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One Kiddo's Opinion

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Sometimes the last thing learners need is for their preferred learning style to be affirmed. Agreeing to let people learn only in a way that feels comfortable and familiar can restrict seriously their chance for development. ~ Steven Brookfield Mork Mindy, do you know that you’re frowning a lot nowadays? Mindy Uh, really? You’re so observant, Mork. Mork Well, I have to be, don’t I? I’m your supposedly alter ego . Your animus , as Carl Jung put it. You wouldn’t be having those frowns if you’re not affected by something. Mindy Well, yeah. I am affected. By words. Mork (Chuckle) Don’t we all? Mindy Yeah, but if it’s by someone you least expect, how do you deal with it? Mork Okay, this is getting somewhere. What happened, dear? Mindy You know how I love my kids. And my teaching. In fact, I got my kids to thank for for lifting me up this New Year. Seeing them sitting in class, apprehensive yet cheerful really helped me to get out of my moroseness. Mork Okay. So, what is the problem, dear?
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Genealogy 101

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Heirlooms we don't have in our family. But stories we've got. ~ Rose Cherin. I have always been interested in the genealogy of my family but since this has never been divulged by my immediate antecedents, I kept quiet and sort of forgot about it until recently, when my kids and I discussed a Malaysian play. In the past, occassionally, I would hear my Dad telling guests who came to our house that my GrandDad was originally from Bandung. Occassionally, too, I heard my Dad telling people that my GrandDad came from Surabaya. Well, to put it simply, let's just say my GrandDad came from Indonesia. I am not sure whether I heard wrongly or my Dad heard wrongly. I am also not sure whether he's a Javanese or Sundanese. My Dad's family said that he was a Javanese but then this cannot be ascertained since the Malaysian concept of a Javanese has been: anyone who comes from Indonesia. Whereas to Indonesians, a Javanese is anyone who comes from the Java Island. Indonesia does n
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Driving Home

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Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to. ~John Ed Pearce Everytime I drive home from my place (Bangi) to Johor (Mom’s place), my mom or sis would be calling, asking where I'd reached. This ritual would start even when I’m still at home and if I were, they’d be asking me when I’d leave. When I said I’d leave in the morning, my mom would take it to literally mean around 8. But being the relax-and-no-need-to-rush person that I am, morning could be anytime between 8 -12. 10-12, to be more exact. Hehe. I’ve gotten used to this ritual for years. Those calls mean quite a number of things to me. One, I feel like they really miss me. Two, they can’t wait to see me. Three, I feel like I’m really wanted. And four, I feel like I’m important to them. Clearly, I enjoy this ritual and look forward to it every time I drive home. I’d be somersaulting inside when I get calls from my mom or sis. Hehe. This ritual stopped, however, the second last time I dr
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