Le Soul Sport

Fakhrul had been seriously, like serious-shitly talking about building  a bouldering wall in our not-so-soon to be renovated home. That guy – once he’s into something, he’ll dive deep into it. He started watching videos or read on how to DIY a boulder wall, surveying prices for the holds, trying to convince me with all his pretty sketches because he knows they turn me on. I get prickling sensations when he draws. Hiks. We’ve been pretty much crazed with climbing ever since we started lead climbing few months back. We started talking grades, moving on from 5c to 6a (or in his more advanced case, 6b+), convincing each other to try different routes, vandalizing the monkey bar at home, subscribing Rock and Ice and tell each other interesting climbing stories we came across either from another climber we met or from somewhere we read. And climbers always say something cool like “Psyched!” or have an interesting outlook in life of something like this:

I was standing in front of a 6a route the other day. The sight of the most-accomplished and favorited route by climbers in that gym, that Fakhrul just finished ascending so effortlessly did very little to calm me. I looked up, the wall is tilted towards me a bit and for the last three clips that were screwed about 25 meters from the ground, I’ll come across an overhang that always, always scare the shit out of me. Fakhrul tapped my back, reminded me don’t forget to breathe and like some Nike ad, told me just to do it. My knee started raising to the first hold, my hands looking for jugs, mini-jugs or any of those I can hang on to comfortably. But nothing is ever comfortable when you’re holding your body weight with the tips of your toes and your non-muscly arms. But then, just like that, it was me against gravity. Towards the end, I started to freak out as I was nearing the scary overhang,  nearly paralyzed by an internal voice whisper-screaming, “This was a terrible fugging idea!”. I drew breath with slow intention to slow my runaway heart rate. A cold sweat prickled my scalp and soaked my T-shirt. I did what climbers do when we get nervous – we chalk up. I chalked and re-chalked my hands with rhythmic compulsion. I held this pose and waited for something to change inside of me.

Suddenly, there’s a shift. Without my brain’s consent, my body moved. A quick few step up onto that little holds I’d only realized their existence and I reached the anchor. Still shaken by fear of falling, I pulled up the rope and finished the job. “Tiiiiiiiiiiiigggggggghhtt!!!!” I yelled down. Its a code word to the belayer to “please pull the bloody rope tight goddammit and bring me down to the flat ground where I belong. NOW!”. Well, only when you yell it like I did it actually means that. Between the anchor and the yelling, there was this glorious moment of happiness having accomplished something you initially thought impossible. Some guys would hit the wall panels loud overjoyed when they topped out,  having sent a route clean (no mix colours, no tight-resting) and can call themselves a 6b or 6b+ or whatever-grade climber. At that moment, I was just happy to overcome my ridiculous fear of heights.

That few minutes of ascending a route is almost like life journey in a literal form. Like life, you first put your trust in someone (a belayer); be it is someone you’re close with or a stranger offering a belay after a quick chat. You started climbing and realize some hard movements along the way.. your face shrinking at the thought of “my God, this is hard”, like some circumstances in life you tend to encounter. You would think the impossibles when actually you just have to figure out your way up to reach the upper hold. When hesitation hits, you’d hear a cheer from below telling you not to let go or hold on. And sometimes you slip by surprise and you’d fall few meters down with your entire life flashes in front of your eyes as if you were gonna drop dead, only to realize somebody catches you. You’d feel great that you’re OK even if you suffer a bloody scratch from it. You’d try again, pulling yourself up with the rope til the spot where you slipped and figure out a different way to get to the top. Some days you might give up, you went down and come back another day and repeat the same thing. Until you nail the last anchor, you’d feel liberated knowing you just surprised yourself. And you will return to get that feeling again.

Some days I thought of that day when I first went to that gym and started climbing. About how much that one accidental occasion had changed everything, my relationship with Fakhrul, my weekly routine, my life perspective and my health all for the betterment. And of course, that’s just in the gym with the plastic holds. I’m sure it will be a greater story when we get to the actual rocks.

That’ll be the next pursuit.

Yet

There’s always a moment in life when you ask yourself the meaning of living.

You know, the generic reminder of why you were born, what your life’s purpose is, why do things happen to you and how to find meaning in it all? Most of the times I feel like I have the answer to all questions. I know myself. What I’m capable of, what I want, what makes me happy and what doesn’t. But sometimes there will be moments when you are approached by doubts; either in a form of another human being asking you questions or in a form of information you come across.

To begin with, I’m not pregnant again. Yet.  And I’m about to write about the justification of it all.

Yes, I do want another child. Daisy is 4 this year and according to myself 3 years ago, the margin between her and her sibling should be about 3 years. Yet here I am, not even trying. Yet. (Now you see why this post is titled as it is!) Sometimes I wonder what is wrong with me or is the society I’m living with makes me feel like there’s something wrong with me? But I’m not so sure, maybe not. Because when I was in UK back in October and meeting again all my friends there, the questions are all the same. The bombardment of wonders are all familiar: When’s my next one?

I don’t know when is my next one, guys. I wish I could recite the surah to those who has been asking and then like magic they will automatically get it. I don’t blame them for asking, it is commonly known as a natural thing for a couple to have another one after another and after the other. Upon facing such questions, I usually go for the quick answer, “InsyAllah. Doakan murah rezeki..” but if they are looking for a long one this is what my answer would be:

1. My brother and I are only 2 years apart. We didn’t get along very well as kids. My childhood with him are either quarrels at the back seat of the car, crying my lungs out for being hit or constant thinking of how to get even with him. I spend most of my childhood hating him for being my mother’s favorite. Thankfully, we are better as adults now; his brotherly character became apparent when he took me under his care when I first arrived in UK. But it wasn’t such a happy childhood for me living under one roof with him. I figured that maybe it has got to do with the age gap. Its not exactly 2 years – more like 17 months! In a way, I forgive him for the inability to be maturer than me whenever expected. How could he possible know more by experiencing life only 17 months earlier?

2. I still struggle with my relationship with my mother sometimes. I figured that most of the times it is because we are both the same big headed, egoistic, stone hearted persons we are. I know a lot of girls experience the same conflict with their mothers and that is something that I dread to have between me and Daisy. I even remember the foolish, temporary resentment I felt when I found out I was carrying a girl, “Gosh – not another me and Mama in this world” I would thought. Maybe if I have more time with Daisy, give her all I got like I do now I’ll get lucky. So far I have been and hope to maintain until she has a bigger mind of her own than now.

3. My sister and I are 8 years apart. It is a totally different thing. Imagine an 8 year old girl finding out she was having a baby sister. I got ideas what to name her, imagined how I would play with her, take her everywhere I go, love and protect her with all my heart. That still hasn’t changed and we have a relationship like any other siblings in this world should. A great one.

4. Almost on all of my grocery days, I’d encounter with seriously unhappy couple not embarrassed enough to show how unhappy they are in public. Most of them have a lot of children, I would even found myself counting how many they have. But what breaks me is how conveniently they show how unhappy they are with their kids. Scolding, yelling, slapping and most unacceptably for me is the use of vulgar and degrading words. Some of my period hormonal days, I’d give them a good stare until one of them tell the other to stop and have that talk at home. Yes, children are like that but there are reasons why they are like that. I believe it all starts at home. Do you tend to them, do you listen to them, do you care enough for them? I’m not a perfect mother, I have my weaknesses but aren’t we all children once? Don’t we know how it felt? There’s nothing worse than bringing a child to life just for the sake of it, unaware of responsibilities you have to bear. Urghh, sorry I sound harsh. I get angry just thinking of it.

5. Some couples are just blessed. They can have 5 and still make it look easy. They can still appreciate each other as partners, be the best at their careers and make big problems look simple. They can have it all and have it perfect. Never mind about me and Fakhrul. I don’t even know if I can even appreciate myself in a situation I feel incapable of handling. Or maybe I’m underestimating. This is just a theory.

6. Like any other couples, Fakhrul and I always talk about the future. Where will we be, what we will be doing and who are with us. For now only Daisy are involved in that conversations. We haven’t visualize our lives with more than just one child. That maybe because we don’t even know him or her yet, but the things that we visualize we would do – we won’t be able to do it if we have so many.

7. Most of my friends that I’m closed with are either just got married or still single. I don’t mingle with enough mothers to give me the second-child vibe. Stupidly, I blame them. I need new friends. Haha.

8. I am so contented with my current relationship with Daisy. I’m too scared for changes. Even within myself. I’ve changed too much by just having one! But it will be so freakishly cute to see Daisy and a sibling. That is worth being brave for yes?

Ahh.. I don’t know. Who am I to say or question what God has planned for me? Who am I to deny a child? I think a child in the early years are like a gift of unconditional love. There are days when I could smell like shit, have a laksa or durian with bad breath after and still have someone who insists on being close to me. Maybe my second child will be an accident, just like Daisy was. A beautiful, pleasant, resentment free accident. Or my third, or my forth – OK that will be too much. If it takes me this long just to have a second child crosses my mind, I doubt my uterus will even have enough time for a forth.

One thing I know for sure will happen when Daisy gets a sibling – don’t count on me to be spending so much time on this space!

And whatever it is – InsyAllah. Doakan murah rezeki.

A Day On A Birthday

My 31st year on earth started just like any other day. Woke up, showered and on with the jeans & shirt. I giggled thinking of the night before when the clock struck 12 midnight and my face got wet with kisses from D & F. “Happy birthday Mama, love you Mama” they’d say while I shoved their faces for blocking me from American Idol.

Drove to the office and rescheduled a meeting – I wanted to take the afternoon off. F wanted to buy me lunch, a nicer lunch from the usual Monday ones we would have. So we went to Bangsar, because I also wanted to check out an outdoor shop I just heard from a new acquaintance from climbing gym yesterday. And not just any random newbie climber, a Millet ambassador apparently. Watched her climbed few times and didn’t even wonder why she was chosen to be, she was so impressive and fearless on those walls. I on the other hand had been digging the last few stocks of Millet rock shoes around town ever since I got my first pair of Millet last year. Apparently they are rare breed and I feel I climb better with Millet on my feet than any other brands. Even the shiznit La Sportiva.

My phone rang from WhatsApp. Le sister from Oxford sent a video. Can she be any more nerdy than she already is? As if learning architecture wasn’t hard enough, she had the time to learn some chords on a guitar! I think this one tops everything. The crème de la crème of all birthday wishes that day. And that made me sorely miss that big baby.

 

It was raining when we got out. Not heavily, but someone without an umbrella would need a shelter from it. Went to Shell for a refill when I noticed a man sitting on the floor next to the door of the Select shop. He had big bags filled with keropok around him. It was a pretty normal sight, we do get a lot of people came up to us while we eat selling stuff. Sometimes we even had this prejudice that it might be syndicated. But I had none of that at that moment. He looked tired and seriously sleepy. His head nodded a few times from it and I stared from a distance in the convenience of my car, sheltered from rain and even air conditioned comfortably. I couldn’t bear it, I checked my wallet for cash and decided to buy. He was physically unfortunate, I have no idea how he carries around those big, heavy bags with him. A bag of uncooked keropok for RM20. Could’ve gotten for a tenner at Tesco or Giant but what the heck. I felt relieved.

Bangsar was congested when we arrived during lunch time. I was so famish I could chew my strawberry tasted lip gloss when I put it on. And then I saw this sign. Never saw it before and first saw it on this day, my birthday.

The big fonts, not the small ones. And so I shall, I thought.

There I was, standing outside this shop that I probably passed hundreds of times but never realized its existence. As soon as I saw that dude hanging on the rocks, I knew I was going to find my birthday present in there. And I wasn’t wrong – there was a last pair, their last stock of rock shoes ever, in my size going for half price. I always get really superstitious with this kind of thing. This is called, Shaliza’s this-is-meant-to-be shopping moment. Millet, last stock, my size, half price with F offered to contribute a bit. The stars are aligned. I did not think for another nano minute.

Super psyched with my purchase, we walked back to the parking lot through Bangsar Village, thinking it would be a harmless stroll by the shops while getting back to the car. Naively I went in Zara. People, I haven’t bought anything in Zara since August 2011. Suffice to say since I started climbing, I haven’t been my old self. The fashion bargain maniac who filled up her wardrobe with junks. But that was about to change when I put these mustaches on.

It was the last pair, final reduction, and totally goes with whatever I had on at that time. F came over to see and didn’t hate it. He usually would on something like this. So again, what do you call this people? That’s right – this was meant to be.

My phone only had a bar left by that time. I never had my phone almost died on me by midday. Must been checking those birthday wishes I’d been getting everywhere. Abah who normally doesn’t text, did today:

There’s something about that date that he typed at the end of the text. It touched me. 2013 today. 1982 then. They must have felt like it has been a long time.

Immediately after that, I wanted a cake. Had always been intrigued by the rainbow cake they have at my favorite cake shop Bisou. It’s RM12 a piece, that’s why I never got it. Even the super crazy delish Chicago cheese at Coffee Bean costs less. But F got me one anyway. For some reason they call it Dream Come True. I kept telling him get me the rainbow cake, rainbow cake. But then he said to the cashier with his usual seriousness, “Can I have one Dream Come True please?”. It sounded soooooo funny I laughed and snorted like a pig.

Got D some stuff too, some books I can story tell her and a Tinkerbell dvd. Only because whenever I get home now her first questions will be, “Beli apa tu?” even though I have absolutely nothing on my hands. Wanted to give her a reason to jump around at the door when I get home. Later cooked those two dinner and now am writing this telling you how my day was.

Alhamdulillah. Thank you God for a great day and a blessed life. For another beat of my heart and the air I’m breathing. For everything gained and nothing so far lost. I just got to say.

Its my party and I’ll buy two shoes if I want to.

Istanbul Aku Mai

(I’m only writing this because I just finished watching Istanbul Aku Datang. It was OK I guess. Watchable compared to some other Malay movies..)

I don’t really get most Malaysian’s obsession or fascination with Istanbul. Most Malaysians I met, actually. I found Istanbul disappointing, or maybe I shouldn’t have had any expectations to places I’ve never been. That is evident when I only had one short post about it in my blog almost 4 years ago. Or maybe I was 2 months pregnant at that time and hormonal. Or maybe because March wasn’t exactly the best time to go. Or maybe because there were 4 other friends who cancelled the trip at the last minute made it less fun than I anticipated it to be. Maybe it wasn’t Istanbul’s fault after all. Heh.

If there was a subject back in university that I had ever gotten a high score on, it was the Architectural History. Its pretty easy to be fascinated with the facts and pictures shown to you, then makes you dream of seeing it for yourself. I knew there were epic monuments to be visited and by epic I mean it in scale. I remember vividly my lecturer projected an old drawing of Ayasofya and how tiny people in the drawing were. So when I finally get a chance to go 5 or 6 years later, there is nothing but fascination that I felt. But then, I had always thought that the city or bazaar will sort of derive from all of these monuments, the Blue Mosque, the Ayasofya, Suleiman Mosque or Topkapi Saravi.. But they don’t. Instead all of these landmarks were scattered and being just a stand alone structure without anything remotely interesting surrounding them. The bazaar was nothing impressive like the ones in Morocco (I know its dumb to compare) although there was an interesting incident where Fakhrul and our friend Dr. Kam got to taste caviar for the first time for free. Eeww, of course I didn’t taste it. I didn’t care if I missed out, Daisy would’ve probably born 7 months prematurely if I did. Haha. The fact that the inside of Ayasofya were filled with scaffolding due to restorations were another let down. Kinda like the same thing I experienced in Piazza Novana in Rome, where the galleries were closed for restoration works. Always bad timing for me. But still glad I found a spot avoiding the scaffolding for this shot:

I wasn’t so keen with the food either. I thought all of those Turkish Delights were not so delighting, just another perplexing big fuss like those macaroons from Laduree. Too freakin’ sweet. And then there’s the bitterest tea I’d ever had and those salads without pretty dressings did not taste good. OK, this was just a personal preferences, but I think I did eat something nice otherwise how else did I survive 4 days there whilst pregnant?

One thing that is really great about Istanbul is the people. Photographing there was like a dream.. especially when what I prefer in photos are close contact with people. They are sooo nice and welcoming and some even pose when a camera pointed at them. They don’t have all this skepticism with cameras or irrelevant belief that your life is cut short when you’re in a photo like some Moroccans have. Or worse shooh you when they happen to be in the frame. Like this guy in this picture. Not even he stood where I wanted him, he even gave me his address and asked me to post his pictures. Of course I didn’t, thinking he must have assumed that I’m from some magazine with my giant camera. Tough luck!

Anyway these are other photos of Istanbul that I didn’t publish in here. Some shots are the same, but different. Hihi.

Days in 2012

Happy 2013 people! And if you aren’t bored enough of me and this lack-of-update blog, I really appreciate it for still coming around and checking it out. It actually takes a new year to drag my ass to this seat and writing to you here. My plan to become more efficient in blogging has completely failed and my finger is pointing at my face for excuses. I actually only have two excuses but these two are the ones that really kept me off from here!

Wednesdays, Fridays & Sundays

Remember when I wrote about starting climbing almost a year ago? Well you would think that I left it there and assumed it was a one-off thing. Or at least a twice, thrice thing. But apparently I kept going back to the walls because for the last whole year it had become so addictive to the point that I could not go on a week without doing it! Suddenly all my hard earned money are being spent to new rock shoes, harnesses or ropes. I know most people would hate to read this, I would too – they say that people who work out can’t keep that shit to themselves, which I try very hard not to be but failed occasionally. Considering I’m writing about it a year since I first told you about it, let’s just be OK with it for now.

Because climbing, cycling, running, working out in a gym or any physical activities generally are never really easy. And when you achieved a certain level or progressed positively, its almost the same as getting a high scores in exams – you want people to know about it a little bit. And for a person like me who had never been into anything physical or even remotely adventurous before this, it makes me feel like I’m a totally different person. I definitely have a better understanding why people do crazy things (although climbing in a gym like me is hardly crazy though..) outdoor, the abilities to challenge yourself physically sort of make you feel more alive than you’d do in the office or at home. Or in the malls whilst shopping even! I’m not sure if I’m starting a mid-life crisis already, thankfully most people would think 30 is slightly too young to have one. Guess that I feel like I’ve spent my whole 20s trying to prove myself academically, career and family wise. Now that I’ve ticked most of the boxes like got married, bore and gave birth to a child plus being completely contented with my career as architect, there’s a different strive. And that strive is something physical apparently .. (as if giving birth wasn’t physical enough!).

The Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays had all gone to the walls throughout 2012. So as you can imagine there were only little time left for blogging, considering any other free nights were spent recovering from the muscle cramps and exhaustion from it. If any of you wondering whether I was desperate to lose weight by doing it three times a week, I actually hardly lose any! I think I’d only lost 2 kg at most throughout the whole year of climbing but it surely gives me a total peace of mind whenever I’m having a dessert.

I’m not quite sure how long I can keep this up, but considering the level of fun I’ve been having by doing it and the best companies to share this with which are with my husband and my very best friend, I surely hope I can keep on with it for a long time. I heard a lot of climbers still do what they do pass the age of 50 and there are even some female climbers who kept climbing when they were pregnant at 40 weeks! At this point of my life, I just refuse to settle for the norm. And by that you should know that the norm is what the society I’m living with expects out of me. But you know what? Maybe eventually my life will be mundane and predictable, but for now I’ll keep it predictable with things I find interesting!

Saturdays

Its funny how I just said that I am totally contented with my career as architect, only that once in awhile there’s someone who will make you think differently, wants more out of you and takes you out of your comfort zone. And that person in my case is my father, with a help of my husband, who finally successfully dragged me to Part 3 classes – a starting point to become a Professional Architect.

I’m not taking the exam this year but at least by starting the class I’ve started what I suspect will be a very looooong journey towards achieving the final phase of all this professionalism hu-ha. Just getting over it, you know! And hoping along the way it will make me a better architect, someone who mostly knows what she’s doing or advising and most importantly someone who believes in herself. Yeap, surprisingly this class does make me a better architect already. In meetings previously, I was more of a “I’ll have to check and get back to you on that” kind of architect, but now alhamdulillah, I am a “Yes, you do need to change the land title to proceed with Planning submission” kind of architect. Haha! Which is so much fun playing the person who knows a lot and get people nodding at stuff coming out of your mouth!

And then there are the rest of the days where I crave for that smile that is so comforting, who is really the epitome of happiness of my world. A smile like the end of this video. Because man, doesn’t she grow up so fast?

Any other days

Have a blessed new year everyone! May all your resolutions come true.