A pilgrimage to the Feast of St. Anne was always a humbling experience. Even when I was a kid, I was awed by simply being there. The sight of the quaint little church atop the hillock exuded a sense of serenity that soothed my little heart. I did not understand what it was all about then. What I remember most from those times were the small packets of salt and pepper wrapped in paper that were given away. There was also the smell of burning candles and the unmistakable fragrance of jasmine and a potpourri of other flowers inside the church. The lingering smell in my nostrils long after made me happy.

Peter and I journeyed to the Church of St. Anne in Bukit Mertajam last Friday. Like the years before, the hallowed ground still cast the same sense of tranquillity even though it was abuzz with pilgrims and worshippers and brightly-lit stalls selling a multitude of items. Wuan could not make it this year. Most of all, without Mum and the boxes of devotional candles and flowers that she used to bring for the feast, it felt different.

For more than twenty years, after I became wheelchair-bound, I have not been into the old church on the hill. The steps leading to it was simply too daunting. I did not know that there was a paved path leading to a side entrance. Therefore it was a pleasant surprise when Peter pushed me up the steep slope passing the St. Anne�s Water Fonts and into the church. And the memories came rushing back. It was awesome. Never once did I think I would ever get into that church again but there I was. Salt and pepper were no longer being given away. I was happy to be able to go back after so many years nevertheless.

All too soon, we had to leave. I said a silent prayer and made the Sign of the Cross, the first time I ever did that inside the church as a Christian. Despite the melancholy I felt earlier, it was like being home again after a long time away. I was truly happy. I pray that I will be able to make the annual pilgrimage for many many more years to come. As long as I am able, I will carry on the tradition that Mum had started a long time ago.

Related entry:
Feast of St. Anne 2004

Those cookies are deceptively easy to make. I have been drooling over them for a long time, since when I first saw them at Marita�s blog last year. We did not know each other then. I chanced upon it while blog hopping and have been hooked since. She even baked a cake in memory of Mum. We have become good friends.

When she put up an image of the cookies again recently, I just had to ask her for the recipe. Yes, they are as delicious as the look. Marita is not only is a good cook and baker, she is a good writer and takes some pretty interesting photographs too. Her entries are thought provoking and profound, her photographs no less. This entry is dedicated to the celebration of our friendship. Thanks Marita, for being a friend and more.

I was in the midst of writing the first paragraph of a new entry for today when the power went off at 1.25 pm. Since there was nothing much I could do without electricity, I had lunch. A short while later, a neighbour called to inform me that the elevators were not working as well. I believe some residents must be trapped in them too. This is the second time that the standby generator has failed to kick in after a power failure. The first happened in April last year. Apart from the elevators not functioning, I speculate that the pump for the wet riser supplying water to all floors for fire fighting was not working as well. The power came back on at 1.48 pm.

This is the type of building manager we have here at Taman Pekaka. Essential equipments are not maintained to keep them in running condition. Illegal structures are constructed without regard to local building laws. Vehicles are allowed to be parked haphazardly and obstruct the access of fire engines. The building manager shamelessly reserved two parking lots for himself in the common property. Our complaints were repeatedly ignored. Our lives are endangered every time there is a power failure. Yet the local authorities refuse to act against them for reasons unknown. Something is rotten in the state of Penang.

Related category:
Building Manager From Hell

Soups are delicious accompaniments to meals in many Chinese families. Most are concoctions of several types of herbs stewed with pork or chicken. In the olden days before the proliferation of gas stoves, it was simmered in unglazed clay pots over charcoal stoves. The soup pots are similar to tea pots, only larger in size. They have a funnel for the steam to escape and later to pour the soup out. However these clay pots are fragile and break easily. My soups are usually cooked in stainless steel pots or in the slow cooker.

Such herbal stews will feature prominently in my diet when I begin to cook later. They are easy to make. They usually consist of three or more herbs. Once, it was only available from Chinese medical halls. However prepacked herbs are conveniently available in most supermarkets nowadays. There are different herbal recipes for different conditions. With the varieties available, one can practically have different soups for each day of the week.

The ones that I cook are usually for general health and very easy to make. Sometimes I stew the herbs without meat. The times that I did, they are parboiled to remove the froth that usually forms when cooking with pork. Although I like to drink soups, I am not fond of drinking too much of it. The norm for me is one packet of herbs stewed in three bowls of water and let simmer for an hour on medium fire. If the slow cooker is used, they are usually left to simmer for four hours with the same amount of liquid. Nothing beats a bowl of warm herbal stew after a good meal. Hopefully that will return some of the vigour that I used to enjoy.

Among my many aversions, preachers and people who ask obvious questions about my disabilities top the list. Where possible, I always responded in an abrupt but tactful manner. Questions like �Can�t you stand up and walk?� annoyed me no end because it was apparent I could not. Why would I be using a wheelchair for the past twenty years if I could walk? An incident involving those two topics got me all flustered just now. The following conversation was originally in Hokkien.

�Can you stand up and walk?�

�No.�

�Can you bend your legs? Are they all stiff?�

I did not answer.

�Do you believe in the Christ?�

�Yes.�

�Where is your church?�

�Green Lane.�

�What denomination is that?�

�Roman Catholicism.�

�That is not Christianity.�

�What do you mean not Christianity?�

�You do not worship Jesus.�

�Who told you that? I am a Christian!�

�That is not Christianity.�

That was where I lost it. I told him not to put down someone else�s belief to glorify his. I must have raised my voice a little as my neighbours who were chatting among themselves beside me suddenly became silent. There are many things that I will compromise and tolerate but where my faith is concerned, I will not take a slight like that without having my say.

�I am a Protestant. We believe in Jesus Christ.�

I ignored him.

�We pray for the sick and the lame. Does your church do that?�

He asked a few more questions but I continued to ignore him. After a while, he must have sensed that I was extremely annoyed and quietly walked away. Immediately after that, a sense of guilt overcame me. I wished I had been tactful like I have always been when dealing with such situations. Perhaps he had meant well in trying to get me to his church for those healing prayer sessions. However, the one thing that saddens me most is how professed followers of the Christ can put down the belief another follower in such an insolent manner.

Related entry:
The Things People Say