Raw Confessions II

It is time again for some Raw Confessions - the Ex-pat version, not to be confused with the Malaysian version. Malaysian Raw Confessions might include items like, "I only mopped my floors five times last week." or "I left my carport gate open for an hour." Or yet, "I let a customer walk through my store without trailing him or getting close enough to trip him."

Items which would never make the Malay list are things like how many people I cut off on the highway last week, or how many parking places I stole from the person patiently waiting with her directional signal on. No one wastes any time agonizing over that kind of thing.

Now, if this were the sushi version - really raw - it might include such delicacies as why my van now has a dent on the right side. . . .but these will actually only be half-baked confessions, or as they say here, half-boiled.

So, first, I let my face show what I thought of the food at the corporate retreat, after warning my children not to turn up their noses at anything. I didn't show what I really thought, I just allowed a pained, long-suffering, "I wish there were something edible in this whole buffet" look to cross my face - more than once. I am not proud of this, but it is true.

Second, I said a word in my nine year-old's presence last week that she has never heard cross my lips. This was the third time in a week I had been the victim of circumstances in a carpark. My huge white whale of a van is too tall to fit under the barriers in any parking garage, so I have to fight minis and other toy-sized cars for a spot in the tiny outside lots. In order to get into the lot you have to take a ticket; in order to get out you have to pay at the auto-pay station which is located inside the shopping center. So, if you circle the lot 20 times without finding a parking space, you still cannot leave, because you need a paid ticket in order to make the exit gate go up, and you have to park in order to pay! The perfect catch-22!

Third, I have not taken every opportunity to meet people in my new community, something I feel guilty about at least once a day. Yesterday I walked past my neighbor trimming her rose bushes without so much as a "Selamat Pagi." I have never chatted with anyone in the exercise room and I have not stopped in the park to meet the mothers at the playground. I do smile at people, bit I'm not sure that counts.

Fourth, I fed the stray cat outside our back door for at least two weeks after my husband asked me, politely but firmly, to stop. I just could not bear her pathetic face hissing at me every time I opened the door to check on the dryer. I even tried to do it when the children were not around, since they were also under orders not to feed stray animals - thus covering my transgressions. . . Ivy blew my cover.

I think there is a pattern here. It seems that living in another culture has become an opportunity to commit all kinds of offenses I might not have fallen prey to at home! Wouldn't you know it! There is all manner of impurity in my heart just waiting for the opportunity to be revealed. Life in another culture has given me new opportunities to be self-centered, proud, impatient, rude and wilfull!

I sang Joy to the World last week in church with a new appreciation for the emphasis upon the nations, thrilled to look around and see so many non-Western faces, but I also had a fresh appreciation for the reminder of how just far the curse is found! And how well it travels!

This morning I read a Puritan prayer which ended:

The memory of my great sins, my many temptations, my falls,
bring afresh into my mind the remembrance of thy great help,
of thy support from heaven,
of the great grace that saved such a wretch as I am.
There is no treasure so wonderful as that continuous experience of thy grace
toward me which alone can subdue the risings of sin within:
Give me more of it.

That is my prayer for the upcoming New Year.

"only from himself."

This was always one of my favorite Christmas poems when I was a child. I can still recite it word for word, as can most of my siblings! Several times this year I have thought (with a smile) of the lines, "And round about December, the cards upon his shelf, which wished him lots of Christnmas cheer and fortune in the coming year, were never from his near and dear, but only from himself." One of my favorite Christmas traditions is hanging up the cards we receive in some unsophisticated manner, on a string across the kitchen or stuck with masking tape around a door frame. . . but this year I am a loss at what to do to properly showcase the ONE card we have received! Perhaps I will have it matted and framed. . . .

I thought about taking a page from King John's book and hanging up some cards I bought myself, but Malaysian Christmas cards are pretty unattractive to my discerning eye, so we're just making do with paper chains this year. Enjoy the poem.




King John's Christmas
AA Milne

King John was not a good man --
He had his little ways.
And sometimes no one spoke to him
For days and days and days.
And men who came across him,
When walking in the town,
Gave him a supercilious stare,
Or passed with noses in the air --
And bad King John stood dumbly there,
Blushing beneath his crown.

King John was not a good man,
And no good friends had he.
He stayed in every afternoon...
But no one came to tea.
And, round about December,
The cards upon his shelf
Which wished him lots of Christmas cheer,
And fortune in the coming year,
Were never from his near and dear,
But only from himself.

King John was not a good man,
Yet had his hopes and fears.
They'd given him no present now
For years and years and years.
But every year at Christmas,
While minstrels stood about,
Collecting tribute from the young
For all the songs they might have sung,
He stole away upstairs and hung
A hopeful stocking out.

King John was not a good man,
He lived his live aloof;
Alone he thought a message out
While climbing up the roof.
He wrote it down and propped it
Against the chimney stack:
"TO ALL AND SUNDRY - NEAR AND FAR -
F. Christmas in particular."
And signed it not "Johannes R."
But very humbly, "Jack."
"I want some crackers,
And I want some candy;
I think a box of chocolates
Would come in handy;
I don't mind oranges,
I do like nuts!
And I SHOULD like a pocket-knife
That really cuts.
And, oh! Father Christmas, if you love me at all,
Bring me a big, red, india-rubber ball!"

King John was not a good man --
He wrote this message out,
And gat him to this room again,
Descending by the spout.
And all that night he lay there,
A prey to hopes and fears.
"I think that's him a-coming now!"
(Anxiety bedewed his brow.)
"He'll bring one present, anyhow --
The first I had for years."
"Forget about the crackers,
And forget the candy;
I'm sure a box of chocolates
Would never come in handy;
I don't like oranges,
I don't want nuts,
And I HAVE got a pocket-knife
That almost cuts.
But, oh! Father christmas, if you love me at all,
Bring me a big, red, india-rubber ball!"

King John was not a good man,
Next morning when the sun
Rose up to tell a waiting world
That Christmas had begun,
And people seized their stockings,
And opened them with glee,
And crackers, toys and games appeared,
And lips with sticky sweets were smeared,
King John said grimly: "As I feared,
Nothing again for me!"
"I did want crackers,
And I did want candy;
I know a box of chocolates
Would come in handy;
I do love oranges,
I did want nuts!
And, oh! if Father Christmas, had loved me at all,
He would have brought a big, red, india-rubber ball!"

King John stood by the window,
And frowned to see below
The happy bands of boys and girls
All playing in the snow.
A while he stood there watching,
And envying them all ...
When through the window big and red
There hurtled by his royal head,
And bounced and fell upon the bed,
An india-rubber ball!
AND, OH, FATHER CHRISTMAS,
MY BLESSINGS ON YOU FALL
FOR BRINGING HIM
A BIG, RED,
INDIA-RUBBER
BALL!

traffic in the tropics

If I were a poet I would write about the roads in Malaysia,

Paradise of lane-changers, Graveyard of pedestrians.

I would write of ubiquitous U turns

numberless speed bumps

the lack of directional signals;

of merciless merging and lurching and inserting.

I would write of lane-sharing scooters whose drivers wear their jackets backward

of belching, barreling trucks with no cab doors

with molded plastic chairs where a driver's seat
used to be,

Of teksis that drive with equal abandon on either side of the road .

I would write of Double Parking and Double Passing

of Legendary Jams.

I would speak of interposition, interjacence, intercurrence,

intervenience, interlocation, and interjection.

I would write about interpolation, interlineation, interspersion,

intercalation, interpenetration, permeation

and infiltration.

Of intervention, interference, obtrusion, insinuation, insertion,

of intruders and interlopers in my lane.

Of drivers who come between, get between, intervene,

slide in, wedge in, edge in, jam in,

worm in, foist in, run in, plow in, work in.

How they interpose, interject, interpolate, and interline,

interleave, intersperse, and interweave;

sandwich in, fit in, squeeze in;

dovetail, splice, mortise,insinuate,

infiltrate, ingrain, interfere.

How they thrust a

nose

in;

intrude, obtrude and introduce

the thin end of the wedge.

I would muse upon

how one can only hope to survive between, betwixt, among, amidst;

in the thick of, betwixt and between,

sandwich-wise

or

parenthetically.

I would write of Forcible Ingress, of Insertion,

Implantation, Introduction and Insinuation.

Of drivers who dovetail, obtrude, thrust in, stick in,

ram in, stuff in, tuck in, press, in,

drive in, pop in, or whip in.

But since I am no poet,

but only a fan of the thesaurus,

I will not write of the roads

in Malaysia.

A Day in the Life of an Ex-Pat Wife

Madam had a hard day today. First she had to work the electric auto gate by hand, since it does not work half the time. The half of the time it does work is when the property manager comes by to fix it. Then there is no problem.

Then she had to take life and limb in hand and drive to the Giant Hypermarket to use the ATM which she knows is there. It was still rush hour, which was a new experience for Madam. When she arrived, however, she discovered that the Hypermarket, in true Malaysian style, did not open until 10:00, which was the time Sir had told her the workman who was pledged the money would arrive.

So, she headed out on the highway again to go to Bandar Utama Centrepoint, the next closest shopping center where she was sure an ATM would be located, but there was none. So, she drove back to Giant, which had unlocked its doors at least, so she could use the ATM.

Back home again, she met Mr. Satiyah, the unexpected landscaper, who had heard she wanted some landscaping done. Mr. Satiyah was large and not very patient, and spoke nearly unintelligible English. He was quite frustrated with Madam since she seemed so stupid and kept asking him to repeat things, and wanting plants in pots that he thought should go in the ground and appearing unable to understand why he wanted to put down sand before he cut the grass.

While they were talking at each other, the Pest Control man arrived in his little yellow car and asked Madam if he could inspect the house. Mr. Satiyah immediately recognized a translator and began speaking rapidly in Bahasa to the Pest Control man, who translated for Madam. Meanwhile, the property manager's assistant arrived, apparently having heard that Madam was talking to a landscaper. He kindly informed Madam that if she replaced the weeds in her yard with lovely "carpet grass" that in two years when she moves out the owner may ask her to pay to have the nice grass removed and put back the straggly groundcover that was there when she signed the rental agreement. Madam had not realized that.

Mr. Satiyah made full use of both translators present to try to convince Madam that she should do things his way, while Madam valiantly tried to convince him that she could make no permanent changes without the consent of the owner. When he could get a word in edgewise the property manager's assistant reminded Madam that the nice Pest Control man would come by every month to get rid of the ter-MITES. "The mice???" asked Madam. "No, the TER-mites', he patiently explained before Madam could tell him that her cat would do that.

Mr Satiyah left his briefcase with Madam so she could show pictures of his work to her husband, who promptly called him and told him to cancel the order Madam had placed, after hearing the amount of money she had agreed to pay.

Madam also learned today, from a native speaker, what the parking ticket on her windshield yesterday meant - it was written completely in Bahasa. She had not put money in the meter. Never mind that there was no meter in sight; apparently she should have hiked to the end of the block and made an offering to the blue box there. (All the instructions on the blue box are in Bahasa, also.)

Madam did not feel like cooking after her exciting day, so she went to Marco's Pizza, for the first time, to pick up pizza for dinner. There was nothing on the menu that did not have fungus or anchovies or beef on it, so Madam did the best she could to find something her children might eat, and headed home through the rush hour traffic. She successfully navigated the U-turns and many speed bumps and stopped at the 7 eleven to pick up coffee- flavored Pepsi and some Kickapoo Joy Juice to make up for the fungus on the pizza.

Madam will probably go to bed early tonight.





.

All I Want for Christmas

Ivy is singing Jingle Bells again in that wonderful Broadway Baby voice of hers. She has an incredible vibrato for a five year old and her voice has always been, well, Big. As a three year old she used to ask me with a puzzled face, “Why didn’t God give me a girl’s voice?” She doesn’t ask that any more, but she sings vigorously and often.

She just asked me, in all seriousness, “Should I just keep singing Jingle Bellls or should I sometimes switch to something else?”

“Well, you sing Jingle Bells really well, but it would be nice sometimes tossing in something else, too, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.”

She has a birthday coming up in two weeks and then Christmas, and she has diligently pored over the Toy R Us catalog for weeks, crayon in hand, carefully circling and and writing her name beside every item she likes. She returns to the catalog again and again and considers her choices with an expert eye. A few items have been crossed out while others have been highlighted with more black crayon circles or rays emanating from the original circle.

Last night she inititated an earnest discussion about what she really wanted for her birthday - a baby doll, a doll’s bathtub, a bottle and some doll clothes. Maybe a stroller. She has always used very adult-looking hand gestures, fingers extended and close together, first one hand, and then (“on the other hand. . ." ), the other. Her eyebrows are very active when she hits the urgent points.

The doll is important, but not the one pictured in the bathtub, “because its eyes are kind of weird, but maybe that is just because the person who drew the catalog (it is all photos) didn’t do a very good job, so if I had to have that doll it would be OK, I guess, but I really want the bathtub and a bottle to feed the doll with.” Then she worried that her presents would not be a surprise if I bought exactly what she had just asked for. But, she decided, again gesturing earnestly, that would be OK if I did not tell her which one she was getting for her birthday and which one for Christmas. “Don’t you think that would be OK?” Yes, I think it would be OK.

I also have a birthday coming up, five days before hers. I don’t look forward to mine quite as eagerly as she does, and I have neglected the pre-birthday ritual of circling items that I want and calling them to the attention of the appropriate person – I know he can’t afford a diamond this year, either! But my best gifts are either already here, or soon on the way. Six years ago Ivy was my best late birthday present and early Christmas gift – a gift to last a lifetime, as they say. I don’t remember how I celebrated my birthday that year, but I vividly remember the day my favorite gift arrived.

This year my big present will also be belated, though, I hope, by only one day. My firstborn is booked on a flight that arrives in Kuala Lumpur the morning after I turn “the new 30.” We have begun discussing how we will greet her – the best suggestion so far came from P who thinks we should all wear those black plastic glasses with the fake noses and mustaches. Just in case we don’t stand out in the crowd sufficiently already. But the details are entirely incidental. This gift, welcoming my daughter back from her first extended stay abroad, has been nineteen years in the making and, I’m sure, will be worth every minute of preparation and waiting.

So this Advent season I am enjoying the gift of an unexpected child who arrived long after I thought Anyone would give me that kind of gift, and I am waiting patiently for the homecoming of another child. I think of the carol I love, “Come Thou long-expected Jesus,” though I am really thinking of Anna, but I know that God is pleased to use our human longings and experiences to remind us of heavenly realities. During this month of reminiscense and anticipation I can remember another birth, even more remarkable and unexpected by the mother. . . I can look forward to the arrival of another Person I love and long to see, whose flight plans are not yet known.

Come, Thou long expected Jesus

Born to set Thy people free;

From our fears and sins release us,

Let us find our rest in Thee.

Israel’s Strength and Consolation,

Hope of all the earth Thou art;

Dear Desire of every nation,

Joy of every longing heart.

Born Thy people to deliver,

Born a child and yet a King,

Born to reign in us forever,

Now Thy gracious kingdom bring.

By Thine own eternal Spirit

Rule in all our hearts alone;

By Thine all sufficient merit,

Raise us to Thy glorious throne.

-Charles Wesley