Joyous effort, joyous season

This is the season to be silly. We eat too much and spend too much. Last week, a bunch of us got together to celebrate the end of the year in the spirit of merry-making.

There were a few things that stood out in this gathering – the amazing food, the friendship and camaraderie. But our kids -- they stood out in particular because they did us proud with their achievements.

Remember, we are a bunch of sometimes pushy moms who stand behind our kids and make them do what our moms made us do – our homework, our practice, whatever it might have been. We Asian moms carry inherent DNA in us that forges our survival. We carry this survival kit, everyday, every moment, seldom easy if we let go.

I was particularly awestruck by 2 kids in our group who made a choice last year to apply to get into architecture school at university. That was plan A. These 2 girls had no plan B, their parents told me. They were so confident of making it. They did. And this week, watching those 2 girls again – made me realise their true prowess. These 2 young adults played the piano for us – they sounded discordant because they didn’t have their own music. But they obliged us. What they lack for in prepared-ness, they made up for in gung-ho-ness. I have no doubt they can play the piano. After a few songs, they told me there were a musical duo to be reckoned with.

Many talent in one bundle
Then we heard another kid (young man) whose parents told me he finished university ahead of time. I know from the past he was a competitive swimmer. He has a formidable upper torso, I am sure. And when we heard him play the piano, I am sure music, studies, sports – they excel within this being at real ease.

One young boy went from having zero Mandarin, to being conversant. I always have admiration for this young man – when he was in college, he came to tutor Princess of the House. He has a great gentleness and patience about him. My admiration for him grew when he started speaking to my parents in Mandarin (from having no Mandarin a few years ago). Oh, then he also grew in stature because he also likes Orson Scott-Card who is my all-time favourite author. He sang us a Chinese song. I think he lost his tune because I know this song. But he earned my respect for taking on a difficult language and becoming so good at it. His mom has raised a fine young man.

Juggling
Our hostess’ teenage son played Pachelbel’s Canon on the piano – heavenly enough to bring angels down to earth. He also entertained us on his diabolo (a juggling contraption) which made me certain he is a man with many hidden talents. I am also convinced the juggling takes real concentration and effort. He was gentleman enough to play down to Princess’ level at table tennis – very awesome.

Other parents in our crowd have similarly outstanding children who were not there. My Princess was game enough to do 2 pieces on the piano. I noticed her mistakes with Shubert's Moment Musical but then I am used to Vladimir Horowitz’s rendition of the same piece on YouTube. Yet, she did well with Rihanna’s Take a Bow. I am particularly awestruck by Princess because she missed 8 weeks of school, had many surgical procedures and never let that stop her from picking up and continuing as if life was normal.

Behind every success is effort
We Asian parents celebrate our success through our kids. And this is despite all of us being successful people in our own areas of work. A few of us hold full-time jobs, others part-time. We are different in how we lead our lives from our mothers who were mostly stay-at-home moms. But we are no different from our stay-at-home moms who pushed us beyond our limits.

Comfort zone is a dirty word. I think we parents push our kids beyond their comfort zones so they can rise above the ordinary. I don’t mind ordinary people. But it bugs me when Princess skips over the effort bit. Children can do extraordinary things -- with effort. Effort lends itself to success. One of the 6 perfections which the Buddha taught his followers was joyous effort. The other perfections are generosity, patience, concentration, ethics, wisdom – I forget in which order. How wise to master all 6.

So, here’s a celebration of our kids – who do have been practicing effort, concentration and patience (if not wisdom and ethics or generosity). And here’s a celebration of moms and dads who stood behind these great children, ever loyal and faithful, every step of the way.

Do go gently into the good night...

My 3rd uncle died a week ago. He was married to my 3rd aunty, or Koo Ma, in Cantonese. To many of us who know of his suffering – being bed -ridden for over 5 years – his dying was the best way to ease his pain.

My poor 3rd aunty has had to care for him all these years. There wasn’t much anyone could do. Intermittently, 3rd uncle was moved to-and-from a hospital, in-and-out of an old folks’ home. We all marvel at the tenacity of my 3rd aunty, who skinny as bones, still lifted her husband and cared for him – loyal to the end. I haven’t seen 3rd uncle for years and years. But his death saddens me.

Third uncle always calls me “Honey”, my nickname growing up in Malaysia. Honey, after the colour of my tanned complexion. Third uncle was an electrician by vocation. He was our handyman. When something needed fixing that has to do with volts and watts, it was always 3rd uncle’s domain. My memories of him were also those of a smiley, happy man. 3rd Uncle loves to make pineapple tarts for Chinese New Year.

My conversations with him were always superficial – like all conversations with our elders once upon a time. I remember him, always tinkering about, doing home stuff. I remember him, the handyman who tended over his garden which used to be filled with thriving greens that seemed to thrive in the most inhospitable places in his home. I remember him coming to the metal grilled door of his home, unlocking it, always with a kind welcome. And most of all, I remember him always, in his old motorbike, putt-putting away around the neighbourhood.

So, I here was I, thousands of kilometers away, unable to say goodbye. I could only dedicate prayers to him from here and think of his death as a timely release of the immense suffering he had to endure for so long.

Taboo no more
In my phone calls with mom the past 2 weeks, we talked about 3rd uncle’s death and the burial afterwards. Years ago, this would have been taboo – to talk about one’s death, was a no-no. It was like inviting death to your door. But mom has moved on, I suspect. So, we talked about death and dying.

Mom tells me, she told me she doesn’t want the spectacular funeral processions the Chinese have – those filled with mourners parading on the command of the Taoist monks banging cymbals and gongs, leading the dead across 18 levels of hell. I agree. Mom says her greatest fear is that all the other aunties in the clan would not agree as Taoist burials were what the family is used to. Mom wants Buddhist nuns/monks chanting peaceful Buddhist mantras. I told mom I like the idea. I said this thinking how wonderful it would be if we knew exactly how to prepare for our dying.

Coming out charred at the other end
Once, mom and I laughed about how one of my aunts fear cremation. This aunty had visions of herself coming out at the other end of the world, charred and burnt. I told her how some cultures chopped up their dead and leave them uncovered. We both agreed cremation was nice and easy.

Death and dying – how does one approach this in the most sensible way? Dylan Thomas’ lines from his poem rings loud and clear – “Do not go gently into the goodnight….rage, rage against the dying of the light.” For me, I think, when I go, I will go gently…into the good night…and accept the moment.

Lately mom has been told of an investment scheme to buy a funeral plot. The scheme is expensive, she says. But a relative of ours told her the said-funeral plot will have sculpted gardens and all the bells and whistles that make funeral plots amazing – attempts at bringing a piece of heaven to earth, I think. But this is still nothing compared to the Eqyptians, and how they bury their dead.

“Ah,” I said to mom, “better not to get involved in these dodgy schemes to invest in funeral plots.” I even suggested I could put her ashes in a vase, and bring the vase hoe to New Zealand with me. I think she wasn’t too keen.

Gentle exit
At least mom and I have come to some sort of an understanding about how she wants her “exit” from this earth done. I say to her, “remember, when you go, don’t look back at us, your life would be done, let go of everything in this earth…..go gently”

What do I know about dying? I haven’t been there. But I subscribe to this belief system – that “be here now” matters. Death is the culmination of years of living. It is better practicing living a peaceful life. In the end, we become our practice. If we practice hate, impatience, envy, jealousy, anger – we become those things. If we practice compassion, loving kindness, patience, generosity, wisdom and humility – we become those things.

Mom reminds me again, at one point of our conversation this week, the secret to being happy is to remind ourselves of how fortunate we are, so when we do die, we have no unhappiness...This is her daily mantra. I couldn’t agree more.

7 Weird Things About Me

Annie Fox tagged me to list 7 weird things about myself. I haven't actually considered anything about myself to be weird. I am an ordinary person.

But for the fun of it, here goes.

1) I hoard cookbooks though I seldom use recipes.

2) I believe we are not alone in this galaxy.

3) I once fell off a trap-door and was "saved" by a pile of "gold paper" my aunty was going to burn for the dead.

4) I once tried to play circus mistress and nearly set my brother and cousin on fire.

5) I have been buying meal worms to allow them to live longer.

6) I didn't drive a car until I had my daughter.

7) I ring my mom once a week.

I have to tag seven people so here goes; and they have to respond by typing their weird too.

Christina Yin
Serena Soosay
Daphne Chua
Hugh Bucknall
Linda Lau
Travis Field
Janet Ben

Here is Janet's response (well done girl!)
Weird things - well the list could go forever - depending of course on who is writing the list about me....

My number 1 weird things... total hoarder of cookbooks too - the hawker, who comes every fortnight selling books to our office, can retire on what he has made from me purchasing cookbooks - my theory is that they are better than magazines and I will continue to keep them and read them for years to come - but a magazine - well they are so full of rubbish that it is all old news inside a week anyway.....
Weird thing 2 - I have an enormous library of cookbooks - but always make the same recipes - that aren't in the recipe books anyway - but one day - when I have time.....
Weird thing 3.....A fear of the hairdresser - like Lavender Lady my mother considered herself an expert on hair and when I was 11 years old she insisting on cutting short my lovely long, very straight hair. Even she has to admit that it looked dreadful - so dreadful that she rushed up to the local chemist and bought a home perm. So I went from long straight hair to short frizz - and all the children at school laughed..... scared me for life so I am always nervous getting anything done to my hair...
Weird thing 4 - a desire to be tidier - which disappears as soon as I actually have the opportunity to do something about it - constantly plan whilst at work .... when I get home I am going to ..... and when I get home -yep the desire has gone and instead I go outside and garden or take the dog for a walk home.....!!
Weird thing 5.....a desire to have more land - so I can have more trees - which I love - which in turn is more work and who wants that..... there are so many plants that I would love to have....
Weird 6....a wish I could communicate with my parents - my mum died 6 years ago and Dad 3 - and I would give almost anything to have just another day with them both.... moral here - don't put off until tomorrow... those things that you would like to ask your Mum and Dad - we dont' know when our clock of life is going to stop... and even though we knew that both my parents were fading.... there always seemed time 'tomorrow'....
Weird thing 7.... still married to the same man - 44 years...... and against all predictions and parental advice.... - that is not to say that some days.....are not as perfect as others, but in the current culture of not marrying or only staying together a few years - it is definitely a weird thing to still be living with the same man after all this time and to still actually tolerate each others company.....

Actually the weirdest thing is that I don't know how to write on your blog......
Cheers
Janet



Here is Anie Fox's post on weird facts about herself

1) With predictive texting, my name comes up as 'bomb'. Which some of you might say is perfect.

2) I'm related to Lord Nelson and Abraham Lincoln. True.

3) I've played four musical instruments in my life - violin, piano, bassoon and of course the recorder. Piano is my favourite, bassoon the most fun. Why I stopped playing them all is one of my regrets.

4) I used to be a lefty loser. I recovered from this socialist cancer, but it stuffed my immune system so now I can't overcome Non-Hodgkin's :o).

5) I own a house with a woman - but I’m not a lesbian (I know you all wonder). This is an increasing trend amongst those who don't want to live miles out of town, but can't afford a decent home, in a decent location by themselves. Now this definitely doesn't suit everyone, but Em & I are naturally brilliant - the key is keeping the money issues straight and keeping the palace clean and ordered.

6) My favourite album is the ‘Stranglers Collection 1977-1982.’

7) I hate, hate, hate, hate the colour purple. And I’m not too big on whistles either. And a bonus fact I'm a trader, an objectivist and a libertarian. Which means I make my own money, and I like to keep it.

Transplants – It is about hope & normality

Princess of the House had a liver transplant when she was 4.5 years old. Most of our close friends know this. But most people have no idea Princess has had such as disastrous health record. Last week, I stood as a proud mum of a 10-year girl who battled other normal kids to take 1st place in the 100m and 200m sprints among Year 5girls in her school. This, for me, is a pretty fine endorsement that she is "normal".

I will always remember the liver transplant team’s message to us -– the central pursuit of any transplant is to give the recipient the opportunity to live a normal life. Princess was lucky she found a close enough match; and is under the hawkish care of her liver angels at Starship Hospital. She is into her 5th year as a transplant patient. She is living life like any normal kid – swims, plays tennis, does artistic gymnastics and ballroom dancing. And oh, she even has an attitude problem from time to time.

Who is David Poa?
Recently our specialist nurse sent me a message about this kid called Karl David Poa. I took one look at David’s pictures in the document our nurse sent me and was in awe of David instantly.

I saw this huge mop of long, bushy hair – wild and free – and his mischievous smile. I saw his beautiful face – not a trace of worry or care -- and the twinkle in his eye. I saw total abandonment. Most of all, I saw great hope for him.

I don’t know David. But I know he has intestinal failure. David spent the first 3.5 years of his life in hospital. He is 7 now but has spent most of his childhood for extended periods in Starship Hospital. His “food” is fed intravenously over 15 hours a day.

They are running out of veins (used to administer his feeds) to put a line into David. Lines get infected despite the best of care. His best option is to have an intestinal transplant – which is not available in NZ. He needs to get this transplant done in the US. He has been accepted by specialists in Omaha-Nebraska for an assessment, and likely wait-list for a transplant.

I learnt of David's story from Princess' specialist nurse. Now I want to share this story with you my friends, and hope you too can reach out to your circle of friends –to help with David’s journey.

The NZ health system will fund his transplant cost. But before he can go to the US, he needs to raise big amounts of money for him and his family to live for 3-4 years in the US. The KIDS Foundation in NZ has set up a fund raising campaign for David.

The nurses at Starship Hospital at Ward 26B describe David as a sweet, cheeky, mischievous boy who is also funny, charming and endearing. He is sociable, loves to be in the hub of everything and is inquisitive about what's around him. Like most boys, he loves the PlayStation and his cartoons.

To give is to receive
Now, when I think about David’s fund raising quest, I wish he could get on that plane soon. I wish for David to be able to taste “real” food, to bite into a muesli bar, to have Weetbix and crunchy fries, and not have to rely on TPN (liquid) feeds.

I want David to feel what it is like, to live life normally – but most of all, I wish for David to be given a chance – that’s all. To donate to David’s fund, visit the KIDS Foundation's website

On mothers and parenting skills

Asians tend to “mother” their children to death. I shan’t argue with that. Mum brought me up to be somewhat of a clone of herself. She used to tell me what to do, how to dress and much more. She loves her perms. So she thinks I should have perms. But I hate perms. Always have. I remember how she used to insist I need to perm my fringe. Why I hate perms I do not know. But I think ever since I had hair, mum wanted them permed!

Every school holiday, mum used to march me to 3rd Aunt’s home-based hair saloon. I was too compliant to resist. I was also too polite to tell 3rd Aunt how I hated perms. So, after every school holiday, I end up looking like one of the Three Stooges. And every time 3rd Aunt finished my perm, I would politely pretend how nice my perm looked and Aunty would look at me as her masterpiece.

But ever since I found freedom as a “young adult”, I never had another perm. And I never allowed any hairdresser to tell me I need a perm to lift my limb hair. I like my hair the way it is, straight, unpermed – thank you.

Turning into mum
One would think that I would have learnt. But why do I insist Princess of the House ties her hair this or that way when she goes to school? Or why do I insist Princess puts on a proper pair of pants or tights when we go for our hospital visits or to the movies? Perhaps I am turning into a mum who "over mothers".

I read once that you can’t raise spiritual children unless you and your husband/partner have the same spiritual qualities you seek in your children. How true. You can’t teach your child to be truthful when you constantly lie. You can’t make a child hardworking if you display an excessive liking for slothfulness. I am mindful I am a living example for my child.

Mum is my living example. We never used to have much money growing up. But mum fed not only our family but kids who came to play with us. Mum made cookies for Chinese New Year, not only for us, but for the entire clan. I haven’t had a single friend of mine who has met mum who doesn’t fall in love with her immediately.

Storehouse of strength
I have been looking at my mum closely lately, mostly as a storehouse of strength and wisdom. A kind of person whose qualities I would like to assimilate. And whose qualities I hope someday, Princess will come to appreciate too.

Today, when I spoke to her on the phone, she tells me she had a spectacular failure making one of our favourite Chinese New Year cookies – Kuih Bangkit. It is a cookie made out of tapioca starch, coconut and eggs. Made properly, it crumbles in your mouth – a perfect blend of coconut sweetness with the scent of the pandan leaf lingering in your mouth, perking your senses. Made badly, it is cookie whose taste you want to easily and quickly forget. Mum tasted my version when she was here last May. She pronounced me fit to make the cookie – an image in her own likeness, I think, I was. She laughed -- about how she, the mother wave has turned into a ripple, and I have become the next wave in the ocean.

Mum potty trained all of us from the time we were born – by potty train, I mean she held up our legs as babies and trained us to do our ablutions early in the morning so our bowels recognised it was time to move. My brothers and I never had problems in that department.

Mum didn’t smack us willy-nilly. She smacked us when she wanted us to learn a real lesson. Mum didn’t compare herself to those who had a better life than hers. She used to tell me in Hokkien “lang bi lang, kah toh pi yian tang” which loosely translated means you can never ever compare yourself, nor a part of your leg to the smoke pipes.” I take it to mean, don’t ever be foolish enough to make unnecessary or non-useful comparisons.

Never hurry a person at a meal
Mum doesn't like to rush people when they are in the middle of a meal. “You can hurry a person when he gets born, or when he is about to leave the word. But never, ever hurry a person when he eats,” she used to tell me.

Mum is extravagant in how she treats everyone but stingy in how she treats herself. She is a maniac when it comes to cleanliness. In this department, I am such an inferior sub-specie compared to her. I like randomness, she likes order. She loves and worships beautiful clothes, I treat them like pieces of material to wrap around myself.

So, today, when we chatted, I am reminded again, of how generous mum has been, and always will be. We said our goodbyes on the telephone when I had to rush off to pick Princess from school. She said “thank you” for my time, and my call, and tells me to take care of myself. And I couldn’t help laugh at the irony. Shouldn't I be the one thanking her, and telling her to take care?

Halloween and Cleopatra

This week, Princess of the House told me she would like to go “Trick or Treat” with 2of her classmates. I hesitated for a while before saying yes. Last year, after Halloween, I said there would be no more “Trick or Treat”. But I buckled.

I don’t believe in Halloween. But I do believe in allowing Princess some freedom to exercise a bit of creativity, and to have lots of fun. So every year, I am a dutiful accomplice as she takes her flights of fancy into the hollow world of Halloween.

Last year, I went over the top. To greet the neighbourhood’s kids looking for treats, I decorated our front door with a huge spider web, completed with a rubbery mother-spider with her baby spiders -- I even spun my own spider web made out of wool. The funny thing was, the real cob webs at my front door lent real spectacular effects to my Halloween decoration. Mum would have been appalled at my standard of house cleaning.

Halloween, it is not a Kiwi tradition, nor a Chinese one. This Halloween business is a result of globalization, or the Americanization of the world, whichever you choose to call it. Would we see an American kid carrying a Chinese lantern to celebrate the mi-Autumn festival? I don’t think so? But I hope Chinese lanterns will sprout over supermarkets all over the world, one day, near mid-autumn.

Cleopatra
The last few years, Princess went around in fairy outfits. I think she has outgrown this fairy thing. This year, she wants to be Cleopatra. Ah, Cleopatra – the most beautiful woman of Egypt. Or should I say, the most feared woman?

The little that I did know about Cleopatra from my limited history was that she was a woman of beauty; she charmed men and ruled an empire with a fist.

“Who did Cleopatra marry?” Princess asked Hubby.

“Huh? Hmmm…. Tutunkhamun??” Hubby replied.

Princess and I cracked up, roaring in laughter. Clearly Hubby wasn’t a history whizz.

Cleopatra trivia
Lately Princess of the House considers herself a bit of a Cleopatra expert. Her class has been learning about ancient Egypt. She has just read a romanticized version of Cleopatra’s life as a 12 year old, a book written by an ex-banker turned writer, Caroline Corby.

“Caesar first,” she quipped, “and then Marc Anthony,” she adds, still smarting from her victory over Daddy.

The Egyptians, Princess of the House tells me, invented eye make-up and the water clock. They invented writing and paper. They embalmed their dead, wore plenty of amulets.

Eye makeup
For now, Princess is most concerned about how to make herself look like Cleopatra using eye makeup – just like the ancient Egyptians. She had an “Egyptian” dress ready, one she made with her friend Holly during the school holidays – using a hot glue gun and lots of sparkly bits and fabric paint.

I wasn’t sure about that the eye make-up thing. And I wasn’t sure about Caroline Corby’s version of the romanticized Cleopatra who was all good and sanitized.
Did Cleopatra wear heavy eye makeup?

So I googled a bit. Cleopatra, as it seems, isn’t all sugar and honey. She was ruthless and cunning, and ruled to win.

She had two main lovers in her life – Caesar and Marc Anthony. Caesar, it was said, she admired for his intelligence; and Marc Anthony, probably out of sheer fatal attraction. Historical sites say Marc Anthony had his affair with Cleopatra while still married to his wife, Fulvia. And when he had a chance to marry Cleopatra after Fulvia died, he didn’t – he chose his rival Octavian’s sister (to secure political support), Octavia and continued his fling with Cleopatra.

Cleopatra gave birth to three children (one by Caesar and three (including a set of twins sired by Marc Anthony).

The Marc Anthony-Cleopatra combination as lovers was far from romantic. It reeked of fatal attraction, and cloak-and-dagger politics. It was about animal instincts, a woman’s need for love, a woman’s quest to secure a crumbling empire, and a matriach's desperate attempt to keep her family in power. What is most interesting is Cleopatra wasn’t even Egyptian – she was a Macedonian!

Hollywood's Cleopatra
Cleopatra, I imagined to be a woman of untold beauty. Ah, the Hollywood version of Cleopatra was a woman of Elizabeth Taylor-type beauty, with bangs on her hair, a sharp high-bridged nose, and almond-shaped eyes decorated with heavy eye make-up.

The more I googled, the more I found myself to be wrong. As it turns out, Cleopatra’s image, minted on coins, showed her to be somewhat plain, with a large hooked nose and not so beautiful. Apparently, in real life, she shaved her head and wore a wig with tight curls. Princess is convinced Cleopatra wore eye makeup.

What else did I learn about Cleopatra? Well, her father Ptolemy was also a murderer –he beheaded his own daughter (Berenice) to regain his throne. Ptolemy then married Cleopatra (who was around 18 years old) off to her brother (who was around 12, according to one source) – all to keep the throne within the family.

This was getting too much for me. After her first lover, Caesar, was assassinated, Cleopatra used her relationship with Marc Anthony in various ways to have her hold over Egypt. In the meantime, Marc Anthony was using Cleopatra and Egypt’s finances and harvest to keep his hold over the struggle for Rome.

In ended in tears – Marc Anthony committed suicide (one source says he did so because he thought Cleopatra was dead) and lost his struggle for Rome to arch rival Octavian.

On discovering Marc Anthony dead, Cleopatra apparently chose to commit suicide too. One source says she allowed herself to be bitten by an asp (a poisonous snake) smuggled into her room via a basket of figs. The different sources that I read make me think that Cleopatra used Marc Anthony – yes she did have a soft spot for him -- in her struggle to keep her empire intact.

How tragic. This was the life of Cleopatra. A highly intelligent woman no doubt; brave on all accounts; an exceptional linguist I found; and a woman who can charm with her brilliant speech. Cleopatra of history was also a woman drunk on power and reckless ambition. A murderer and nasty piece of work by all accounts.

I shudder to think why Princess would want to go as Cleopatra in her Halloween outing. I’d rather she go as a fairy, with wings, a magic wand, and glass slippers.

Of ABBA, the sisterhood and, oh sorry mum!

We had a girls’ night out. It would have been nothing out of the ordinary for girls to have a night out. But we were a bunch of Asian women – six to be precise. We were a conservative lot, brought up the old-fashioned way by our mums who knew nothing about getting away. Our sense of the world is defined largely by how well we looked after our family.

We were also a bunch of gals who led busy lives. Some of the gals in the sisterhood had been through the worst time of their lives with family dramas of heinous proportions. I had just been through months of stay with Princess of the House in hospital.

I was brought up by a mother who dedicated her entire life to being a kitchen goddess, which means, she spent -- and still spends -- most of her waking moments in the inner sanctum of my parent’s home, cooking, cooking and cooking. Mum comes alive when she cooks. She also takes great pride in crisp clothes and spotless floors. Mum forgets about herself when she is taking care of us. We were never short of good meals or clean clothes. She never talked about time out. She never had time out. She never had a life beyond caring for us -- her family.

Defining success
I suspect my girlfriends have mums just like mine. But unlike our mums, we all had jobs, and modern machinery to help us with our chores. Like our mums, we tended to fuss over our family. Like our mums, we forget about our needs and focus entirely on how to keep the family together, in one piece, at all cost. Like a protective lioness, we guard our dens well. Like our mums, we define our success mostly by how our families are looked after, and how they cherish us.

But unlike our mums, we feel the attraction posed by our feminist sisters – those who fought for a voice, for equal opportunities, and also a time-out concept. We are not the bra-burning types and you won’t find us marching for women’s rights. But it didn’t take us long to feel the intoxication of the moment – of being free for one night, from cooking, scrubbing burnt pots, handling laundry, taking the garbage out and stacking dishes away.

This gathering of the sisterhood is good – especially when you have great company. We had a fantastic meal at this place called Eiji. To be that busy on a Friday night, the restaurant must have something special going. Our dishes were cooked to perfection. We ooed and ahhhed at how well everything was presented. We rolled out of the restaurant, happy as kids!

Then we headed off to a Mama Mia! We didn’t have sequin tops or platform shoes. But we had the cinema mostly to ourselves, truckloads of popcorn, icecreams and lollies. Only our reserve and conservatism kept us from total abandonment and jumping up to dance to “Dancing Queen” or “Mama Mia”.

What is it about ABBA?
What is it about a movie like Mama Mia! that manages to strike such a chord that box office receipts have totaled over US$440 million? Perhaps there is a dancer inside all of us, dying to surface? Perhaps inside us, we all crave the garishness of shinny outfits with plunging necklines, fancy furs, and platform boots? Perhaps it is the catchy tunes of ABBA, expressing our wish for eternal youth, romance in a complicated world? Who knows?

The total escape from home into the world of Abba songs and the romance of the movie was most electrifying.

By the time the movie finished, we came close to midnight. No carriage awaited us. But like Cinderallas afraid our cars would revert to being pumpkins, we stepped into the dark Friday night to hurry to our separate homes. We weren’t on curfew but our inner programmes told us we were meant to head home now that we had our share of fun and laughter.

Sorry mum
Our ladies night out was a resounding success, we all agreed. The sisterhood plans to have another outing. Perhaps a get-away where our families can’t call. Only this time far more than a few hours in a night. Dare I? Dare we? For me, a sisterhood get-away weekend would be a brave new world. It would be like travelling on a train to Hogsworth, on a matrix that would spin me into a different world – that so far removed from what mum taught me – family above self, family above all. Mum, so sorry I have moved on. So have my sisters, I suspect.