First day at work!

After ten (read: TEN) days on leave, I’m back at work! Things going smooth this morning, clearing up some emails (which email box shows 329 unreads), sent the letter due to be sent before Deepavali, with some calculations to be fixed, got the big boss to sign the letter and started comparing the calculation of the new tender evaluation done by both my boss and I. During lunch I got to get Kak Satiah, who made the most delicious coffee in the whole Crystal Plaza, to give me her great massage.
Then I suddenly remember that the Thailand visitors are coming today and I am to chip in my energy, time and courtesy to entertain them tonight! Quickly made arrangement with wonderful husband, dropped by at the Gym to wash off the smell and feeling of Nona Roguy massage oil at my back and shoulder. Put on my makeup and went to KL Hilton pick the gentlemen up. We then went to Saloma’s Bistro which the food are so ordinary.
Saloma’s Bistro has the reason on why we picked her up. She, the stand-alone bungalow in the middle of the busy junctions in the heart o KL, has some cultural dances which are are the soul of the bungalow heart. As I watched the many different types of dances, I was lucky to be able to catch the glimpse of the bungalow’s soul. Even though she does have other section of the bungalow which entertain people differently, this soul of hers smell differently.
It smelt the courage of very few people left in Malaysia who fought in their way to preserve the country and its history. As I watched the many types of dances coming from different states, I know that my heart has fallen in love with m own country’s heritage, the beautiful dances. I couldn’t even name the dances: some of them sound like Bukish Zapin (what?) but the tiny fingers of the female dancers and the stomping feet of the males are extraordinary, at least to me.
Years ago, if you ask me whether I know where does this certain dance come from, I’d be proud to say that I didn’t know. It shows that these dances are so OLD and I am the young generation who knows only Vanilla Ice, then Mariah Carey then BackStreetBoys then Jennifer Lopez then Beyonce. I’d be laughed at by my friends if I know that the traditional dance of Perak is so so so (I am so have to find out the name of the dance! It’s killing me!!).
Tonight, however, I feel so humiliated. As I am writing the blog, I am trying to find out pieces of strength to be able to stand and call myself a Malay? What would I be leaving Azam Zikry with so that he’ll feel the dignity to be a Malay? Where is the dignity in my life if I can’t even name the dance coming from my own state?
I don’t know what has gotten into me, it could be the bungalow who obviously carried a long forgotten history in the midst of the funky musics, or it could be the beautiful music but I was trying hard to hold up tears in my eyes. Azam Zikry sweet face kept popping out and I wonder whether he’ll grow up as the kid who hate to be laughed for knowing the traditional dance name or the kid who tried so hard to stomp in between the bamboo in the Kadazan-Duzun dance.
We were then picked up by the company’s driver who happened to be serving the first lady of the CEO. I secretly whispered that if I were her, I will establish the program of “Malay Dance Perseverance” in the company. That will be my first contribution to our heritage.
And why shall I have excuses of time and name to start on the persevering steps?
Can’t think anymore, just feel like hitting the sack.