If we were to dig his tiny nose with our porky fingers, the poor little guy will have huge, flaring nostrils by the time he's 7.

Do we need nosepicks or what?

Wedding Weekend

... baby set the night on fire ...

Over the weekend, Mae's brother, Colin got hitched. As you can imagine since we're Chinese Malaysians, it was a busy, busy weekend.

Chinese weddings are terribly elaborate, but disturbingly enjoyable at the same time. The day started at 7:30 am for us since both Mae and I have been assigned as unofficial videographer and photographer respectively. We make our to Sharon's home.

Colin and his entourage get there and are ragged by Sharon's girl friends. The first session was a pop quiz to see how well Colin knows his bride. Everytime he screws up the answer, he and his poor buddies are made to eat a raw onion. It was a feast of onions that day!

Next up, the boys are served four tall glasses of Sweet, Sour, Bitter and Spicy in liquid form. Ick!!! But Colin's friends faithfully down the stuff. One poor guy even puked his guts after. When he did, we all rushed... to record the moment for posterity. And for laughs, of course. Bwahahahaha!!!

Finally, the boys had to form a human pyramid. Colin got to the top and shouted his love for Sharon at the top of his lungs. After that, the girls finally allowed the flustered groom access to his blushing bride. Ok. Sharon never blushes. This tough-as-nails girl just laughed her head off at the boys. Hahhaha!!

Next, the bride is whisked off to the groom's family house where a Tea Ceremony is performed. In true Hokkien tradition, Sharon serves tea to the elders as her first task of respect as a part of Colin's family. Then the younger ones, serve their new big-sister tea to welcome her. Nice.

The second round of the wedding started at 7:00 pm. A feast is a must in a Chinese wedding. Come to think of it, a feast is a must in every Chinese occassion - birth, marriage and even funeral! Yup. Somebody dies, and everybody eats. Hehheh!

Here, the traditions combine. The bride marches with her dad and is presented to the groom. They exchange vows before an ordained minister - who also happens to be Sharon's uncle. Lovely.

Then dinner and drinks.

The night ends close to midnight and everyone is pooped. For the groom, a huge burden has been lifted. All the tension and stress of the weeks leading up to the wedding ends as the guests trickle away.

It's no wonder that the wedding is the happiest day in a groom's life. :)

Miss Sourpuss

I survived my first Ante-Natal Class! Hurrah!!

We got there at 6:45pm, 15 minutes before time. This is, in itself a great achievement for me since I'm hardly ever punctual. In fact we were only the second couple there. Go on. Pat me on the back. :)

As we got there, there was this... erm... international couple ahead of us - a German and his Kazakhstanese wife. And lo and behold, there at the reception counter was our "old friend", Miss Sourpuss. Anyway, as they registered Miss Sourpuss attended to them and it was all good. And then suddenly, Mr. German get a flash of brilliance.

"Kahn you not put uhn 'Parentcraft Classes' on zah bill?" he enquired, "If you write uhn 'classes' my insurance von't pay for it." Mr. German then goes on to explain that his insurance would pay for consultations instead. It was a simple enough request but Miss Sourpuss was dumbfounded - thanks to his thick accent. She couldn't understand a word of his request. Meanwhile, the queue was starting to build. Finally, Mr. German gives up and says, "Nevershmind. Vee'll do this uhn later" and proceeds into the training room. Okay, he didn't really talk like that. But wouldn't it have been cool if he did?

Anyway, in old sourpuss fahion Miss Sourpuss mutters quite audibly, "Stupid German. Bodoh!" Right there, in front of the rest of us. What a stinky attitude! Sure, we get upset once in awhile. We are only human. But to do it in front of other customers is just plain unprofessional. And stinky. Did I mention stinky? Stinky.

The class was light-hearted and informative. Thank God for small miracles.

9 Months

look, ma, two digits!

Oh boy! We're down to a two-digit countdown now. I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait, I can't wait!!!!!!!

9 months is a long time to wait.

According to Parents.com, a 6-month (24-week) old fetus is able to live outside the womb. That means that if Baby is born now, he will be able to manage with a little help from the doctors. He'll be able to develop quite normally with the help of medication. So technically, 6 months is enough time for babies to stay in a womb.

Doesn't that make you wonder why babies are born only after 9 months? Why not 6?

I think that's just the way God planned it. For Mae and me, 9 months gives us some time to get our act together. 6 months ago, we would have made shitty parents. Now, we've gotten considerable less shitty. In another 3 months, we can almost be certain that in the future, Baby can grow into adulthood without ever needing therapy someday!

And having to go through an emotional rollercoaster for 9 months also helps us to appreciate Baby better. If babies can be made in a day or two, I don't think anyone will care too much for babies.

In fact, we might even eat our kids. Babies are cute and soft and they smell nice. "Yumm, that was good. Let's make another one for dinner next week!" We are Chinese, you know. And the Chinese will eat anything. Hahahhahha!!!

Thank God for 9 months.

Hey, Good Looking!

My wife tells me I'm handsome. HAHAHAHA!!! She kills me, I tell you.

Deep in my heart, I know I'm not a good looking man. Firstly, much as I'd like it, I do not have a very defined jawline. To make matters worse, years of excesses have added on to my ever-increasing chins. Next, my nose is like a Karl-Malden-esque lump of clay in the middle of my face. And then there's the tragedy I call teeth, which would surely make me any orthodontist's best customer. And finally, to seal this deal of ugliness, my eyes are different from one another!

While I'm convinced that I'm fairly hideous, in all my audacity, I have always sought after the lookers. All the girlfriends that I have ever had, had been pretty girls. And Mae must surely be the fairest of them all.

"Why are you men so shallow?" most women would say, "Beauty is only skin-deep". Was I not capable of looking beyond the looks? But here's the thing; While I have always considered myself fortunate to have gone out with some of the prettiest girls ever, my friends have actually come up to me and told me otherwise, "What? You call that pretty? Euww!"

Yes, the woman in my life must be beautiful. And she must be sexy. But the standards of her beauty and sexiness are exclusively my own. Maybe someone might take a look at Mae and say, "Whoa!! You married THAT?" but it doesn't matter (I'm so dead when she finds this blog!). To me, she's perfect. In fact, she is the most beautiful woman in the world - even if it's my own little world! And if anyone else thinks so, that's a bonus.

My wife tells me I'm handsome. Hahahahha!! I'm bug-ugly to the rest of the world, but to my wife, I'm handsome. "Alright honey," I always tell her, "Just don't say it out loud."

There is hope for mankind. There is.

Affair

Mae and I have the weirdest conversations. Tonight, as I accompanied her to bed she asked, "How would I know if you were having an affair?"

With dead seriousness, I masterfully concocted the perfect answer for my wife. "My lifestyle would change. I would stop wanting to stay up late. I would stop wanting to watch DVDs at home."

She pondered perplexedly upon my enigmatic answer.

Yessss... it's working. She was buying it hook, line and sinker. Perhaps now she'll stop nagging me for staying up late. Perhaps now she'll stop calling me a TV addict. Perhaps now I'll be able to stay up late all night, every night. And from now on, I'd be able to watch DVD upon DVD until my eyes pop out!

Then she broke the silence with evil cackle, "Hahahh... nice try! Too bad I'm not buying it."

Oh well, back to the drawing board. *sigh*

Officially

yes, James as in James Dean!

My dad named me James. It's in my Birth Certificate which makes it... erm... official. Which is really no big deal these days but back in my time and that of Dad's, it was quite unusual for a Chinese Malaysian kid to have a Christian/Western name. Unless you were Christian, of course, which wasn't the case back then.

Dad had a great rationale for making our names official. Back in the 60's, thanks to the Hollywood culture, everyone gave themselves a Westernised first name. Which was okay, except that kids back then did sometimes go over the top, with names like Montgomery, Rocky or Elvis! So when my brother Jeffrey was born, Dad decided that he'd give us all sensible names so we wouldn't make fools of ourselves. Kids do that. If Baby had his way, he'd be called Noodle! (read previous post) :)

I remember this kid back in school. He loved Paul McCartney big time and decided to immortalise his idol in his own name. And McCartney Ong was born! Nope, his dad didn't have the foresight my father did. (Hey McCartney Ong, if you ever happen to chance upon this blog do forgive me. But like I said all those years ago, it IS a weird name lah!! Hehhehheh!) But fortunately, his cool Chinese name saves the day.

Anyway, when Mom was pregnant with me, an old flame remarked to Dad that both he and his brother's looks combined, resembled an oriental James Dean (she musta been visually impaired!). Since my uncle's wife was also pregnant at the time, our names were pretty much decided for us. My cousin, Dean was born 4 months after me. And no, neither of us look like James Dean, though that would have helped plenty. *Ahem*

Thank God our dads didn't look like Humphrey Bogart!

Noodle

Baby's in his 25th week now. Since he's already able to hear, we've been chatting him up quite a bit.

Tonight, just before Mae's bedtime, we got to talking with the little guy. Since we're still undecided on his name, Mae suggested that we run some names and see which one Baby responds to. He'd already begun kicking when we started talking, so we knew he was wide awake - he usually is at midnight! Nocturnal, just like Daddy! :)

"Hey there, Baby Marcus!" No respond. "Baby Dylan..." Nothing. "Baby Aidan". "Baby Julian". Not a twitch. We even tried to fake a few. "Hey, Baby William" and still nothing. After a few more, we decided that maybe Baby just wants to be nameless. And we left it at that. Perhaps, he'd fallen asleep.

As I tucked Mae in, I asked if she'd like some noodles for breakfast and she answered with a sharp, "Ow!" Baby kicked. I smiled at Mae knowingly. "Baby Noodle!" Baby kicked again. We tried again, "Hey Noodle," and Baby kicked again. Heh! Looks like Baby's picked his name.

Hehehh. Dopey kid. :)

Back To School

Well, sort of. Mae and I have signed up for the ante-natal classes at Damansara Specialist Hospital, where we've been going to see the Gynaecologist. It runs for four consecutive Thursdays starting next week. I expect they'll be teaching Mae how to do her breathing and probably also give her realistic expectations about the delivery. We'll also learn stuff like how to bathe and change Baby. Stuff like that.

The first time we enquired about the classes, the young lady in charge gave me a long lecture about how I should be a responsible husband and attend the classes with Mae.

"You know, it's compulsory for husbands. You must be fully committed. You cannot sign up and decide to let your wife come alone. We won't tolerate that!" Miss Sourpuss was practically scolding me for being a bad husband, "You have that look on your face that tells me you're a bad husband who will leave your wife and child someday, you bastard!"

Okay, I made up that last bit. But it sure sounded like it was headed that direction. I had to put my foot down. I would have like to put it down on her head but I decided that would be ungracious of me. Heh!

"Please, Miss, take it easy-lah. I never said I wasn't gonna show up. Don't scold me until I mess up, okay?" I cut her off as politely as I could, honest. She stopped, gave us a limp smile and proceeded to explain the dates and rates of the course.

Poor girl. Must have had bad experiences with men! :)

Eating Hanoi

if it's stopped moving, it's safe to eat

One of my personal highlights of our trip to Hanoi is the food. Did you really expect me not to blog about this? :) As far as I am concerned, the defining taste of any country can be found only in the streets. Yup, I like to sample hawker food!

This here is a Bon Bo Nam Bo stall. I have no idea what it means, but I think the phrase is the name of the dish they sell. This is our second attempt at street food. Our first try was at a Mi Van Than Mi Sui Kow (Wanton Noodles, Suikow Noodles) stall, which unfortunately ended up in disaster (read: diaorrhea) for our travelling companion, Dot.

Anyway, Bon Bo Nam Bo is a semi-souped rice noodle dish with boiled beansprouts, green veggies and lots and lots of beef strips. It's garnished with a whole load of stuff, from fried shallots to crackers and other stuff I cannot identify (*gulp*)

Like our first try at Hanoi hawker food, we went for the stall with the most patrons. This one was packed to the brim. However, due to communication difficulties, we only ordered the main course. The side dishes, which you can see in the picture are the French loaves (short ones in accordance to Asian standards. Heh!) and spring rolls - these are wrapped in banana leaves.

Mae didn't eat since we're worried that she might suffer the same fate as Dot. As for Dot, even as I ate this she was at the hotel nursing her raging tummy. Poor girl! Mae just took nibbles. But as I assured my wife, our stomachs are lined with steel from all the junk we take all the time. Heh! Still, we didn't take any chances for Baby's sake.

Anyway, the dish is only so-so. My verdict for all Hanoi food is that they tend to overdo it with the garnishing and extras. I think this dish would have been better just noodles, beef and beansprouts minus all the other stuff. But eating in Hanoi is cheap. This bowl cost only USD 0.50!

By the time we got home, I had missed Malaysian food so much I practically stuffed my face with Char Kuey Teow and Nasi Lemak for five consecutive days.

There goes my diet. Feh!

Tomorrow

They've been promoting the Broadway show, Annie quite frequently on the radio. And everytime the ad came on, they'd play the song "Tomorrow".

Last week, while I was driving around with Mae, the song came on. As it did, I responded to it like the rats in the Pied Piper of Hamlin. My eyes just glazed over and I sang along hypnotically to the tune. "The sun will come out, tomorrow, betcha bottom dollar that tomorrow we'll have sunnn......"

Mae broke out in an evil cackle. "How come you know that song?" she enquired as her laughter subsided. Why would any manly man, such as myself, know the words to that soppy little girly tune?

But yes, I do know that song. In fact, I know it all too well.

I was ten and in Standard 4 at the time. It was our school's Annual Elocution Contest. It was a time when kids would go up onstage and recite poetry. The teacher-in-charged decided to have some of us kid give a little performance while the judging was taking place. And as fate would have it, I was one of those kids picked to sing a song. And yes, you guessed it. I decided to sing "Tomorrow".

As I got up onstage that fateful day, the butterflies in my stomach were fluttering like there was... erm, no tomorrow. I took the mike, tilted it down to my mouth and started, "The sun will come out..." accompanied only by the thumping of my heart. And it was as good as can be expected. Students and teachers alike listened intently as my lone voice filled the hall. (Okay, it was a shitty little school and nobody thought to play the piano or anything!) But there I was, vowing them with my vocal. I was killin' em!

And then it happened! Since there was no instumentation backing my singing, I was pretty much left to my own devices. And thanks to my nervousnous, I had started the song on a key too high. I STARTED TOO HIGH!!!! It was too damn high!

By the time I got to the chorus of that song, the key was simply too high for my vocal range to hit. So I had no choice but to sing it falsetto!! Oh my God! I was singing like Bee Gees, except that I was not as cool (they were cool back then, okay!) and I looked pretty dopey up onstage singing like a little girl. Oh my God.

By then, chaos had swept the entire school. Everyone was pointing and laughing at that sissy boy singing falsetto up onstage! Kids were rolling all over the floor. Teachers cupped their mouths to hide their laughter. I wanted to run off the stage and never come back but I was only halfway through the chorus and my conscience deterred me from quitting. So I sang on. And the damn chorus felt like it would last forever. *sigh* Oh God.

Hahahah! That was the longest day in my childhood life. It was a day I thought tomorrow would never come. Hahahhah!!!

A Happy Mother's Day

Today is Mother's Day. As Mae and I made our way to church, we decided that since Baby has started to respond to sounds and music, we would go into the main sanctuary of the church building. Here, Baby would get a feel of our worship in its full glory.

DUMC is as charismatic as a church gets. Our worship today is backed by 7-piece band, 5 backup singers and a very able worship leader. The songs are upbeat and lively and we expected Baby to kick a little but the little guy must have not been particularly impressed.

Anyway, the proceedings continued. Today's speaker, Pastor Clarine Chun gave a wonderful sermon on motherhood. She shared with us personal letters from her children and it was all very moving. Finally, she ended the day by inviting a talented young man up on stage to give a musical tribute to all the mothers in DUMC.

As the young man played the keyboard and sang a beautiful song for the mothers, suddenly Mae grabbed my arm. "Honey, Baby's kicking now!!" It was as though Baby decided to wish mommy a Happy Mother's Day. It was probably just a coincidence, but it sure made our day!

Clever little guy. Something tells me we're gonna spoil him rotten someday.

Slow Boat to Tam Coc

rolling down the river

One of the highlights of our Hanoi trip is our day tour to Tam Coc. Tam Coc is a small farming community just a couple of hour's drive from Hanoi. The main attraction here is a boat ride on the river that runs through the rice fields.

The scenery is amazing. Being the start of summer, the rice crop is halfway grown, lending a bright green carpet of paddy that sprawls across a scenic landscape of fields and limestone hills melding at the horizon. A river weaves through the fields and cuts through the rocks offering a most wondrous journey you can have on boat.

Mae and I get into a boat with a middle-aged boatman and his niece. While Uncle rows the boat upstream, Niece chats us up - getting us comfortable for the kill! After an hour upstream, we take a break in a "lagoon" (for lack of a better word) where other boats approach corner us, peddling beer, soft drinks and fruits. Here, we're "encouraged" to buy some refreshments, if not for ourselves then for our boatman! Some tourists ignore these requests but we didn't mind since we had grown quite fond of Uncle and Niece by this time.

On the way downstream back to the pier, another sales pitch begins. This time Niece opens this huge tin chest and brings outs an assortment of embroidered articles, which is a booming home-industry at Tam Coc. It's reasonably cheap here (after strenuous haggling, of course!) with an embroidered tablecloth costing anywhere between USD 7.00 and USD 9.00.

At first I was hesitant about leaving Hanoi for Tam Coc (I'm a boring guy, what can I say) but Mae coerced me into it. Okay, she practically twisted my arm! But boy, I'm glad she did!

Lil' Monkey Face

173 days and counting

Today is our 5th visit to the Gynaecologist. In just a month, Baby's grown quite a bit.

Our Gynae gave us a split-print. On the left is a shot of Baby's... erm... nuts. Hehh! The right is a side-view of Baby's head. He's got a distinct face now. We've got nose, eyes and lips! Woohoooo!!!

Baby looks like he's got a nice nose. He seems to have inherited Mommy's nose. Which is good since Mommy's got a nice, Tom Cruise nose. Daddy's got a film star nose too, but unfortunately that "star" is a Hong Kong actor and he's bug-ugly!

By the way, is it just me or does Baby looks a little... erm... simian-ish in the scan. Hehhhehh! He looks like a tiny little monkey from the nose down. Which might explain why he's agile as a monkey these days, kicking up a storm inside of Mae.

Well, monkey or not he's God's gift to us. And that's all that matters.

Peddling Hanoi

Hanoi is sold on the streets

Hanoi bustles with life. One of the most interesting things you'll see in the Old Quarters are the street peddlers. And these come in a few variety - the ones who sit quite unceremoniously on the five-foot way with their products, the ones who carry their wares in two baskets on a pole and finally, the really... erm... enterprising ones who walk up to you with a handful of stuff.

You can buy just about anything. Zippo lighters. Copies of Lonely Planet Guide to Vietnam or the latest New York Times bestseller. This was very new to me. I have never seen anyone peddling books on the street. Some sold mangoes and bananas. Others peddled meat and veggies. You can also find French loaves - a legacy left behind by the French occupation, no doubt. Cigarettes. Water and soft drinks. Shades. Heck, you can even buy bras and panties off the street peddlers.

There was this old lady who had a bathroom weighing scale. For just a few cents you could check your weight. Then there were the more, "professional" version of the same thing - those scales that also took your height, you know, like the ones you get in shopping centres around Malaysia? Well, theirs came with wheels for them to cart around. Heh.

Whatever you may think of the Vietnamese, you have to admire their entrepreneurial spirit!

The Road To Hanoi

the Hanoi-ans were born to ride

Hanoi. What a crazy place! I love a little culture shock whenever I travel and Hanoi sure as heck didn't disappoint me.

In a taxi on the way from the airport, the culture shock hit us. The traffic was incredible - with hordes of motorcycles and bicycles whizzing past at breakneck speeds, a lot of them not even wearing any crash helmets. It was crazy! It seemed like all of Hanoi commuted on two wheels. The only times you can witness such a spectacle in Kuala Lumpur is on New Year's Eve and Merdeka Day. In fact if you want to imagine what it's like in the streets of Hanoi, just picture those crazy Mat Motor on Merdeka Day - everyday!

Another thing we noticed is that folks in Hanoi love their horns. In our 45-minute ride to the hotel, the taxi driver must have honked his horn over 100 times, I kid you not! In Hanoi they honk at everything. They honk when you're in the way, they honk when they wanna overtake, they honk to warn you that they're coming and they probably honk just to let you know they have a working horn on their vehicle. It gets annoying very quickly. If you ever let loose a Hanoi-an driver on our roads in Malaysia, the poor guy will be "fingered" off the road!

As you can imagine, crossing the roads in Hanoi can be hazardous to your life with all the cars and bikes there. There are no pedestrian bridges and the Zebra Crossings are largely for show. And yet for the locals, they just step out in faith and confidence, and their fellow Hanoi-ans will just gracefully weave around them. It took us awhile to get the hang of that.

Crazy as they may be, I have to admit that the folks in Hanoi are good drivers. Otherwise, I wouldn't have lived long enough to blog this. :)