hari raya cookie

The kueh mor is the ultimate cookie for me. The most jaded eaters here would say that it is on equal footing with the best brioches and turrones of the world. This little cookie is even more "godly" than the one that bears the name "the food for the gods" which is really just a crumbly fudgy square of a biscuit. The "suman" even deserves this accolade more, really.

The kueh mor is indescribable, only metaphors can figure its essence. It has the taste of the oozing madness of a white chocolate; the melt in the mouth rapture followed by gorgeous happiness as you swallow the flowing sweetness.

This cookie has the stamp of a rich and old tradition. It is a favourite among visitors during Hari Raya. It is prepared in volumes for this occasion and is served in opened houses.

The kueh mor is basically made from flour, sugar and butter or ghee. The unique ones have added nuts in them. It is made into a small ball and then baked, coated with icing sugar and in most houses placed gingerly in beautiful crystal jars.

This cookie or kueh (cake) literally leaves you speechless. Don't attempt to talk with a kueh mor in your mouth or the consequences can be fatal!

legalese

Every now and then I get this kind of mail in my inbox and I'd like to save this one here - for posterity.

"This is from a book called Disorder in the American Courts, and things people actually said in court, word for word, taken down and now published by court reporters who had the torment of staying calm while these exchanges were actually taking place.

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ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.
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ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
WITNESS: I forget.
ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?
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ATTORNEY: What was the first thing your husband said to you that morning?
WITNESS: He said, "Where am I, Cathy?"
ATTORNEY: And why did that upset you?
WITNESS: My name is Susan!
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ATTORNEY: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo?
WITNESS: We both do.
ATTORNEY: Voodoo?
WITNESS: We do.
ATTORNEY: You do?
WITNESS: Yes, voodoo.
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ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
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ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the twenty-year-old, how old is he?
WITNESS: Uh, he's twenty-one.
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ATTORNEY: Were you present when your picture was taken?
WITNESS: Are you ####### me?

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ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: How many were boys?
WITNESS: None
ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?
WITNESS: Are you ####### me? Your Honor, I think I need a different attorney. Can I get a new attorney?
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ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?
WITNESS: By death.
ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?
WITNESS: Now whose death do you suppose terminated it?
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ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?
WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard.
ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?
WITNESS: Guess.
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ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.
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ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?
WITNESS: All my autopsies are performed on dead people. Would you like to rephrase that?
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ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral
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ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 p.m.
ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?
WITNESS: No, he was sitting on the table wondering why I was doing an autopsy on him!
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ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?
WITNESS: Huh....are you qualified to ask that question?
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And the best for last:
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ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
ATTORNEY: I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law."

maestro, maestra

Near the door of the room where I hold my classes there is a poster (not my making - it was a product of a reading project launched in school) which reads "If you can read this, then thank your teacher". It does not seek for approval or attention for the reading teachers nor an aggrandizement of some sort. It was just posted alongside other quotable quotes for the sake of the reading project. Nonetheless, it became a reminder for me, a teacher who was taught.

I am lucky to have had good teachers while in school. The ones that had influenced my thinking and my personality were the ones who made me laugh because of their great sense of humour, their booming voices and flair for drama.

I remember Mrs Lu, maths teacher in secondary school, who reduced us to tears and laughter with her surprise quizzes but brought us out from our phlegmatic number-hating selves. We knew we had one of her surprises when she came in and commanded us in her very loud voice - "SPREAD OUT", meaning space out your seats. Then, there would be the deafening dragging and pushing of chairs for a few seconds. It was to be that way for three more years with her.

At the same school, in senior year, we had Mrs Paulate, the bespectaled schoolmarm who was soft spoken but very vocal and intent on perfecting everyone's writing skills. She was from the old school, disciplinarian and very autocratic. In post writing conferences, she would delve on the exact reason why we wrote a particular thought or idea, unmasking us all, and almost always there would be a funny confession or a struggle for language then a quick funny rejoinder from her. In parting, she would deliver a poem and my favourite was "BLOW, BLOW, THY WINTER WIND" every word of which she enunciated and emoted perfectly.

The most eccentric teacher I had in university was the late Dr Cesar Adib Majul, who taught me and classmates, the Muqaddimah. He would now and then interspersed his lessons with surah recitations. Then in a booming voice and with an intent of startling us from our wandering thoughts or in an appreciation of a good discussion, would say "KUN FAYAQUN" to illustrate the beauty and majesty of Creation and of course celebrate the genius of Ibn Khaldun.

So, when you find yourself wondering how you started reading or writing or enjoying learning, then you have got to thank your teachers - really - seriously.

many lives (3)

It is a pleasure to live in Brunei, a true dar-ul-salam. The people and the settings are uncomplicated, peaceful in contentment, rich in culture and safe and nurturing especially for children growing up. As a result, Meeza has a different childhood from mine; hers is one that is quiet, serene and pious brought about by her secure and loving environment. Her years in Ugama school gave her a composure I can't ever have. It was I, her mom, who reached out and clung to her, the child, for comfort in one moment of fear when we hit turbulence on air. She recited her surahs calmly and steadily, while all I thought about was my impending doom.

In my childhood, the first realization of who I am, was when Zainab, my patrician grandmother, washed for wudhu and donned her pristine 'talukung' to do her solat. Immediately, after her dua at the end of praying, we, the smaller ones, rushed to kiss her hands and her cheeks. In the afternoons, she would sit down on the wooden floor, a thin stick on her hand pointing out to her children the tajwids in the Qur'an.

She and my grandfather and their younger children whose ages were not far from us, lived in a huge, wooden and water-logged house which was connected by bamboo bridges to the smaller houses behind. On those flimsy pathways, we flew our kites and watched for green snakes slither on the water underneath. When it was our time to read the Qur'an, we sped to the smaller houses to escape. Expectedly, because we were the Hollywood-fed, part-time 'hacienda' children (referring to Rosalinda's land-owning roots) who preferred to play and be restless and rowdy as their horse-riding ancestors. Omar, the secular one, seemed not to mind that we were not at par with our cousins in Qur'an reading.

Then, the time came when we felt that something was on the air, when the young uncles and aunties went for their studies, became doctors and alims and chose to stay in exile in far away lands like Egypt, Libya and Saudi Arabia. I remember having seen the pyramids in postcards and opening parcels containing tasbihs and hijabs for the adults and gold-plated pens for us children. We did not see them for a very long time; only the ones who went for haj or umrah did meet them. Soon, the seventies came and everything changed. It was a turbulent decade for Muslims in the Philippines. The eighties was the time for peace-making and happily for us, the now weary uncles and aunties came home and embraced their secular elders. The future now looked hopeful.

many lives (2) - adat based

Aside from our secular and non-secular lives, we also had a life that was something not really talked about but simmered and surfaced now and then. We call it our 'adat', age-old customs and traditions that have mingled into our identities: Muslim, Asian, People of the Current, People of the Lake, et al. We referred to 'adat' in times of marriages, births, deaths, wars, and when misfortunes occured in families - close and extended.

'Adat' was called on upon when a girl in our extended family eloped and when an uncle was killed in a dispute with another clan. There was always a quiet busyness, almost eerie and sinister, when people came streaming in and out of our grandparent's house. We knew that the elderly men talked about remedies and planned retributions for honor lost. And, of course, there were peace-making gestures spoken in a language that was subtle, respectful and hopeful because it opened an opportunity or a window for face-saving and diplomacy. My father being one of the elders and who was steeped in the 'Rule of Law' usually had his way. Years later in his career, he became one of only three Muslim justices in the second highest civil court of the land and had a role in developing the Muslim family code and jurisprudence.

Faith, Adat and Hollywood. I really don't know how they worked together. But they did. In the meantime, from where I am, I hear about a continuing revivalism of the Faith sans the 'adat' and whether that's good or bad news, is really another matter for debate.

many lives (1)

Omar et Rosalinda lived semi-secular lives and loved Hollywood. Understandably so, because they grew up when America was firmly grounded in post-war Philippines. They brought us kids (in our pyjamas) for late night shows in a cinema (we called it the 'theater') a few blocks away from where we lived. Our favourite was Yul Brynner and we were mesmerized with movies such as Taras Bulba, The King and I and the Battle of Neretva. We also watched Sean Connery in many James Bond movies and Omar Sharif in Dr Zhivago and Lawrence of Arabia. We slept through movies such as The Lion in Winter and Mary Queen of Scots because of the heavy British accents and the never-ending dialogues. I would love to see these two movies again since I am now so accustomed to this mode of speaking in the almost two decades of living in Brunei.

I remember that the cinema had soft red leatherette chairs as we sat in the 'Lodge' section. We had those seats courtesy of a prosperous uncle who owned the cinema. The chairs were big enough that we curled up in sleep when we were burdened with too many dialogues. However, we watched the war movies with eyes wide awake. The late night double shows started at nine and finished at twelve midnight. Double shows - meaning, there were two films back to back. So, it could be Guns of Navarone 'doubled with' Mutiny on the Bounty at the price of one.

Post movies, we, the children re-enacted the scenes in rowdy mock battles - brothers and sisters with our imaginary weapons battling each other and falling down on the ground, wounded but unbowed. That explains why the girls never had dolls for toys - otherwise, we would have made warriors of them or perhaps doll-played the downfall of Mary Queen of Scots?

searching for genghis khan

Stories in my childhood have it that we descended from Genghis Khan kind of warriors from Mongolia. If it were true, then that would explain my dad's handsome features which got handed down to my brothers down to my nephews. That would also account for the sometimes quirky warrior-like qualities of the men in my family. According to tales that were fed us, my great grandfather was a horse-riding ponytailed hunk of a man. Picture a horsewhip carrying Shang (Mulan's beau) riding across the Gobi. That was the closest image I can have of my great grandfather. He was also a Muslim who perhaps came to Sulu to proselytize and eventually married my Mulan of a great grandmother.

My family on my dad's side is so interesting that an aunt in the States actually wrote two books about our genealogy. Unfortunately, the books did not tell about the hunk-greatgrandpapa, because they dwelt on the ancestors on the side of my paternal grandmother who were really sort of law-abiding citizens and not the Kazakhs battle hardened warriors which lit our imaginations. Rosalinda would always quip, when we, her children, were in this fantasizing state, "It runs in the blood". What dya say, Zaza, fancy writing a book about your great-great grandpapa?