10 June 2007, ST
Always seeing the bright side of things has helped my younger sister reinvent herself
By Cheong Suk-Wai
LAST Sunday, I tumbled out of bed at 8am as my rudely ringing house phone threatened to fall off the hook.
Stumbling to pick it up, I tripped over a book, stubbed my toe against the piano stool and knocked my head against the door jamb.
I was in a panic because a call from that phone this early in the day usually brings bad news, of the Dad-in-hospital kind.
I grabbed the receiver, clapped it to my ear and heard my Mum say, all perky-like, 'Good morning, I have good news!'
Turns out my younger sister, who has been jobless since January, was one of only seven Malaysians this year to secure a government loan that would not only pay her tuition and board, but also have payback deferred till she got a job.
We have never been the best of friends, but I was glad for, and proud of, her, especially after seeing how sapped her spirit had been as she went through the turnstiles of job interviews. Back in Sungai Petani, Kedah, where she and my parents live, there aren't many jobs for the taking to begin with.
But now, at 34, my mousy, soft-spoken sister is reinventing herself. A trained secretary, she is now using the loan to take a year-long IT course at a university in Kuala Lumpur which will then funnel its IT graduates into job vacancies in Malaysia's Multi-Media Super-Corridor.
Thing is, she is keen on, but has zero experience, in IT. I must say her chutzpah, as such, fairly blows me away.
Her joblessness these past six months belied her freshly minted success. Slow in school, she has proven a late bloomer, graduating from her part-time diploma programme in logistics management with straight As in Penang last month.
How my parents and I sighed with happiness for her then, even as we recalled how, as a child, she had almost bled to death after accidentally stepping on glass shards from a Milo mug I had broken.
My mother passed the phone to my sister.
'Congratulations,' I said (brightly enough, I thought), and the mother hen in me proceeded to pepper her with 101 concerns: How good is the university? Have you checked out your lodgings? Do you have emergency contact numbers? How much will you have to live on?
Her lone response to this badgering barrage? 'You don't sound very happy.'
And she put the phone down on me.
Well, what do you expect? I wanted to call back and snap at her, but bit my tongue in time.
The plan all along had been for her to live with my parents to help them out.
But, as my 65-year-old mother pointed out reasonably enough when I called back later, if my sister didn't seize the opportunity now, when might it present itself again?
My Mum added kindly: 'And I'm still able-bodied, so don't worry.'
Yes, I said, hanging my sore head, it is time for my sister to fly.
I made peace with my sister last Wednesday, the day she registered for her IT course in KL and moved into a university apartment there.
Willing myself not to morph into a mother hen again, I asked, casually, about her surroundings.
'Everything is okay, there are many international students studying here too,' she allowed, in her usual slow whisper.
'You know, if I couldn't care less for you, I wouldn't have asked those questions,' I said, by way of an apology.
'I know,' she said, her faraway voice an indictment of how much I had not trusted her to make her own life decisions.
PESSIMISTS, that is, those who tend to see problem in opportunity, make good pilots.
At least, that is what the current BBC World series, The Happiness Formula, informs me.
As psychologist Ilona Boniwell of Britain's Oxford Brookes University tells the series' presenter, Mark Easton: 'If you are flying in an airplane and it is about to crash, you'd better pray the pilot is a pessimist.'
She says that's because a gloomy pilot is more likely to estimate accurately that the plane might crash, and so go to work trying to save you. Psychologists call it depressive realism.
Conversely, Boniwell says those who look at life through rose-tinted glasses, as my sister is wont to do, tend to be 'plain wrong' in crises or situations that demand focus.
Still, as The Happiness Formula goes on to show, optimists live longer, or as much as nine years more than a cautious coot like myself.
Indeed, having tasted success early in life - from topping classes to snagging scholarships to nailing every job I wanted - I take life very seriously because I fear life as I know it will vanish if I take my eye off the ball.
In contrast, my sister, the laid-back optimist, has had most school and office doors slammed in her face, but has been content to live with her lot even as she looked out for opportunities, risky or otherwise, to get out of our sleepy town.
Today, she has a car and marriage proposal to her name, while I have yet to pass a driving test or have a steady boyfriend.
Well, what does that say about you then, I ask myself these days, peering into my bathroom mirror. Where has all that fear got me? Fear of what? Of who?
I will say this much: The times when I have just looked up and let go have been the happiest moments I have ever known, such as my first trip to London in August 2005, with severe bronchitis.
It was cold and gusty every day I was there, but I called it fate and actually grew stronger with each passing hour, returning to Singapore rosy-cheeked and full of joy.
So, seeing as I am not likely to pilot a plane anytime soon, maybe it is time to call it fate for always and, well, let live.
Always seeing the bright side of things has helped my younger sister reinvent herself
By Cheong Suk-Wai
LAST Sunday, I tumbled out of bed at 8am as my rudely ringing house phone threatened to fall off the hook.
Stumbling to pick it up, I tripped over a book, stubbed my toe against the piano stool and knocked my head against the door jamb.
I was in a panic because a call from that phone this early in the day usually brings bad news, of the Dad-in-hospital kind.
I grabbed the receiver, clapped it to my ear and heard my Mum say, all perky-like, 'Good morning, I have good news!'
Turns out my younger sister, who has been jobless since January, was one of only seven Malaysians this year to secure a government loan that would not only pay her tuition and board, but also have payback deferred till she got a job.
We have never been the best of friends, but I was glad for, and proud of, her, especially after seeing how sapped her spirit had been as she went through the turnstiles of job interviews. Back in Sungai Petani, Kedah, where she and my parents live, there aren't many jobs for the taking to begin with.
But now, at 34, my mousy, soft-spoken sister is reinventing herself. A trained secretary, she is now using the loan to take a year-long IT course at a university in Kuala Lumpur which will then funnel its IT graduates into job vacancies in Malaysia's Multi-Media Super-Corridor.
Thing is, she is keen on, but has zero experience, in IT. I must say her chutzpah, as such, fairly blows me away.
Her joblessness these past six months belied her freshly minted success. Slow in school, she has proven a late bloomer, graduating from her part-time diploma programme in logistics management with straight As in Penang last month.
How my parents and I sighed with happiness for her then, even as we recalled how, as a child, she had almost bled to death after accidentally stepping on glass shards from a Milo mug I had broken.
My mother passed the phone to my sister.
'Congratulations,' I said (brightly enough, I thought), and the mother hen in me proceeded to pepper her with 101 concerns: How good is the university? Have you checked out your lodgings? Do you have emergency contact numbers? How much will you have to live on?
Her lone response to this badgering barrage? 'You don't sound very happy.'
And she put the phone down on me.
Well, what do you expect? I wanted to call back and snap at her, but bit my tongue in time.
The plan all along had been for her to live with my parents to help them out.
But, as my 65-year-old mother pointed out reasonably enough when I called back later, if my sister didn't seize the opportunity now, when might it present itself again?
My Mum added kindly: 'And I'm still able-bodied, so don't worry.'
Yes, I said, hanging my sore head, it is time for my sister to fly.
I made peace with my sister last Wednesday, the day she registered for her IT course in KL and moved into a university apartment there.
Willing myself not to morph into a mother hen again, I asked, casually, about her surroundings.
'Everything is okay, there are many international students studying here too,' she allowed, in her usual slow whisper.
'You know, if I couldn't care less for you, I wouldn't have asked those questions,' I said, by way of an apology.
'I know,' she said, her faraway voice an indictment of how much I had not trusted her to make her own life decisions.
PESSIMISTS, that is, those who tend to see problem in opportunity, make good pilots.
At least, that is what the current BBC World series, The Happiness Formula, informs me.
As psychologist Ilona Boniwell of Britain's Oxford Brookes University tells the series' presenter, Mark Easton: 'If you are flying in an airplane and it is about to crash, you'd better pray the pilot is a pessimist.'
She says that's because a gloomy pilot is more likely to estimate accurately that the plane might crash, and so go to work trying to save you. Psychologists call it depressive realism.
Conversely, Boniwell says those who look at life through rose-tinted glasses, as my sister is wont to do, tend to be 'plain wrong' in crises or situations that demand focus.
Still, as The Happiness Formula goes on to show, optimists live longer, or as much as nine years more than a cautious coot like myself.
Indeed, having tasted success early in life - from topping classes to snagging scholarships to nailing every job I wanted - I take life very seriously because I fear life as I know it will vanish if I take my eye off the ball.
In contrast, my sister, the laid-back optimist, has had most school and office doors slammed in her face, but has been content to live with her lot even as she looked out for opportunities, risky or otherwise, to get out of our sleepy town.
Today, she has a car and marriage proposal to her name, while I have yet to pass a driving test or have a steady boyfriend.
Well, what does that say about you then, I ask myself these days, peering into my bathroom mirror. Where has all that fear got me? Fear of what? Of who?
I will say this much: The times when I have just looked up and let go have been the happiest moments I have ever known, such as my first trip to London in August 2005, with severe bronchitis.
It was cold and gusty every day I was there, but I called it fate and actually grew stronger with each passing hour, returning to Singapore rosy-cheeked and full of joy.
So, seeing as I am not likely to pilot a plane anytime soon, maybe it is time to call it fate for always and, well, let live.
No comments:
Post a Comment