the diary 8

todays post follows from yesterdays......

i think of my sister-in-law who i accompanied to church this morning and i wonder how she reconciles it all. the celebration is part of her culture but it is also part of a religion she no longer wants.

liam, who is finding it difficult to deal with having no control over, or even prior knowledge of, his schedule, take a look at the party, asks what it's about and makes a hasty exit. i consider talking to him about respect for his heritage but i know that his father's culture is not his and my words would be hollow so i also retreat.

tonights fireworks are all about noise, the party has only just begun and it is well past midnight. it looks like a long night ahead.

the day after the party suckling pig is on the breakfast table along with the gruesome, crispy, brown skinned duck head and i wish for raisin toast or fruit & yoghurt.

after a long, late night nobody can focus on the school work that we brought with us and my temper wears delicately thin so we give in and watch a movie instead.

the diary 7

tonight, a week into the new year, there is a party centred around an abundant offering table. there are two suckling pigs, duck, chicken, buns, pomelo, nectarines, bananas, grapes, sticky rice, jelly, sugar cane and cognac. there are three candles that stand a metre tall and there are incense sticks and pretend money to be burnt.

my husband seems unable to explain the exact meaning of this event except to say it is part of the new year celebrations and that festivities will end on a muted note in another weeks time. compared to our one day holiday for new year a week of public holidays plus another week of celebration seems a lot and i muse that sometime, somewhere somebody was mighty glad to see the back of the old year.

the diary 5

my perception of this society might be distorted by my inability to speak the language but the idea i get is that it's more obscenely materialistic, more self centred, more interested in consumption and display, than my own.

i am still vulnerable to the thrill of purchase but i would like to think that i am growing away from that mindset so conspicuous consumption is hard to watch.

i'm wondering whether the hills surrounding this area have suddenly taken a new significance to me because of the contrast with humanity. i have never paid much attention to the ranges that stand blue in the distance but now i can only describe them as comforting. they are still and quiet and unchanging.

i think, too of their history in my lifetime, as a hideout for communist rebels and i wonder what significance they held for many generations of people in this area.

how were they seen by the chinese migrants? the indians? the british colonial power? and what about the migrant workers who come here from sri lanka, cambodia and bangladesh? do they have time to ponder the landscape?

the diary 4

photos unrelated to text, just an excuse to show you my mug

that buffet under the marquee is the first i have ever partaken of though i have seen many, it is a common way to hold a wake, a birthday party or even a wedding. it is with some surprise that the following night i find myself at another, much larger marquee party, a housewarming.

there are three large marquees covering the front yard and spanning the whole road. the buffet is lavish with a laden table of vegetarian food for the local indians (hindus?) and another full of chinese favourites featuring pork, duck and chicken.

children play as adults watch indulgently, dirty plates are stacked on the gutter and a tailless cat wanders through the crowd.

the next day early rain brings some relief from the heat and a cool breeze blows for a while before the heat becomes oppressive again.

i lend a hand with some schoolwork before the kids go swimming with their older cousins.

i go out for lunch with those who dont want to swim and although i enjoy a fried noodle or two i am relieved to find steamed buns and sticky rice on the menu. the sticky rice is sweet and moist with a morsel of tender chicken and a dried mushroom. there are steamed greens and tofu in an eggy sauce and all eyes are on me as i struggle with chopsticks for the first few moments. my B.I.L offers me a fork but i refuse, wishing to show some competence, at which H agrees "yes, you are half chinese, why should you use a fork?"

malaysia is a land of flip flops and slip ons and i laugh to myself as i notice that crocs, that sartorial crime so often derided in the fashion world, are on many feet in many colours and styles.

i am wearing orthotics every waking moment in hopes of clearing up a pressure wound on my foot so i wear runners everywhere. they are expensive runners in an attractive style but i still feel that my footwear stands out like a beacon and i doubt that my situation has been properly explained. i wonder whether i am regarded as odd, or worse, rude because i even wear shoes in the house.

i bought my house shoes shortly before the trip and kept them new so they wouldnt sully the clean floors but to wear shoes indoors is bizarre in the extreme.

eventually a young niece asks why i choose such hot footwear and i show her the orthotic. i doubt she understands fully but it is clear that i cant put it in a flip flop. i should have told her how much they cost. money talks loud around here and and the price might excuse me almost any faux pas :)

the diary 3

a few days into the new year it is my mother-in-law's turn to provide a buffet dinner for the extended family. it is a tradition to hold this gathering and a few family members take turns to host it.
on the day of the buffet some men arrive with a blue marquee and erect it outside the house, covering half the road. they deliver trestle tables and round ply tops, red plastic chairs and bainmaries.

as the day progresses crates of carlsberg, ice and food arrive. people bring fans and gifts of food. there is a long procession of visitors before the actual dinner and with each new arrival we are summoned from our activities: school work or movies or reading, to be presented to these people. it is an odd feeling, one i am familiar with after numerous visits. we are inspected and physical attributes: height or hair texture or whiteness of skin are noted, sometimes in cantonese and sometimes english. the kids look bored and resent being curiosities and i strain to catch a word i might understand or to read body language.
the time for the buffet arrives. i try to look friendly as people mill about and lucky red envelopes (ang pau) are exchanged. tradition dictates that they be given to anybody younger than ones self.
on this night i see a small act of kindness that cheers my evening. an uncle i have alwys liked based solely on the look of his face approaches the family black sheep and briefly massages his shoulders to be rewarded with a broad grin, the pure pleasure of an affirmed child.
everybody eats and many go home but the inner circle stay late playing cards, talking, watching movies and setting off fireworks.