If you were to ask me several years ago, I’d never in a million years imagine my dad to choose the path that he chose today. Converting into another religion is a huge step, a life altering moment. Big time. And to me, that’s the beauty of it. For someone to personally stumble upon the light at the end of the tunnel rather than to be pushed or dragged into it. It’s simply brilliant.

This time around, it was his destiny to perform Hajj, the pilgrimage to the holy land of Mecca. Words can’t even begin to express or grasp an inch of truth of how proud I am of him. And although my mum is no longer with us to witness my dad’s achievement, it’s comforting to know that it was in fact her enormous role as a map and compass –or GPS in this era– that guided my dad along his journey to the path of righteousness as he embraced it with open arms.

Toldcha’ God works in a supremely magnificent manner.

In case you’re wondering, yes, that’s an actual paper clip that’s sticking at the side of his neck. That’s my dad. There, I admitted it.

Final check up. Bags. Tag. Contact number.

He told me he bought that square-shaped cap from Tuscan. I still believe that someone threw it at him instead.

Family shot. Captured by Shareen Rasul. Thanks!

We wish you a safe journey and a pleasant flight. Please try not to hit on the girls. Love you.

For those of you with no kids or nieces or nephews of your own or the subscription to channel 615 on Astro, that’s actually one of the songs from the soundtrack of Lilo and Stitch. And last night Raja and I were invited to Tara’s He Mele No Lilo dance performance. Of course, we graciously said yes.

Much to our surprise, Tara was well behaved most of the time. Sure there were some intentional pushing, poking, and friendly bumping during assembly. Some cheeky facial gestures slid in between here and there. But overall, she was, dare I say it, pretty decent.

Juliana said it may have something to do with exhaustion. The kids had been rehearsing their performances from 3pm up til that evening. Gee, those teachers sure are smart to tire those kids like that. Way before they get out of control. I think my mum took an easier alternative and fed us cough syrup. Something like that. Or something stronger.

Here’s a rundown of what happened throughout the night.

This was taken during assembly, after pushing the boy’s head in front of her. The girl she was staring wickedly at was next.

Tara’s Hawaiian moves. Her tube kept slipping down the whole night.

Dear God, I don’t ask for much. Please let me give birth to an equally –if not a more– adorable child. Amin. Much appreciated. (Just some random kid I wanted to kidnap).

After some Summer Lovin’, Jaiho, Pirate Joe, and many many other performances, the night finally came to an end. Strips of fluorescent confetti and sprinkles of gold dust were scattered everywhere.

I absolutely adore the next couple of pics. Credits to the uber fabulous Raja.

Have a wonderful weekend ya’ll!

My mum grew them years ago. Just 2 petite sized coconut trees on the front lawn. Back then, they barely bore any fruits. And when they did, strangers would’ve already borrowed them without permission in the middle of the night. Which was very frustrating.

So much so that my mum used to tie an eery looking red knot around the coconut trunk. A miserable attempt that she resorted to in hopes of driving thieves away at the glimpse of her fake coconut curse. Something which ultimately failed and backfired because the thieves had obviously memorized the fake coconut removing spell themselves.

However, recently, they seem to be bearing coconuts by the dozens.

And if it was visible to the common eyes, you’d know that Tara had been eying in it for at least half a century, 3 weeks, and 5 days ago. Yup, even before my mum even thought about growing coconut trees. Or when fake coconut spells were conjured.

But she was a point above those thieves. Because she asked. With permission. I think it had something to do with her age and her inability to pull off climbing, plucking, and carrying coconuts the size of her head back to KL without being caught. It’s just a feeling but I might be wrong.

So my dad got the maid to cut down some coconuts for her. What initially was requested as 2 coconuts, was pushed into 4, and finally 7.

Exhilarated. With stars literally shooting straight out of her eye sockets and drool oozing from the side of her mouth, nostrils, and ears, she insisted on heaving all 7 coconuts into the car trunk herself. And no no. Not one by one. As in simultaneously ALL 7 into the back of the car. Amazingly, she succeeded in balancing the fifth coconut with her scrawny arms when everything crumbled. Yes, she has freakishly incredible strength and determination.

Finally, she accepted help from the adults.

While this was happening, she took a coconut, lightly dropped it, and rolled it onto someone’s car bonnet. While this was also happening, one of my dad’s friends who was enjoying every bit of Tara’s actions up til that moment, quickly jumped into his car, started his engine, and sped off. Without properly saying his goodbyes. How rude.

Here’s a photo of Tara’s second batch of coconuts.

I read somewhere that virtually every part of the coconut tree has some human uses. And I bet Tara can also find a thousand and one uses for them too back at home. Home. Where she lives on the 8th floor. With a permanent stained record of throwing things off the balcony. Like her pacifier. Certain decorative items in the living room. And the maid’s handphone.

From strangers they became friends, and from friends they evolved into sweethearts. While they may seem like complete opposites, they compliment each other perfectly well. Like a colorful rainbow after a heavy downpour. Like an invigorating aroma arising from freshly cut grass. Like farmville on Facebook. Beautifully matching one another.

Each day, their passion and love for each other bloomed greater and greater. And with that much passion and love, it could only mean eternal happiness.

So, last week, my lil sister-in-law had pledged to marry her friend. Her facebook sweetheart. Her Munkee.

They’re all the same person incase you were wondering.

The date chosen was fantastic. 10.10.09. Only to be followed by an awesomer reception date next year.

01.01.10 (*envious!*).

To Faraa and Zul, a.k.a. Munchkin and Munkee, Congratulations!

I was only 8. At that age, it’s perfectly natural for your imagination to kick into overdrive. There were so many things I’d imagine surprising her with. So many things I wanted to make for her. So many things I wanted to buy for her. Unfortunately, at that age, you also have limited financial resources. So all imaginations and wants came to a halt.

But I still wanted to do something special for her.

So I chose breakfast in bed. Yes, cooking. At that age. That was like volunteering myself as a human sacrifice in an ancient ritual killing AND giving my barbie doll collection to the founder and co-founder of that cult. So yes. BEST MOTHER’S DAY GIFT EVERRRR.

I was going to surprise her with home-cooked eggs, sausages, baked beans, with toasted bread. All from the pantry. All of which she paid for. Ah, the simplicity of being 8.

It was as early as 7am. I slaved myself into the kitchen with one eye open. Being 8 also meant that you were vertically challenged, so I had to pull a chair from the dining table to the kitchen stove. I also remembered burning the first few eggs. I guess some things really never change.

Eventually, my sunny side up came out acceptable. The sausages looked slightly shrunk but still visible and 60% edible. And the toast, as usual, was a bit burnt. Just a BIT. The only thing that looked like it was supposed to, were the baked beans. Yes yes, because it came out of the can. But I microwaved it perfectly.

Once everything was settled, I decided to present my scrumptious surprise with a side order of cereal and milk.  That turned out to be the main meal –if not the only edible meal– after all. That, and a tall glass of orange juice. Apparently, adding splashes of soy sauce, table spoons full of salt, and dashes of pepper into every dish was a bit too overwhelming. My ultra-imaginative senses told me that more ingredient meant tastier food. It lied.

One thing I’ll never forget was her expression. She smiled wider than a sunny side up. Her face glowed brighter than a glow stick in a rock concert and her eyes almost teary like a diamond. It was priceless.

I was her BEST CHILD EVERRRR (To my siblings, sorry you had to find out this way).

Today, I woke up to an equally fantastic surprise. Raja made me breakfast in bed. Not because of any occasion. Not because of a fight. Not because he was held at gun point. But just because he felt like it.

I smiled wider than a sunny side up. My face glowed brighter than a glow stick in a rock concert. And my eyes almost teary like a diamond. It was and still is priceless.

For a single moment, he made me feel the same way I think and hope my mum felt in 1991. And I love him for it. BEST HUSBAND EVERRRR. I love you baby.

Just some random pic I dug up.

Perhaps it has something to do with actually having a surprise party EVERY year. Next year will be different. Next year will be…Ok, so I can’t say it out now. Else, it’ll be beyond predictable. It’ll be totally “expected”.

This time around, we had homemade steamboat at his mom’s place. More like an all-you-can-eat buffet. I definitely can NOT be in charge of grocery shopping. Especially, when I haven’t had anything to eat the whole day. It looked like I was stocking up for a nuclear attack. Or filming the “Revenge of the Anorexics”.

Then came the cake selection. I wanted the blueberry cheesecake. His sister wanted the chocolate banana cheesecake. Sooooo…

We’re so out of control.

Look at the candles. He’s THAT old.

Armand. Everyone’s birthday is his birthday too.

Anyway, thank you friends and family for making this happen, yet again, although he kinda figured it out like a week ago. So much for my dreams on being a national spy. So not inconspicuous.

Happy Birthday again baby! I love you.

Everyone was down in PD this year. Including Tara a.k.a “Crazy” (please refer to much previous post for more elaborated details on “crazy”). Like any other day, she made noise. Loud ones. This time, she was pestering everyone to go to what she called the “phwaygound”. Kept repeating ” I wanna go phwaygound” on and on and on again. We, the family, finally succumb to her demands. Besides, nothing beats spending some quality time at the playground with your loved ones.

Also, I got to experiment with my 50mm f/1.8.

Can you feel the love?

Oh by the way, incase you were wondering, my dad absolutely loved the album. Yeay!

Totally last minute but with a bit of huff and puff, I’ve managed to complete the album (Yet again, thanks baby).

It’s not just any album. The “Father’s Day” album. My first one. I’ve been meaning to do this for quite some time but as you can tell, I’ve also been procrastinating. I know. Bad Renee. Bad. But not anymore. I’ve made it happen this time.

And yes, I am aware that it’s a teeny bit too early to post this since it’s not Father’s Day yet, but what the hey.

I hope he likes it. Happy Father’s Day to all fathers and fathers-to-be!

If I could use one word to describe her, it would be “crazy”. Entertaining nonetheless. One time I caught her frantically running in circles while telling her own shadow to stop following her. That’s normal right?

This year, we celebrated her birthday at Tony Romas, Cineleisure. Just a small birthday lunch among family members. I was really looking forward to snap some cool birthday photos but it was ridiculously hard to capture her on camera. Here are some shots taken when she kept still. Well, almost still.

Food. Pasta. Fries.

It’s her party and she can cry if she wants to. La la la la la.

Clever distraction before the cake arrives.

Tara’s cake. Bubbles from The Power Puff Girls.

She sees it.

She kills it.

She drowns it.

And she likes it!

She looks so cute handling the camera.

Happy Birthday Tara! Love you always.

1) It’s black & white…and vintage looking, which is so awesome!

2) Raja designed it from scratch. From scratch! Need I really proceed to number 3?

Here’s a glimpse of the invite.

Raja’s family members were quick to layout and organize the guest list. Swish. Swoof. Very efficient. Here’s guest list organizer number 1.

Organizer number 2.

And organizer number 3. Hey wait a minute…So much for efficiency.

The chocolate gobbling session caught on.

This is me, boring the heck out of Raja. Evidence…I mean photo captured by Zahida.

Meanwhile, Raja’s nephews were busy doing their own thing (Secretly playing with their mum’s iPhone). On the right, Tweedledee. On the left Tweedledum.

Oo’Oohhh!! Spotted.

A.D.O.R.A.B.L.E.

Final pic at the end of the day, taken by the infamous Raja. Even my skirt matches the card.

Many thanks to Mr. Ben from Orange Printing for his outstanding printing work. And LH Printing for the sleek purplish-black envelope. I will say it again. I LOVE my wedding card!