Monthly Archives: May 2009

Years in America: Culture (episode 4)

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What can I say about the American way of life, except that I love it. Americans are generally very friendly to foreigners and if you can speak English, you’ve won most of the battle. I’ve never had problems interacting with Americans during my stay in the US, because I live by a simple maxim—if you’re friendly to people, they will respond in kind.

The transition to American culture wasn’t a shocker for me, since I’d spent almost 3 years in England prior to crossing the big pond. Take dressing, for example. On campus, you can wear anything you want, except for your birthday suit (I’d bet the campus police would pounce on you in seconds!) You could dress in a penguin suit (you know what I mean) or a grubby T-shirt and shorts for class, and no one would bat an eyelid. I’ve seen girls wearing the skimpiest outfits to classes—isn’t nature wonderful (bear in mind that the weather in Arizona can be unbearably hot) I confess I used to gawk during the first few months, but as they say, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

Americans are vocal and passionate in what they believe in. There were a lot of organizations on campus; perhaps the most vocal one was the pro and anti-abortion organizations. There would be some pretty heated debates occurring throughout the semester (no, I didn’t get involved—I was too busy studying, honest) There was an International Student’s Association, but somehow I only joined that during my Senior year, can’t remember why. However, it was fun to attend one of their potluck dinners and to introduce myself as a Senior to the many Freshman students attending.

Americans also love to party, especially students! Yeah, I did attend a dorm party or two, but like my British days, I never drank beer (I hate that stuff) so I’d always be having a Coke or Dr. Pepper. Or a shot of Baileys Irish Cream or Jack Daniels. Rock & Roll music was the music then, so there would always be somebody with a record/cassette player (the CD had yet to make its appearance) coupled with humongous speakers blasting the whole dorm off. This was the only time when the quiet hours rule was not enforced. If I wasn’t keen on the party thing, I’d head over to the Music department to practice, or to the Main Library, which was open until 3 AM in the morning. Come to think of it, I spent many a morning in the Library, cramming for exams and quizzes.

Food wise, I was fine, since I wasn’t too particular about that. I was spoilt for choice because there were so many eating joints in and close to the university. I remember visiting Wendy’s very often, since it was just across the street from the Music building. I remember Friday mornings when I would be there with my friend Leisa, for coffee and French fries smothered with tomato ketchup. And I would have a Triple burger if my stomach was growling—dunno how I maintained my trim figure while I was gorging so much, must be my high metabolic rate. Spanish food, particularly tacos and chimichangas went down well with me. Loyal readers of my blog would recall my love for Domino’s Pizza, the fact that they offered discount coupons practically every week made it very irresistible. Another favorite of mine was Arby’s Roast Beef sandwiches—absolute heaven! I used to go there once in a while with my roommate Paul, since Arby’s was quite a distance from the university and he had his car.

Speaking of cars, Americans drive on the right side of the road while everybody else drives on the wrong side (go ahead and laugh) Yes, it did feel a little strange to me the first time I drove Paul’s car (I must thank Paul for his trust in me). I just had to remember not to exceed the speed limit, and thought I was doing pretty well, until I saw the red and blue lights flashing behind me. Uh oh—I dutifully stop at the roadside and this officer comes over and asks to see my license and registration. He asked me whether I knew why I had been stopped, and I very honestly told him that it was my first time on the road. He told me that I hadn’t bothered to signal before I made a right turn—I apologized and fortunately he let me off with a warning. After that, I was extra careful and that was the first and last time I’d been stopped by a police officer in the US!

Can’t talk about American culture without mentioning about the opposite sex, aka girls. Well I was 21, what do you expect? I did the dating thing once in a while—I remember this one particular date when I took a very nice girl to watch Superman 2 at the Gallagher Theater on campus; I was so nervous but I was a perfect gentleman. It went rather well, and we’re still good friends. And there was nothing unusual with friends of the opposite sex hugging me (or me hugging them) with the occasional peck on the cheek—I recall attending a concert where a friend of mine was performing the lead role. After the performance, I went backstage to congratulate her on her sterling performance. I shook her hand, and she very naturally said, “Philip, aren’t you forgetting something?” Oh yes, I give her a hug. Then she points a finger at her cheek. Oops, sorry, I forgot, silly me.

These are some of my thoughts about American culture. And I miss it.

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Years in America (episode 3)

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An aside: for the benefit of my readers following these series of blog posts, I honestly don’t know what came over me, but for the past week I’ve been swept off by a wave of nostalgia regarding my years spent abroad. It was like the memories suddenly came flooding back, so rather than keeping it to myself I’ve decided to share them as it were, in my blog. It’s a cloudy Wednesday afternoon here (with impending signs of rain) as I write this. Claudio Arrau’s wonderful Debussy Preludes is playing in my CD-ROM drive. Now relax as I take you back in time, way back to January 1981…

If my memory serves me correctly, the following day was the first day of school. I woke up early in the morning, lined up for my shower, brushed my teeth, and got dressed (it’s pretty informal in college, just a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, a jacket, and a pair of sneakers) A sea of humanity greeted me as I left my dorm. It looked like thousands of ants walking everywhere on campus. After a quick breakfast at the Student Union, I left for my first class at the School of Music.

There was a flurry of activity in the School of Music, which was to be expected. I found my way to the lecture hall for the first class, and we were soon briefed by the professor about the class, what he’d be covering for the semester, quizzes and exams, assignments, etc. In other words, the usual stuff. I sat next to a few American students (I was the only Asian there) and we exchanged hellos and introductions.

After that had finished I had to go see my Music Adviser, a Mr. Keith Johnson. He’d be my adviser until further notice so I could approach him for help anytime during school hours. I was told to sign up for a practice room which had a grand piano (Piano majors are entitled to this), register myself at the Music Library, and check out all the facilities the School had to offer (the 544-seater Crowder Hall was very nice, and that would be the venue for my Senior Piano recital in April 1984) But the most important thing I had to do on that day was to meet Dr. Roy Johnson, the director of Keyboard Studies at the time.

I reach Dr. Johnson’s room, give a knock on the door and hear a voice saying “Come in.” I enter and exchange hellos with Dr. Johnson for the first time, and I instantly like him. He had a very friendly manner within him and he wanted to know whether I was doing ok, seeing that I had come all the way from England. I mumble a shy yes, and I notice two other gentlemen in the room. They were both piano professors, one was Ozan Marsh and the other was Nicholas Zumbro. Dr. Johnson casually asked them who would like to become my piano teacher. Mr. Zumbro promptly responded with an affirmative yes. I take a second look at him again—at 6’4” at least, he towered over my 6’1” frame. And he was broader than me anytime! Something inside me instantly told me that I’d better not mess with this guy.

Note: I was saddened to hear that Dr. Johnson was senselessly murdered in a robbery attempt on February 28, 1995 just outside Tucson, after he’d finished giving a recital. The killer is on death row.

To cut a long story short, I stuck it out with Nicholas Zumbro as my piano teacher until I graduated in May 1984. Of course I’ve had piano teachers before, but this guy was the cream of the crop. He was a disciplinarian, and he was very strict. If you didn’t do your practicing, you’d better not attend his class, because he would bite your head off, literally. The first time I entered his studio, I was impressed—there were two Steinway grands in the room. I remember vividly my first encounter with the Steinway when he told me to sit down and play something. I tried to launch into a Schubert Impromptu, and my God, the keys were so heavy! Mr. Zumbro noticed my predicament and soon he launched into one of his many mini lectures about tone production. Suffice to say if it were not for him, my fingers would still resemble jelly now.

Come to think of it, these Malaysian students that I teach nowadays don’t realize that they are dancing on a bed of roses. During my years with Mr. Zumbro, I was scolded, mocked, belittled, humiliated, chastised—you name it, he did it. But he did those things because he really cared about my progress. He did this to all of his piano students; I later heard that many had opted for other teachers after a semester with him, but my gut was telling me not to be stupid—this teacher would kick my arse over and over, but I would become a better performer because of it. And I did. With him, everything had to be perfect. He ingrained into me the use and importance of the metronome. His was a no-nonsense approach to piano playing, it was something to be taken seriously, and if you thought otherwise, you know where the exit is!

The cool thing about Mr. Zumbro was his love for Jazz. I’ll never forget seeing him play parts of Gershwin’s Piano Concerto—he’d just tear through it. And when he did some jazz improvisations with other students and myself, that was truly fun. When he gave me a compliment I’d relish it, because it came straight from the heart, he never dished out compliments just to make a student feel better. No way. And soon, he would be dropping hints about a coffee or a Coke, which I’d dutifully buy for him from a Wendy’s across the road.

There was another lesson I learnt from those early days in the university. I had to meet another professor by the name of Paula Fan (she was the director of Accompanying) My Fine Arts Scholarship was dependent on my doing at least 4 semesters of accompaniment at the university. Now at this time in my life, my sight-reading was literally crap, so I sneakily wanted a way out of this. When Miss Fan told me I had to start accompaniment straight away for that semester, I told her very casually that I had a lot of other classes to attend, and would it be possible to defer accompaniment until the Fall? (I was stalling for time) Till this day I will never forget her reply. She bluntly told me, “Either do it now or I will terminate your Scholarship immediately.” I almost fainted right on the spot!!

Yes, she kicked my arse real hard, but I have her to thank for the amazing progress in my sight-reading. I worked like there was no tomorrow to improve it. And improve it I did, until Miss Fan herself was surprised. But that’s for another post. So if any of my present-day students are reading this, consider yourselves very fortunate!

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Years in America (episode 2)

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When I stepped out of the cab at the entrance to the University of Arizona, I wasn’t prepared for how big this campus actually was. Sprawled over 387 acres with close to 180 campus buildings, it left me quite breathless. On that first day of Spring semester registration the campus was a hive of activity. There were so many young students like myself, scampering about. Fortunately I had a copy of the campus map, so I quickly made my way to my first destination—the International Students Office (ISO). I was lugging a big suitcase plus a carry-on, and the fact that cars weren’t allowed on some of the roads inside the campus made walking a little easier. There was a campus police officer standing nearby so I asked him for directions to the ISO.

OK, I reach the ISO without any problems. And mein gott, there was this long line of international students waiting for their turn to go in. I think every country in the world was represented, lol. Fact #1: foreign students make up almost 10% of the UA’s enrollment of 30,000 students. Soon my batch made its way in into a holding room. We were then given information packets (free of charge) and then told about the registration and enrollment process. When the coordinator had finished speaking, there was a literal barrage of questions from this nervous group—man, it was like a market place! Registration would take at least a couple of hours. I knew this was going to be one heck of a long day.

I must have looked rather lost and forlorn when I sauntered out of that holding room, because this very nice lady (see the picture in my previous post) approached me and said something like “Hi, you must be a new student here. Can I help you in any way?” I admitted to her that I was pretty confused with the registration process, and without any hesitation, she proceeded to explain it to me. Another lady bumped into us, her name was Joan Barrett, and she was an International Student Adviser. Joan was also very kind to me, and after making sure that I knew how to register, I was on my way, with the campus map. I left my luggage with them, intending to collect it after I’d finished registering because the last step was to check into Yavapai Hall, my new home away from home.

Suffice to say that the first time doing this registration and enrollment thingy was a tad confusing for me. There were different buildings to go to, I had to fill and sign out forms, collect funny-looking computer cards which had been pre-punched (it’s probably easier nowadays), proceed to the cashier’s, etc. And all that walking around! At least the weather here was nice, in fact it was a very sunny January day. Around lunch time I stopped at the Student Union building and grabbed a sandwich and drink from a deli—aside from Joan and the other lady, I didn’t know anybody at all, yet.

I pressed on after lunch, making sure that I had signed up for all the necessary courses for my Freshman semester. I was about to proceed to cashiering when I bumped into Joan again. That was very fortunate for me because she asked me whether I had the computer cards. No, I replied, I didn’t know I had to take them with me as well. Joan was about to burst out laughing as I managed an embarrassed smile. Now I had to go back to all the different locations to pick them up! I must have walked 10 miles on that day alone.

Ah, finally got those damn cards. I go to the cashiering area, and this part was nice. Why? Because I had the Fine Arts Scholarship fee waiver. At this time (January 1981) the tuition fees for an undergraduate foreign student were around $2,800 (compare that to $16,000+ now!) That was a lot of money for me, and I was glad it didn’t have to come out of my parents’ pockets. By the time I left cashiering it was late afternoon.

I walked back to the International Students Office to collect my luggage from Joan’s office. I said a big thank you to her and then had to go to Yavapai Hall, the dorm I had signed in for. Before I left, Joan said “Come see me anytime you have questions” which again, was very kind of her. It took about ten minutes to walk to Yavapai, and my gosh, that dorm was busting with activity! There were students with parents bringing stuff in, people were running in and out, it was madness! I went to the lobby area and told them I was “checking in.” They found my name, and I was assigned to a room in Basement East. They gave me a room key together with a set of dorm rules. I head straight for my room, open it, and man, it’s quite small. Never mind, I’ll get used to it. And bunk beds, sheesh. My roommate had checked in earlier and gone out, so I was alone for now. I dump my luggage, get some clean bed sheets and a pillow case from Ralph, the janitor. I explore a little, ah there’s the laundry room, the lobby area had seats with a color TV, there were vending machines, now where are the shower areas and rest rooms? OK, I see it.

Phew! What a long day. This was so different from England. Went back to my room, sat on the one available couch, and I let out a sigh. I was dead tired and allowed myself some shut-eye. By the time I woke up it was evening, and that meant dinner time which surprisingly is pretty early on campus, around 5 PM. I was told that the cafeterias on campus would close around 8, which again took me by surprise. Anyway, I venture out to do some exploration (again with my trusty map) There are people playing Frisbee on the Mall, there are still students walking about, but it’s less busy now. I go to the Student Union where all the cafeterias are located, and settle for a burger and fries at Louie’s Lower Level. There’s also a Spanish diner there, but I’ll try it out another time. When I’ve finished my meal, I go out to the Post Office on the same level to try out my SUPO (Student Union Post Office) box combination. This is where I’m going to get my mail. There’s also an Arcade area nearby and I hear all those game noises emanating from it (Pac Man, Galaxian, etc.)

The bookstore is nearby so I walk in to kill some time (I’ll have to buy my textbooks later too) It’s currently being enlarged and I learn that the campus is always ever expanding, with renovations and new buildings. Notice the Gallagher Theater next to the Student Union. I walk back to my dorm, watch some TV in the lobby, and then go back to my room and drop off to sleep.

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Years in America: Photo montage

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Thought I’d get the pictures out of the way first, before I write further episodes. Hope you enjoy this!

My yearbook portraitHere’s my official photograph for the UA Desert yearbook.

 My dorm room

My first dorm room in Yavapai Hall. I tried to make it as homely as I could. Eagle-eyed readers would have spotted a Rubik’s cube I brought from home (top left).

 I get hungry after studying, Mom

I can’t recall whether this was my first picture of me consuming Domino’s Pizza, but my roommate certainly wanted to capture the moment.

 One of my best friends, Leisa

This lovely friend of mine is Leisa (she guest-posted in my blog) We’ve still kept in touch after all these years—thank you, Windows Live Messenger!

With Paul

Here I am with Paul Johnston, an Agriculture major. I roomed with him for a semester.

 With Steve Johnston

Here’s Steve, the elder half of the Johnston brothers. He also majored in Agriculture. They both live near Phoenix, in a town called Higley.

 Another friend, Crystal

Another friend of mine in those days, Crystal Miller. She’s a Music Education major. Jeez, I think I had a crush on her then *blush*

 The mall area, University of Arizona

The mall area, a wide open field. Perfect for hanging out in-between classes, soak in some sun, and see lovely girls passing by…ah, nostalgia!

 Fountain near Old Main

The fountain near Old Main, one of my favorite places to sit and study or chill. Just a short walk from my dorm.

 Sonoran Desert near Tucson

I took this while on a Geology (yes, that’s right) field trip. Did you know it’s against the law to harm the Saguaro cactus? I read somewhere that there was this guy who shot one of them with a shotgun, and was mortally injured when it fell on him. Payback huh?

 Yavapai Hall

Yavapai Hall, the dorm where I lived during my time at the University. Some trivia—in the 60’s and 70’s many of the dorm’s residents grew marijuana plants and smoked pot in their rooms. This was outlawed by the time I was there.

 Friends

Me and two friends, Jeff (center) and Phil (right) outside the Department of Music entrance. Jeff’s a guitarist while Phil plays the piano.

 

Now this is embarrassing, but I’ve forgotten this lovely lady’s name. I think it was Carol, she works in the International Students’ Office. I do remember Joan and Simon too. They were all very friendly and gave me a warm reception when I first visited them for info regarding the university and Tucson in general. I even had a meal or two with them!

 

Friends

Shucks, what can I do, the ladies love me. That’s Dinah on the left and Charlotte on the right. Both are Voice majors and both happen to hail from Texas.

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Years in America (episode 1)

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I had some moments of trepidation on my flight over to Los Angeles—had I made the correct decision in going over to the States to further my studies? Could I get accustomed to the American culture and way of life? Would I fit in? These and other similar thoughts were gnawing into my subconscious, but then another comforting thought (perhaps my conscience) surfaced. It said to me quietly, “Cheer up. Relax. You’ve made your decision about this in England. Accept what is to come with open arms and an open mind.”

The Laker Skytrain touched down in LAX one cool evening in January 1981. Here I was, setting foot on American soil for the first time in my life! Ronald Reagan was about to be sworn in as the 40th US President. On arrival I cleared customs and immigration, then proceeded to Arrivals where I was met by this Asian guy (from a voluntary organization for foreign students) holding a signboard with my name on it. We exchanged greetings, he took me to one of the restaurants for a bite to eat, then spoke to me a little about American culture. Pretty soon it was time for me to go over to the domestic terminal for my flight to Tucson, Arizona via Continental Airlines. I said goodbye to him and boarded the short one-hour flight.

It was pretty late by the time the plane touched down in Tucson. Now I was feeling very much alone; I did not know a single soul here. But somehow I knew that I had to become independent, so I went to the Information desk and enquired about accommodation in the city. They recommended one of the less expensive motels, and I hopped on a cab (American for taxi) and checked in. I did remember to tip the driver because I’d been told about the tipping culture in the US. There were another few days before the University opened for Spring semester registration so I would have some free time at hand.

The motel was pretty basic, it had a clean bed and a nice shower. I remember going to a Village Inn diner nearby for my meals, and I was pleasantly surprised that people here were amazingly friendly. A greeting like “hi, how are you doing?” was enough to lift my spirits. When I went to the same diner on my second day, the staff were eager to exchange some small talk with me, and naturally I told them that I was going to start my undergraduate course at the University soon and that got us chatting away. I’m not very particular when it comes to food, and American food isn’t bad, plus the fact that I’m a coffee junkie (old habits die hard) made me feel at home here. Anyways my dad always reminded me that we eat to live, not live to eat!

I should also mention another fact that perked me up was the climate. Unlike London, Tucson had blue and sunny skies—it was wonderful for me to see this on my first morning there. The British weather can be so dull and depressing in contrast. Moreover it was very warm. Arizona is mainly semi-desert, and probably one of the sunniest places on Earth.

It soon came time for me to leave for the University of Arizona, since I had already arranged for dorm housing. Plus I would have to attend to my Spring semester registration and enrollment. After having one final breakfast at the Village Inn, I said my goodbyes to the staff there and left for the university.

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Guest Post #3: Exact experience…exact emotions

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I’m pleased to present my third guest post of the year. This time the writer is a mom of one of my students. Her name is Sue, and this is what she wrote. Thanks for consenting to write in my blog, Sue.

Exact experience…exact emotions

This morning, just as I woke up, I remembered something that I have thought about for years. I remembered being so ‘determined and daring’ to accept a ‘bizarre’ scholarship from a total ‘stranger’ to further my college education in the US. I was doubtful that the scholarship could be deceiving. It was out of the ordinary for someone to sponsor someone else with no obligations whatsoever. I questioned myself repeatedly, “Can this person be trusted?” I was only eighteen, but my gut-instinct told me, “It’s a golden opportunity and it’s now or never for me if I want to change my life and head off into a new direction.”

As I remembered this particular event, I experienced some of the feelings that I had twenty years ago when I broke the news to my parents who were unaware of their teenage daughter’s ‘secret ambition’ to be an interpreter! I didn’t want to be a teacher like my parents. Don’t get me wrong, my parents were very dedicated teachers and teaching has always been a respectable career, but my parents always had a hard time making ends meet with their meager teacher’s salary. Not to mention the burden of supporting five children through university (at the same time!).

Having grown up in a small town in Thailand somehow limited my opportunity to learn English. That’s right—there was no internet in those days and my English teacher’s English was, to put it mildly, terrible.  My dad bought a series of Self-Learning English books which came with cassette tapes for us, but none of my siblings were interested those days. Learning like that was darn tedious!

When I tried to tell my parents about that ‘bizarre’ scholarship, I felt a mixture of different emotions, both positive and negative. It was awfully scary just to think about the unforeseen consequences. However, I was overly confident with my instinct that everything would be fine. I felt so motivated and hopeful that my life would change for the better. The excitement, the challenge and the uncertainty from this unusual encounter were too much for me to swallow in silence.

Literally, I didn’t tell anyone at all. Not even my best friend. I had to make sure everything went my way before breaking the news to my family and friends. I gathered the courage to tell my parents that I needed their legal consent to apply for the student visa. Eagerly, I just couldn’t wait to tell them I had my ‘dreams’ all planned out.

I was raised by my grandparents when I was little and I spent my entire tender teenage years without parental supervision in the boarding school since I was thirteen. Obviously, the situation trained me to be independent at an early age. My parents were both primary school teachers. They realized the importance of early education at a well established school in my hometown so that my siblings and I could have a better future. If we were to follow them to a small village where they taught, our learning opportunity would definitely be limited. They did everything in their power to keep us in school—all the way from kindergarten to university (they even had to sell our favorite house or pawn mom’s jewels). I always wanted to cry whenever I recalled this particular page of my life. Sigh.

All those times, I visited my parents only once a month for the monthly allowance, but I didn’t tell them anything about that scholarship I had just accepted. I was afraid my mom’s pessimism would influence my decision making process.  Until my sponsor reminded me, “I need your parents’ approval for your student visa application….” It was then I had to come clean and tell my anxious mom and dad all about the new adventure I was about to experience in Lincoln, Nebraska, USA.

I showed them the information I had gathered about my sponsor’s background, the school he had registered for me and the list of international students he had sponsored before me. My parents were impressed by my presentation. My ‘persuasive speech’ had indeed paid off, but they were still cross with me for making that gigantic decision without consulting them. Perhaps, I took my parents’ trust and the total ‘freedom’ they gave me for granted. Then again, I promised them I would be good and responsible as I had always been.

Looking back, I was glad I trusted my gut-instinct. After all, ‘trust’ can make a huge different in our relationship with others. Somehow, there’s a sense of ‘accomplishment’ in trusting someone (and it feels good to be trusted). I wouldn’t have had achieved this far if it wasn’t for the trust from my parents who believed so much in me.

Whenever I looked into my memory bank, I wondered, "What brought me to this exact point in time?"  Then, I realized that life is about taking risks. It’s a series of beginnings. It gives in the right thing at the right time. All it takes is the ‘courage’ to do it.

Speaking of the offer, the golden opportunity, the risk, the courage and the mixed emotions, accepting Philip’s kind offer to guest-write in his blog was like déjà vu which I remembered feeling twenty years ago. It’s not like Philip is giving me a scholarship, but I felt that he gave me the exact kind offer/new challenge my late sponsor (host father) once did. I know it’s up to me how I want it to be. I can just say, “No, thanks” and carry on my same-old routines as a stay-at-home mom, but deeply I would love to take on the challenge though.

Once again, it’s a now-or-never-for-me sort of feeling because I do have a secret ambition at forty too. This time, I want to be a writer!

I have never been trained to be a writer, but I love writing. It’s simply therapeutic. My writing is more about my relationship with the people in my life. It surprised me when I came to realize just how much these people profoundly influenced my decision making process (as life goes on). I studied broadcasting and worked ‘briefly’ in this field. Writing scripts for TV and radio shows was totally different from what I am about to experience here at Philip’s blog. He advised me to write about anything from my heart which I think is a good start. Besides, it’s been twenty years since I last wrote something public. Most of my writings have always been private. I share them with my family and friends occasionally.

Now, it’s a huge challenge for me to transform my private writing into public form since Philip’s Blog is VERY popular (awww thanks…Editor)

As I think about it, I believe I can do it. Twenty years ago, I didn’t speak a word of English, but I worked hard at it. I was so ‘driven’ to learn it for some reason. Twenty years later, I can now speak, read and write fairly well. I may sound a little bit boastful here. But hey, I guess I deserve the sense of pride, somehow.

Well, for everything I do in life I believe ‘persistence’ is the key to achieving my goals. Sometimes, I think I am one of those women who think life ends at 30 or after having kids. But you know what? I think we should live life to the fullest, no matter what our age. As for me, I have to make sure there’s meaning to my life and I will never let fear get in my way.

When my gut feeling told me that Philip’s generous offer could be my first baby step into the world of ‘sensible blogging’ (a lot of nonsensical childish blogs exist out there), I took a leap right away—never mind that I’m forty or extremely busy with school-going children or having truck loads of housework to deal with on a daily basis. When I want to accomplish something, I know my mind will find a way to get it done. Of course, I do get lazy and discouraged every now and then. Life is like that, I suppose.

My apologies if this post is too long. Please let me know what else you would like to hear from me. Until then, best wishes to you all.

Sue.

You can read more about Sue and her life adventures in her own personal blog here.

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