Where your heart is, there your treasure lives also

Lourdes
Monday 8 May 2017

A bright, unaccountably beautiful sunlit morning. Breakfast on my own, overlooking the river. I am grateful for the clear blue sky, and the imposing, protective mountains that surround us.
What is Lourdes like? It is like a Disneyland pilgrimage destination.  The happiness of the sick, as they are brought to worship and bathe in the waters of the grotto.  I see the myriad of hotels,stuck side by side, souvenir stalls, a million rosaries for sales, the incrustation of the church.

I did not see a sense of acknowledgement of piety, poverty. Why do the shops sell gold plated scapulars, but at the 7am mass  in the crypt, the majority of the congregation were the Carmelites, and some of them so sour faced about it too?

In the end, it is not where you go to find God, whether you bring Him along with you, wherever you go.

Out of the tunnel

17 November 2014

I paid the price. Two years of living in a cold country. Heartache. Pain. I made it this time, because I made a plan and stuck to it. I also passed my CFA exams, which means I not only do not need to look after my firebird anymore, I don't have to use all my spare time for studying. I am so free. I have my life. I have my time. It's astonishing.
At times, working under the supervision of people with no integrity was difficult, but I made sure I had pressure valves to help me cope. That's why I was not exhausted as I had been in 2011.

Focus

I know I only need to survive two winters before I head home again. So I smile. I keep busy. I keep learning. This is the final instalment of the price to pay for being a single mother. I am proud to have raised her. I am proud of what I have achieved, with my family's help. But I sure won't be doing it again in this lifetime. I was promised a second life. I am grabbing my second life with both hands. This time, I will try to be much more selfish.

Weevil Morning

Firebird descends to the kitchen in a state of disgust and panic holding her beloved bunny rabbit to me. Out of its tummy come crawling dozens of little insects. We have company and I am instantly embarrassed. Someone cries out ‘Baby cockroaches!’. This does not help to calm her down. She searches desperately for a can of insecticide and is about to douse her soft toy with poison when I intervene. I remove its entrails, which is really a wheat bag, that had been stored in the back of a wardrobe in 30 degree Celsius for six months in high humidity. No wonder there are weevils. I then take the poor creature to the back of the house and whack it firmly, several times, over the drain. Weevils fall out. Then my fingers dive in and carry out rough surgery to remove the hanger-ons. Finally I turn its stomach inside-out and expose it to the bleach of the tropical sun.

Later that night, a lone weevil falls out of my hair while I’m reading. I pick it up and flush it down the toilet. How is it that I, who used to turn queasy at the sight of cockroaches, can deal so efficiently with a weevil-filled stomach? Being a mother makes us all into some kind of hero.

My Shangri La

From 5° 25' N, 100° 19' E, I report brilliant sunshine, fluffy white clouds and blue mountains stretching into the horizon across the water, as I sit in a conveniently air-conditioned coffee shop by the quay. Of course, as with anywhere else, Penang is not a complete paradise. The traffic here can cause road rage among those pre-disposed to impatience or believe the highway code should apply on the island.



You really do need a laid-back attitude and sharp reflexes to a) smile at the lane weavers and b) avoid the mosquitoes (motorcyclists). You must also not mind being eaten alive by the real-life mosquitoes. I counted six last night.

For all that I’m not working, the past two weeks have been fairly busy. But I am for the first time after a long while, able to say that I am happy. The symptoms are clear; my hair is bouncy again, because we have ‘soft’ water here, and in the mirror I catch glimpses of the cheeky 4 year old from my old photos that I didn’t expect to reappear after all this time. Here, I meet people who don’t care to tell me to act my age. I spoke to a 47 year old lady working at the French school, full of life and laughter, who said I should just be who I am, and agreed with me that Penang is the best place. I don’t think Penang is for everyone, but I think it is a good place for me right now. It’s not just the hotel, this entire island is my Shangri La.


This is the tree that shelters us at breakfast in the Shangri-La















This is the route to the beach








Upon my return to the Shangri La, I was greeted by a longstanding member of staff who explained diplomatically the reason I prefer the Rasa Sayang to the Mandarin in Singapore with an analogy: he told me that there are ‘City’ staff and ‘Resort’ staff; neither can bear to work in the other type of hotel. So by extension I suppose I must be a ‘Resort’ guest. If any of you come to Penang, I would recommend the Shangri-La. It may not be the most state of the art, but it sure is relaxed.



Penang in the morning-Relax by the pool through to the sea












Singapore sun - Look cool in the city pool. The water is freezing!

My firebird not flying

My firebird is facing a crisis of confidence. Why do artists have fear demons that attack their souls with jagged chisels and poisoned arrows? And this thing called integrity. She refuses to use my ideas because they are not hers and she would feel guilty. I want to help her but right now I can help best by leaving her alone. That is hard.

The Fall of Titans

I saw my old hairdresser at Waitrose a few weeks ago. The one I used to call a 'god' because he was so good at doing my hair. His hair had turned grey, his face unshaven, and he staggered around as if he had a limp. We only locked eyes for a fraction of a second. I have no idea if he recognised me. How did he come to this state? I am ashamed to say that I did not go up to him to say hello. But my instinct told me that he wouldn't have wanted to be recognised. He used to be full of confidence. Does the world of hairdressing really chew you up and spit you out, just like banking?