Today, I opened up my husband's mail (opening mails is an unspoken act of habit between me and my husband in the absence of either one so we may not miss any important messages from the outside world). The letter was from somebody important who has been greedily manipulating events for vested interests. The letter was a tad desperate although very well written. And, so, being me - eccentric and unwordly, I am not going to call my husband about it and destroy his golf holiday. I would let my husband enjoy his pars and his birdies (hopefully!).
So, Mr Norman Holton, cry out loud! The 'justice' we know, will never fail. The big fish sometimes can't eat the bony small fish.
I wish to tell of an unbelievable act of miracle, I know only a mom can do for her child. Hjh Lunak is my new found masseuse, my new heroine. She uses the traditional 'urut', the one that breaks your body because of its ferocity and then mends you to become whole again.
She said she learned traditional massage two decades ago when as a young mother, she coped with her daughter's Down Syndrome. She would give this daughter a whole body massage twice in a week after learning from the doctors that the toddler will never be able to walk like a normal child. With the resilience of mind and dexterity of fingers, she became the nurturer 'per se'; the light beacon; the hopeful one; and after eight years the ultimate healer-mother. I could shed tears over and over again with this story. It tells of hope and triumph; of mind over matter; of miracles of love; of the meaning of 'ibu'.