What the Hell?

If Hell had a showroom, our bedroom is it.

At nights, I go to bed in the hottest place on earth. These days, in this weather, we're clocking about 30-odd degrees Celsius.

Mae doesn't like the cold one bit. She also hates moving air, hence the fan is kept at the lowest speed. We also don't open the windows because my lovely wife is convinced that right outside, is a swarm of vicious mosquitoes hellbent on killing her.

"Honey, no matter how cold you get, you can always put on another blanket, or another layer of pajamas," I reason with her, "but I can't do anything more than removing all my coverings."

But no, Mae likes it Hellish.

Despite the unforgiving temperature, for some reason Jesse and Maddie like to bunk with us. That's when we get to experience a little of the "wailing and gnashing of teeth" as well.

*sigh* What's up with the weather anyway?

Singing for Love

Yeah. This is me blogging again. :) And it's an old story too, something I meant to note down for posterity but then life got in the way. *sigh*

Anyway, it was Father's Day awhile back. And like all Sunday mornings, the kids get up first. Maddie was pottering around the room entertaining herself like she always does on the weekends.

I climbed out of bed and propped myself on the floor right in front of her.

"Give Daddy a kiss, Sweetpea," I said as lifted her chin a little to gaze into her eyes.

"Doman!" she snaps in her little baby-version of "don't want" and quickly turns to leave.

"Aww c'mon Baby, just a teeny-weeny little kiss, ok?" I tried again.

"Doman," she asserts. Maddie don't do touches and hugs and kisses.

At that point I felt a little vulnerable, I gotta admit. It was Father's Day and my little girl refused to acknowledge my place in her world. It kinda hurt a little bit. My little girl had brought her Daddy down to his knees. *sniff*

"But it's Daddy's Day, today," I pleaded.

But her tiny heart of stone knew only one answer. "Doman".

Then I has a brainwave. I started singing Barney. "I love you, you love me, we are happy family..." When I got to the part, "with a great big hug and a kiss from me to you," I emphasised it more than a little, and quite automatically, Maddie stepped up to me, hugged me and kissed me square on the lips.

And just like that, it was a nice day once again.

Reprise, Repeat, Repulsor

I haven't blogged in ages and I figured I should. Aside from being a nice reminder of things that happened in our lives, it's also pretty therapeutic. And Lord knows I need therapy from time to time. Comes with the whole territory of being Hainanese. Heh.

Anyway, it's been over six years of blogging now. Or semi-blogging, as the case may be. Jesse's going to Primary 1 next year. Maddie turns 1 this Sunday. I'm pushing 40. And Mae is 25. (It's statements like this last one that ensures I get to turn 40.)

At this stage, if you've read this far, you'd realise I'm just rambling. Sort of a freestyle riffing. There is probably a point to this post, but it might take awhile getting there. It probably has to do with growing old and getting verbose. A few more years, I'll be recounting war stories and their many reruns from a rocking chair.

So yeah, this one's about growing old, and growing up.

I look back at the last six years of blogging and I don't recognise the blogger. I've grown awfully cynical and perhaps even somewhat bitter. I don't marvel at too many things these days. And people don't surprise me any more. I've grown to hate more things than I love. Because with age and experience, comes the ability to see through all kinds of bullshit. You know, the kind that suspends your disbelief in anything, allowing you to be happy and well-adjusted.

Growing old sucks. Cos you can't find the time to watch a movie at the cinemas. No wonder I'm bitter.

I need to watch Iron Man 2 before I self-destruct.

5 Little Words

The dinner had been sumptuous, as it had always been in this household. And as they have always done, father and son sat out on the balcony chatting the night away, beer in hand.

"So how was that Composite Index today, son?" the father enquired. "That little dip in the morning sure worked up your old man's heart," senior said with a chuckle.

The son, however was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Father, I..." he couldn't quite put it in words.

"What is it, son?" the old man was concerned with the furrow in his son's brow. Despite being well over 40 years old, dad had always doted on him. Senior put his arm over the younger man, "C'mon son, you can tell me anything."

It was right there at the tip of his tongue, but these words has always been difficult for him to utter. He had never been able to say it all his life and today was no different.

"I... don't know how... to say it," said the son, his breath laboured as little beads of sweat formed on his forehead. "Father... I..." he stuttered as tears welled up in his eyes, struggling to express himself. This was his demon. This was all that has been torturing him all his childhood and even now in his adult life.

The father could bear it no longer. "Just say it son," dad said, his voice quivering with emotion at his son's suffering, "just say it."

"Father," the younger man found composure at his father's encouragement, and over forty years, the words finally came. "Father, I have to urinate."

................

Heh. Jesse came up to me last Friday evening and said, "Daddy, I want to wee-wee." At long last, I dare say that the boy is finally on his way to being fully toilet-trained. I was so proud I announced it to our friends who were here for our weekly church group meet. And they all gave the boy a rousing ovation.

Now we just gotta work at, "Daddy I want to poo-poo!"

7 Tips For Choosing Your Maid

Come May, Roma's contract expires and it would be time for her to go home. And so today, Mae and I went to the agency to select a new maid. While the process is not an exact science, there are rules to follow. Remember you read it here first:

7 TIPS FOR SELECTING YOUR DOMESTIC HELP

1. Always look at the eyes. If your maid looks psychotic, she probably is and will castrate your husband and kill you in your sleep should you ever piss her off.
2. Beware the slut. If your maid looks slutty, she probably is and will seduce your husband, your postman, your garbage collector and your neigbourhood bread man. On the other hand, your mails will never get lost, your garbage bin will be spotless and you get free bread.
3. Guess her age. If your maid is 25, she is probably only 19. If she is 21, then you're looking at a minor. But if she's 28, then she's probably 48. If she's older than 30, chances are she's older than your mother-in-law and will probably behave like her too.
4. No beauty queens. If your maid is hot, you might find your bastard husband sneaking off to her room in the middle of the night. And suddenly you'll wonder why your brothers, father-in-law and your male cousins are visiting you so often.
5. Size does matter. A heavily built maid or one with a large frame will most certainly overpower you in a power struggle. Your death will be senseless and stupid, but most deserving.
6. Maid in Malaysia. If your maid has been to Malaysia a lot, chances are she would have established an underground network of renegade maids who will overthrow your household and take you hostage.
7. Outgoing type. If your maid has indicated in her biodata that she prefers working at eateries, she'll probably run away from your home to work at the local Pub Dangdut. If she's hot and slutty too, you can be sure your bastard husband will suddenly acquire a taste for Dangdut.

Dorjee: A Tibetan Love Story

Dorjee, like his name, was a thunderbolt out of the blue. He was a remarkably beautiful man - masculine and chiseled, yet his ruddy complexion and sunny demeanor betrayed the mischievious boy within. It was no wonder that he was always popular with the girls, even back in Tibet, from where he came.

But there was this one Indonesian maid, in the condo where he worked, who wouldn't give him the time of day. Despite his winning smile, she'd always turn a nose on his best efforts.

"This girl is like a fiesty wild llama," he bragged to his compatriots in the security office, "and I shall break her in." There was a glint in his big brown eyes as Dorjee's mind drifted away to the flora and fauna of Tibet and instantly his friends knew that the Indon maiden would be no match for this scoundrelly Lothario. They were convinced that as soon as she warmed up to his charms, she would soon be warming his bed.

. . . . . . . . .

"They've been calling each other every day," Mae exclaimed as she scrolled through the call logs on the Nokia we had loaned Roma, "and right under our noses too!" Roma had wanted a phone in case her hubby ever called her when we were out, and now it was being used a tool for her little tumble with the Tibetan Casanova.

The alarms went off in Mae's head. In her eyes, this was betrayal of trust. It was a security threat. And it wasn't the way good people behaved.

But I, I was always a fool for love. In my eyes, I saw a lonely girl, thousands of miles from home. I saw a young wife so often disappointed by her deadbeat husband. I saw a woman longing for love. Of course the fact that our security guard looked like the finalist for a Shah Rukh Khan lookalike contest didn't help matters. Heck, if I were a lonely woman, I'd be all over that handsome bastard in a heartbeat!

In the end, Mae and I decided that the best course of action was subtlety. One night, out of the blue, Mae went and had an impromptu heart-to-heart with Roma, her conversation peppered with liberal mentions of Roma's husband and their two-year-old daughter, Yunita. And despite not ever having let in on the fact that we had discovered her sordid little tryst with that handsome devil, our plan worked like a charm.

Our girl began to keep her distance, not replying his calls. Soon, she found it convenient to simply leave the phone at home. And just like that, it was over. The guard eventually quit and was never seen in our neck of the woods again.

. . . . . . . . .

Dorjee gazed into the Himalayan mountain range as the sun ebbed into the twilight. He had come home to nurse his broken heart only to find that there was a new beginning waiting for him in Tibet. "It's time we went, Roma. Dorjee's got an itch you can scratch," he whispered as he gingerly patted his new pet llama amourosly on the rump.