Perfect Timing

It's been two weeks since Fatty left us.

It seems like it's been longer. I guess when you see someone every day, even one day without them seems like an eon.

I've been doing good. In fact, I actually feel a bit guilty for not having more grief. The thing is though, I've spent the last two years wondering how long she had left with me. There were moments when she looked drastically ill (and on one occasion, I had to bring her to the vet to be hospitalised for the day) but still she fought on.

To be honest though... and by honest... I mean bluntly, painfully honest... I'm glad she went when she did.

It's not because I wanted her to pass. If I could, I would have wanted her to live forever as the cat who would con me out of food, then snuggle up to me at night.

But there couldn't have been a more perfect time for her to go.

In her old age, Fatty couldn't clean herself. Her arthritis made it hard for her to reach spots and for her to scratch at her scratching post. So we had to regularly groom her. The week she passed, I trimmed her nails because they were getting too long. Two days before she passed, Ant gave her a bath and I blowdried her fur so that it'd be nice and soft.

We also put Fatty on the bed with Logan to get some of his body heat and she tolerated him grooming her. That in itself, was really sweet because Logan had always tried to be affectionate with Fatty. He used to try to sleep near her and of all the kittens, he was the one who Fatty seemed to be especially tolerant of. He used to purposely put his tail in front of her face while they were waiting for me to feed them and she rarely smacked him.

Perhaps I subconsciouly knew that her time was near. I had an overwhelming urge to bring her out to the backyard that weekend, so I did. I had refrained before because she would always run to the back area where the sand was and where the only thing that separated her from two large dogs was a fence with a giant hole. The dogs are not there any more, so I thought, what the hell. 

She seemed to relish the sunshine. Even though we were only outside for 10 minutes, I think she loved walking through the back area, smelling the plants and then plonking her newly washed bum on some sand. She was an outdoor cat who had to be kept indoors in her later years, so it was lovely to give her that. 

Last but not least, she had a micronap on the bed. She hadn't been able to jump up for a few months so Ant put her on our bed before he left for work. It was lovely sleeping near her again and she had a nice snooze before I had to boot her off before heading to work.  

Even her last meal was perfect. She wasn't showing interest in food for a few days so I brought home some roast chicken and she happily chowed down on it. After that, not even her favourite yogurt could entice her. How apt that my little con artist had human food as a last meal. 

So really, as sad as I am that she's no longer with us, I'm glad I unwittingly gave her the goodbye she deserved: full of all the simple pleasures she loved, without much fuss. I couldn't have planned it better myself. 

In Memoriam: Fatty

I hate that I'm writing this post right now while you're still here.

But I need to write this because I know that I will be an inconsolable wreck if I had to write this once you've left us. I'm choking up and tearing up as it is, typing this while you're still here. But I have to write this, I can't not pay tribute to my grumpy bundle of joy, who I've known since I first moved to Perth in 2001.

I always say I've known you for 13 years because you were never meant to be mine. You were just the neighbourhood cat who would come up to me, tail waggling hypnotically, for a little scratch behind the ear. You eventually graduated to emotionally-manipulating me with your utter cuteness to score some calamari or shrimp off my marinara pizza.

Little did I know that you were abandoned and that you would be the reason that I'd move out of my cramped Nedlands apartment (which I needed to move out of anyway) so that I could take care of you properly.

And gosh, were you a pain in the ass when we moved to our new villa. We had to keep you in the garage while we were out and every time I drove home and opened the garage door, there you'd be, sitting right smack in the middle of it, making it impossible for me to drive. You'd then take your own sweet time to saunter up to the car (because clearly, moving out of the way wasn't an option) and if I was lucky, you'd just jump in the car, sit on my lap (or the passenger seat) and drive in with me. Other times, you'd play hide and seek around the car and give me a heart attack trying to corral you into the house.

But you know what, despite all the heart attacks, you were worth every single one of them.

You were a mostly delightful cat when you weren't trying to steal my food. While I understand that most cats are generally inquisitive where food was involved, you seemed to have advanced skills at barging your way into my face while I was trying to eat.

You loved hanging around us hoomanz. Usually on your own terms, content with being in the same room with us, or subjecting us to being nothing more than an oversized pillow for your fuzzy butt.  

 

But that was just your way of loving us. I know you loved me for you were my constant companion, always sleeping by my side, keeping me warm in winter. Curling up next to me when I'd had a particularly bad day/night.

 

Even if I did subject you to ten million and one, unnecessary selfies.

 

 

It was devastating to receive your prognosis - hyperthyroidism and kidney disease. They said you only had a year, in the best case scenario, yet you outlasted that. You stayed feisty right to the very end... even smacking the kittens when they tried to push your buttons.

And that's the Fatty I know and love... and if I had to do it all over, I would have adopted you as my own sooner. I'm just glad I saved you from a life of withering away in the streets.  

RIP my little con artist. I'm sure you'll put your skills to good use over by the rainbow bridge. Thank you for choosing me to be your person.

365 days later...

A year ago today, I was thanking God for concealer and for a best friend who knows how to make me look human.I heaved a sigh of relief that my heels didn't get tripped up by my long baju kurung. I looked through the door and saw my fiance, looking so dapper in his suit, with a nervous grin on his face and love in his eyes. I sat down in our bedroom, getting my make up touched up and my hair put into place... and I thought... Shit got real. We're getting married.

It was traditional, yet not. There was no walking down the aisle, no official flower girls (but the Mimi and the Lily looked adorable in their matching floral outfits) and no fanfare. It was the most important signature I provided and the minute the tip of the pen left the certificate... it sealed our promise of a lifelong commitment to each other.

There was a sermon though. I couldn't hear all of it, being in the bedroom while the men were in the living room with the imam. I did hear this little bit of advice: whenever you are mad with your spouse, stop to remember the reasons why you love them. Which probably explains why I fail miserably at staying mad at my husband.

It's been a very trying year, to be honest. We've had as many misadventures as we've had adventures - like the countless trips moving items, first with a Thrifty van with the most problematic and creaky gear, before resorting to borrowing Paul's station wagon and then loading up my tiny Mazda 2 with so many boxes that I was worried that we'd be pulled over by the police. There's been plenty of heartache as other things in our life went awry (like losing ALL of our koi, yes even the fancy butterfly koi I bought him for Valentine's Day, due to bad weather and a horrible water filter system).

Through it all, I've been kept sane by an amazing partner. He's my rock who holds me when all I want to do is cry in frustration, who strokes my hair to ease the thumping in my head from overthinking and basically calms me down.

Most importantly, he makes the good outweigh the bad.

I'm not talking about the amazing moments and milestones in our lives that we've celebrated thus far. Don't get me wrong, we've had plenty of those - we've been blessed to afford two holidays this past year and Ant got promoted a few times in his first year at his new job.

However, it's easy to smile during a happy occasion.

What's really special is when you find someone who makes the seemingly mundane bearable, even enjoyable. Sitting at home with a big bowl of his sweet potato chips makes me as happy as I would be at Restaurant Amuse for their amazing degustation. Walking through Sydney and Melbourne, with his hand in mine, was so much more fun than taking in the sights by myself.

He's made me a more appreciative person. I find myself calmer and more content with less than I used to. I don't need fancy dinner dates, souped up cars or shopping sprees to be happy. His devotion and love brings me so much joy.

So much joy that I am committed to making him happy because I want to keep this cycle going. He makes it so easy and satisfying to make him happy. While I enjoyed watching the Lion King at the Capitol this year, I think I reaped greater joy from sharing that experience with him and watching his face light up during the opening number.

And that, in my opinion, is what love is all about. Yes, there are the fights but when two people are committed to giving it their all and doing their best, you create a happy momentum. You feed off each others' happiness and use that energy to keep the relationship going in positive ways. The end product of a commitment to healthy habits (showing appreciation for small things, open communication, goodnight kisses... and so on) is a formidable force that occasional discords and external stresses cannot break. 

And I am so glad I found that.

Happy 365, my love. Here's to embarking on exciting adventures, roughing it through tough times and bringing each other joy for the rest of our lives. xoxo

 
Of course... we couldn't have made it here without the support of our loved ones, not just during our special days, but whenever and wherever. In particular:

• Our families for accepting our union and giving us their blessing.
• Natt for being the wise older sister and advising me on how to navigate this new chapter in my life.
• My bestie in Perth, Sharny and her hubby Paul for always being there for us. I was already indebted to them for so much and I am so grateful for having them in our lives.
• My bestie in Singapore, the Pooey one, for being my non-judgemental sounding board. The one who helps my rants by joining in with (usually) supportive commentary. The one best friend who would help me bury and conceal the dead body in my trunk.

Another Amazing Year

My, oh, my, what an amazing year you’ve had, my darling HUSBAND. Yes, HUSBAND. Somehow, in the span of one year, we’ve managed to get engaged, plan a wedding, GET MARRIED and have three kids (furkids, that is).  You also managed to land a job with an exciting new company, get promoted AND finally obtain your driver’s licence. We did two moves in as many months – and we’re still nesting away in the bid to make our home our sanctuary from the craziness we are surrounded by on a daily basis. We celebrated our engagement in Sydney and honeymooned in Singapore and Thailand.

Indeed, it’s been a truly memorable year with lots of dizzying highs and some treacherous lows. I can’t help but feel so pleased and so proud of you, my love, because you deserve every bit of happiness and every milestone you achieved. I’m so honoured that you chose me to be your cheerleader.

You’re my truly amazing husband. You’re the most caring man I know and I love waking up each morning to you saying, “Good Morning Wife” and asking me if I slept well. You keep me standing when I’m too tired or drained to hold myself up. With you, I can bare my soul knowing that you will never judge me and that you’ll always be there no matter how spectacularly I fail. Heck, the fact that you’ve stuck around for this round in spite of all my quirks is pretty damn phenomenal.

And what makes you even more amazing is the fact that you love so freely and generously. Despite all the hurt and all the crap you’ve experienced in your life, you still manage to stay positive, keep an open mind and just love. It blows my mind, to be honest.

I could go on about the many ways you’ve made me such a happy bunny but I might nauseate everyone reading this. Or worse, you might get a big head which will force me to counteract the positives with the few negatives… but I won’t do that because it’s your birthday. :p

So as I was saying, it’s been a massive year for us and I can’t imagine doing all that and still remaining (somewhat) sane with anyone else but you. They say that marriage is about two people coming together to build a better life for themselves – I think I picked the best partner to complement what little skills I have. I am so thankful for you.

Here’s hoping the year ahead will be as epic as the last one because you, my darling, deserve nothing less.

xoxo
Your wife

I'm Married... What?!

So we’ve been married for… 5 days now… and it still hasn’t really sunk in.

Maybe it’s because we’re STILL cleaning up the aftermath of the reception on Saturday – probably the only downside of having the reception in your backyard! But I am glad we went that way nonetheless; it would have been a shame to waste money on a venue when we had a perfectly HUGE backyard to host the outdoor wedding we wanted anyway!

And despite threats of rain, the day was absolutely beautiful. A few clouds and moments of overcast sky but it warmed up in the end and we had some lovely rays of sunshine. I think God heard my prayers to delay the rain because it certainly bucketed down the next day. Ant and I stood by the door on Sunday morning, watching how saturated the yard had become and thanked our lucky stars.

Repeatedly.

We were so happy to hear that everyone enjoyed themselves. Our wedding wasn’t big and fancy. But it was us.

The menu reflected what we loved to eat instead of relying on preset, generic menus offered by catering companies. Our candy buffet, was somewhat quirky – unlike the neat, colour-coordinated professional set ups you can order, we decided to use a mish mash of vintage glassware, new pieces and borrowed items. We filled them with lollies from different corners of the globe  – peanut butter cups in one jar, candy love hearts in another and hawflakes and white rabbit candies in others… to name a few.  I’m just a little annoyed we forgot to put up our mini hot air balloon to reference Around the World in 80 Days! D’oh!!!

All those hours spent decorating the mason jars were worth it too.  Even the kiddies loved using them – the special tumblers we bought for them were ignored!!

Speaking of kids, it was so lovely to see my new nieces get along so well with the clone army kids.

Both Ant and I can’t believe how well they interacted with each other. It was also lovely to see how genuinely happy they were for us – Ava and Lola (Ant’s nieces) kept coming up for cuddles. And the only JUST met me on the Thursday we were solemnised!

Wow. I’m married. Aside from getting to wake up next to my best friend every morning, it doesn’t feel much different to before being married. But maybe because my tiny little brain needs to recover from the best party weekend of my life. One that’s got me smiling every few minutes of the day because I keep getting little highlights popping up in my head – like when I surprised Ant with the caricature. Or when I remember particular lines of the speeches. Or seeing the completed wedding tree.

I’m so thankful to our family and friends who flew in to spend the day with us… and especially the ones who spent so much time and effort helping us create our special day.

I’m feeling pretty darn blessed. Even if I’m not quite feeling like a married old woman yet. Hehe.

Pretty Damn Lucky

Another weekend gone by, another week of catching myself mid-grin, thinking about the boy.. or rather, how lucky I am to have him. I honestly have no clue what I did to nab someone so doting but  I’m bracing myself for the bubble to burst. Seriously, his ex was an ABSOLUTE IDIOT for letting him go. But oh well, her stupidity is my gain. :D

But back to the weekend.

 It was a chilled out one with the girls (with the Lily taking quite a liking to the boy and asking if we were married/had a kid… after being shy for the first hour or so)… but ended in me getting sun stroke/sunburn and missing out on dancing. BAH.

At least I did have the boy around, who plied with mocktails – lychee mojitos and soursop mojitos.

All to keep me cool, you see. Hehehe.

There are all these little snatches from the weekend which keep entering my head – which makes for a nice distraction while working. It kinda reminds me that even though life is not perfect and that there’s lot that needs to be worked on… that a little bit of love goes a long way in making it a heck of a lot sweeter. :D

Oh. And have one of my favourite photos from the weekend. I may not have gotten my dance fix… but I was happy nonetheless.

Can’t wait for the week ahead. We have so much planned. An exhibition. Our first dinner date (long story, more on that for another time). And dinner with friends. Oh. And dancing! =D

Ascending The Ranks in Ramadhan

The last few days of Ramadhan always manage to stir up fond memories. The lead up to Eid was always exciting for me.

My dad and mom, both being among the elder siblings in their families, could almost always expect tons of guests on the first day and first weekend of Syawal. It's tradition for families to visit their elers within the first week of Syawal and the elders usually reciprocate over the remaining three weeks of Syawal. A bit of an inequity, really because the poor elders will have massive floods of people within a week while the youngins get away with trickling guests into their homes... hehehe.

Anyway, I digress. We always had fairly huge crowds at our house. Not only was there my parents' immediate family (in total, 22 siblings between them, each sibling bringing spouse and kids too) but there would be second cousins, colleagues and friends (and their families, where applicable!) to account for as well!

Consequently, there would always be a lot of prep work involved.

Especially where food was involved. Man, considering that Ramadhan is meant to be the month of abstaining from food and water, I sure do have a lot of food and kitchen-related memories!!

I remember Dad would come staggering home with massive plastic bags full of meat, chicken and vegetables. He would also buy canned soft drinks by the palettes. At least two trays (or 48 cans) of soft drinks. And the cannisters of cookies, boxes of kuih lapis and tupperwares of savouries (rendang and ketupat usually, if we were lucky, sometimes ayam masak merah) would come trickling in and and start taking up residence in our fridge.

And the last few days of Ramadhan would be filled with lots of time in the kitchen.

And boy was there barely enough time to get anything done.

Every single free surface was utilised as we multi-tasked all types of prepwork in the lead up to the feast on Hari Raya. We would sit at the dining table, churning out tray upon tray of cookies and cakes as Hari Raya songs played in the background. And as we are all aware, I am far from religious but I love hearing the (omg I can't even think of the proper name now) recitations on the radio as well - that would be the highlight of the eve of Eid as I struggled to stay awake while helping mum and sis in the kitchen.

A lot of the time, I think that all that time in the kitchen is what probably contributed to my appreciation of the cooking process and really, my appreciation of food. My culinary self was raised in the Ramadhan Kitchen.

Indeed, I saw the pre-Eid rush as a yearly assessment of my culinary skills.

With all the food prep to do, no one was spared from the cooking process. We needed all the help we could get. On every open house day, I would be running ragged between topping up drinks, making sure there were enough cookies and clearing tables and washing dishes so that the next lot of waiting guests could move on from tidbits in the living room to a proper meal in the dining area (which normally accomodates 6 but in times of need, we usually squeeze in another 2-4 chairs where we can). And this would go on all day. So you can imagine just how much food was needed to feed the masses.

Being the youngest in the family, I was always tasked with the simple "unfuckup-able" jobs. Especially when I first started helping out as a kid. My initial tasks included:

• playing fridge tetris aka trying to stuff as many cans of soft drink into the fridge
• ice cube inventory and constantly making trays of ice
• getting bowls from the cupboard
• pounding ingredients in the mortar and pestle
• putting cherries on top of the cookies

And I would watch, almost enviously, as mum and sis got to do real jobs. Like slicing shallots (because I was deemed incapable of slicing them finely enough), cutting up the delicate tofu and frying the various bits and pieces. Even brushing egg yolk on the cookies was considered a more intermediate task because kiddie fingers tend to squish cookies and slop too egg yolk much on - and I suspect one of my mum's bugbears was having overly eggy brown cookies.

But as the years went by, I got "promoted" to doing the more technical tasks. Mum was still commander in chief of the kitchen (and she still is) but as the years went by, I was trusted to do more things.

Such as the tricky task of filling the mini cupcake liners with walnut cake batter. Which sounds simple enough. But then you can't overfill or you'll have exploded mini muffins. And you have to keep the sides of the liner as clean as possible so that the smudge of batter (which would cook to a crisp before the rest of the cake) wouldn't form a barrier for the cake to rise.

And in the later years, I was even allowed to help shape my mum's famous cashew nut cookies. Famous not just because of their taste. But because of the unique shape my mum makes them in.

Now usually when you think cashew nut cookies, you imagine them as being round cookies adorned with cashew nuts on top.

But of course, mum being mum... she has to be different.

She doesn't make star shaped cookies. She doesn't use cookie cutters. She doesn't go crazy decorating the entire cookie with cashew nuts.

Nope. My mum hand-shapes her cookies so that they look like the cashew fruit. So imagine a stylised, curvy pear shape, with a half cashew sticking out at the bottom and a single clove at the top for the stem.

No wait. Have some visuals.

Yes, it was and still is an absolute bitch to make. Namely because so many things can go wrong.

You have to work fast because otherwise (I find anyway) the mixture gets crumbly - probably because the butter from the cookies gets absorbed by your skin. Probably.

And having a time limit is BAD because as you can imagine, this unique shape is not exactly easy to replicate. Not only is it a matter of getting it looking "sexy", as mum calls it, but that bottom bit has to be made sturdy enough so that you can stick that half cashew piece in there without tearing that bottom bit of cookie or exposing the cashew nut. Because if you do, not only do you have to start over but you'll also have to deal with previously mentioned crumbly batter.

So being able to make or at least be allowed to have a go at making the cashew nut cookies was what I always considered to be the absolute pinnacle of culinary finesse during Ramadhan. Which is why I was always so happy to give it a go whenever I was asked to shape the cookies because even if I didn't get it anywhere near right, it made me feel like I was finally part of a sorority of chefs. So to speak.

What with us living in Perth right now, we don't really celebrate Hari Raya anymore. Well I lie, my mum still goes visiting with her friends but we don't have the traditional open house any more. So unless I specifically request for certain foods, our kitchen is not as harried as it usually would be in the lead up to Eid.

Which is kind of sad because not only do you miss out on the fun (albeit exhausting!) bit of Hari Raya but there's no bonding over trays of cookie dough while the scent of vanilla of cloves wafts in the air around you. Crazily enough, I miss it even though I would almost always end up half asleep, pinch of quaker oat cookie dough in hand. Good times.

Yes, it was a lot of work and mum would always be telling me how to do things in the background but there was always a sense of accomplishment when the finished product came out beautifully. And when you saw your guests enjoy every mouthful of their meals.

(Cue impressed elder types going, "wah, Nadia dah boleh kahwin nih!" aka "Wow, Nadia can get married now!". Yep. Apparently the only criteria for marriage suitability is the fact that you can cook.)

So while I am currently complaining of all the running around and elbow grease that was yesterday... I really did enjoy it. It triggered the surge of memories which made for a lovely distraction as I went about my work.

I had a pile of shallots to slice yesterday and even though the sulphur fumes stung my eyes something cruel, I couldn't help but smile to myself. Not a word was said about the thickness of my slices. :)

Yea, I've come a long way.

Even if I STILL can't get them cashew nut cookies right.

(Mine is the skinny one in the middle and the one to the left of that)

Although that said, I did manage to nearly nail them in the end. Mum was kind enough to say that I had "graduated" in cashew nut cookie making.

Which means a lot coming from a typically anal, food-oriented Malay makcik like her.

It means a lot as well because mum and I don't have the best of relationships. As such, receiving such genuine encouragement and praise from her was really the highlight of my sleep-deprived night. I think we bonded last night and I think it's a step to a better mother-daughter relationship.

Ahh... another Ramadhan memory for the history books, I think. :)