There are some things in life you can only break once. That includes our home.

This is the route I take to mail your stuffs at the post office.

Home was so peaceful before Sri Kuala Lumpur was built. Followed by Taylors, Inti, and Metropolitan Colleges. If we knew this place will turn out the way it is now, we wouldn’t have bet our good money here.

Their only concern is the dollar sign. The more the better, while putting our lives at stake.

Uneven stone slabs. Cutting cost?

It’s one thing when you come here couple of times a week to get dinner or pay the bills.

It’s another when you’ve lived here for year, watching the place turn into a 3rd world horror throughout the 22 years of your life.

It used to be so wonderful to live in.

Who’s going to give me back my home?

And the houses here worth at least half a million these days. But at the cost of our safety and mental health.

These pictures are only possible on weekends. The roads become some jammed up on most days, it’s hard to even walk over to the stores a stone’s throw away.

It seems that the more research papers I read, the further away I move from my intended proposal. Writing two research papers for two different subjects taught by the same lecturer is putting breaks on my ability to focus and think!

So I devised an intelligent plan to relate both proposals, modifying the design to fit different courses. Heh Heh.

Think I better stop searching and work on the materials that I already have.

These days, my use of the computer has been limited to Microsoft Word, Adobe Acrobat Reader, Mozilla FireFox, and occasionally Adobe Photoshop.

I’m thinking of selling my laptop, the one I carry to college, and use the money to get an eeePC.

I just need a basic notebook for studying. One that is as light as feather, to give my spine a break.

Oh, not to forget, a tiny notebook so my friends can type what Mr. Lecturer says.

Back to studying.

My Aunt in U.K. bought the shorts for me last year. I have it in white color too. The baggy cut pitches me into the outgroup among Malaysians living in K.L. I did not quite fancy them, despite them hanging easy and comfortable on my hips.

Out of curiosity, I had a look at the brand this morning. It’s an Eddie Bauer!

My aunt has a knack at shopping for bargain prices and finding good quality clothes. Her daughter worked at Marks & Spencer so half my wardrobe is made up of Mark & Spencer summer wears. One year, she bought me a good pair of jeans. ‘One Pound!’ she proudly proclaimed.

There is an Eddie Bauer outlet where Eddie Wong the Cooknengr lives. I went looking in there, twice, without knowing I actually have them at home!

Here in K.L. many of us go gaga while shopping at Forever21, Zara and TopShop, swept away by the thrills of fast fashion. But fast fashion means, quality is always compromised. Whereas brands like Marks & Spencer and Eddie Bauer are made of better and longer lasting fabric. Their designs are simple, so you don’t have to worry about falling out of trend.

This pair of shorts can easily last 10-20 years. Just wait and see.

By the way, which picture do you prefer? The original or the brightened one?

Near the market at Petaling Jaya OldTown, across Public Bank, a young man braves the afternoon heat to sell Tau Fu Fah by the road everyday.

For only RM1.20, you get a tub enough to fill my tummy and call it a meal. That’s PJ OldTown for you.

Extremely soft. It doesn’t cut like jelly or turn watery like those cheapskate Subang Jaya sellers produce for nearly double the price.

While other mommies are suffering Monday blues slogging through work, my mommy is having her day off!

So what’s a mommy gotta do? Cook for her only daughter, of course.

See that oily, sweaty face?

The tofu, beans, mushrooms, carrots, and other ingredients have already been diced and tossed into the sizzling wok by time I woke up.

Save for the spices, that were added later.

Remember the potatoes!

Add some butter to those mashed potatoes.

Lay it out with the pan. We lack an electric oven. Any donors?

All good to eat! Save the oven finish. Sob.

We usually drink coffee after a meal. But it’s not necessary when eating mommy’s pie. Just a habit.

I’m a real social recluse by today’s expectation of youths. On the day Made of Honor’s Special Screening was due, I texted Josh who promised to help arrange my transport. He replied that his partner, Daniel, will fetch me since Daniel lives in the same city as I do.

Okay, Daniel, it shall be. I had class from 2 to 7 that day and only managed to give Josh a buzz in between.

I got a message around 7:15pm. “Hello. This is Daniel Tan……”

Ah… there goes… *press keys to reply*

About 20 minutes later… another message came.

“Yvonne, I am here…..”

Yvonne trots down the stairs. If you’ve been to Segi College in Subang Jaya, notice that the flight of stairs from ground floor up has a magnificent twist. As if descending the castle stairs in Beauty and the Beast. So, down I went, lugging my laptop one step at a time, paying close attention to my steps, careful so as not to too lose balance, I finally reached the bottom to greet a pair of sneakers.

I looked up and it crossed my mind. “Josh sent me a film star butler?’ Odd.

Later in the car, I cracked my skull while repeating his name. ‘Daniel…Daniel…’ So familiar wan? Pelik. *checks phone” Daniel TAN? Even more familar. Daniel Tan… Daniel Tan… aiya nevermind

Whoever this Daniel Tan is, he still makes a new friend.

………………..fastforward……..

For fear of gastric pain, I grabbed a bite at OldTown Coffee on my own Everyone was already seated when I entered the cinema. It was pitch dark.

“Buzzz Buzzz* *Checks phone*

Daniel Tan SMS-ed. “Are you hungry yet?”

Mmmm I ate a little. But yeah, I’m still hungry. Let’s see what else he said.

“Are you hungry yet? Your food is with me. Where are you sitting?”

Yay! Got food! I am sitting on the right, fourth row from the top

Daniel came ’round two minutes later, looking funny as he struggled to make sure the person he found was Yvonne Foong.

He crouched. “Do you eat beef?”

…….fastfoward……

I went through old messages to clear up some space when I read that message again. “Are you hungry yet?…”

Yvonne texts Daniel

“Daniel. Do you have younger siblings?”
“Ya. A sister. Why?”

Idiot Ujen likes to make fun of me sometimes. Ah Ma, Aunty, Falling Down, what also got.

You think I chose to end up like this?

Even Mr. Lecturer seemed to be making fun of me. He remarked either ‘Excellent’ or ‘Outstanding’ for every of my qualities. Except when it came to ‘Curricular Activities‘, he indicated ‘Good‘.

Okay, I take that back. Mr. Lecturer was being nice to have considered my off-campus involvements which probably explained the ‘Good’.

Secondary school is now officially five years behind my back. I left school with an inaccurate extra co-curricular certificate because the administration conveniently lost my files. Only ‘Koir’ and “Squasy’ were indicated, while leaving out my Computer Club presidency and Karate participation. Even then, my office roles in those clubs were not noted.

In my final days of school, I hunted down teachers, interrupting their hectic routines to their annoyance, just to get at least two clubs duly recorded in the certificate. Better than none. That’s government bureaucracy for you.

And there’s the MSSS Squash Tournament and Computer Club National Competition certificates printed in the Malay Language. Any clue how I can get these translated with little hassle?

Funny, huh. A Univ. Sophomore falling back on her Secondary School involvements to get extra merits. Good thing NF only affected me starting in my 13th year and did not put me in a wheelchair until Form 4. Otherwise, I would not even have these to back me up now.

If so, only AYA and my book would save the day.

By the way, did you know our schools used to collaborate with the University of Cambridge Local Examinations Syndicate until 1978? They’ve since ceased to be responsible for SPM, but continued to advise us on standards.

One wonders how often they actually take a peak around here. Sigh!

My use of math have long been reduced to simple equations. I’d slow down a pace and made sure I repeat each calculation thrice over for fear of missing a digit or two. My arithmetic teachers would not be pleased to know. Boy, I sure hope they don’t demand for my certificate back the next time we meet!

Speaking of arithmetic, I used to send Mr. Yang boiling. There were probably 20 of us in class. We raced to calculate strings of equations as many as possible. When the timer went off, we stopped altogether. The pressure was in getting answers right rather than rushing to finish them. Some students got many wrongs despite finishing fast and got a good shelling from Mr. Yang. As for me, my speed was average, not too fast but not slow either. However, my mistakes were in simple questions while getting all difficult ones right! Apparently, when calculating simple questions, I tended to slow down which caused mistakes to happen. Mr. Yang who thought I was playing around gave me an earful. When it came for us to learn division, Mr. Yang’s wife, Ms. Chen, noticed my unique ability. Seeing me struggle, she set me aside after class one day and taught me a special method. While others used the abacus for the two steps required in division, she taught me to retain the first step as a mental representation and used the abacus only in the second step. I could then calculate as usual and got answers right. But Mr. Yang always forgot. Once, he saw that I did not use the abacus entirely and scolded me real bad. I went crying to Ms. Chen, who spoke with her husband and explained to him why she taught me this method. Mr. Yang did not apologize, but silencing his thundering voice was already very good.

Mr. Yang and Ms. Chen are native Taiwanese who runs a Mental Arithmetic school in Subang Jaya until this day. We still see them around every so often. Nice people, but strict. I used to get a mild temperature on lesson days and would assume I was sick just so I could skip class. Although Mr. Yang’s students broke down from his roller coaster outburst, many preferred him over Ms. Chen’s silent approach. She never raised her voice or nagged at us. But a quick and gentle remark like, ‘How are you going to improve like this?’ would make you feel so bad, you pronounce yourself guilty without trial.

I graduated and departed from mental arithmetic school at 12 years old. But the same occurred to my general usage of math, or so it happened. The ‘A’ I got in my UPSR examination was the last. I could not learn any math in secondary school. Whether it was my inability to adapt with the new school, or that I could not see the blackboard well, still eludes me. My parents had never taken interest in my studies, so instead of finding out what happened I resigned and eventually believed that I wasn’t cut out for math. Later, when I returned to school after two major surgeries, my math halted entirely.

Now, before you think that I just wasn’t intelligent enough for secondary math, do remember effective education should be in sync with a child’s mental development. Since I did well in primary six and UPSR, and was among the better ones in Mental Arithmetic school, it is evident that I had no problem calculating. Something else had caused me this.

The university I am applying to requires either SAT scores or take two college level math subjects. Unfortunately, I have none. Two semesters ago, I signed up for Statistics but quit after the midterm exam. I wasn’t learning well in class, nor did other students but at least they could opt to memorize. Every one of those I’ve asked, memorized. So I deferred the paper, against the Head od Department’s advice. I never signed up for it again or take other math papers because they’re all taught by the same lecturer.

When I look back at my experiences in secondary school and the way this lecturer taught, I sense the reason why I couldn’t learn. Recall my Mental Arithmetic days, I got it right in places where others got wrong. I could not calculate with conventional methods and had to be taught differently.

That does say a lot about learning and development, doesn’t it?

Segi College’s American Degree Program raised the passing grade to 70 since January 2008. To get an A, one needs to achieve 90 marks and above. 80 and above for a B. and 70 above for a C. Anything below that fails.

I took four subjects in Spring. Guess what I got?
2 A 2 D.

It wasn’t by intention, but it happened this way - either a good grade, or none.

The As were taught by Mr. Leighton Buntain and Mr. Arivom respectively.
At least it shows that I can excel given the right system and learning environment. Malaysian education needs serious reform.

P/S: Segi’s marking system still has much room for improvement though.

The best reward for having Neurofibromatosis and be proud of it, is the beauty others see in you that you otherwise don’t.

Three weeks ago, it was Women’s Weekly that practically shifted the whole photostudio to my house - lightings, cables, kuli, and all. This week, it was Marie Claire.

Five years ago, a palmist said my life will change for the better when I turn 20. I do not believe in fate, but I do believe in manifesting our own destiny. Regardless, I did not take the palmist suggestion to task but lived one day at a time instead.

I’ve just turned 22. And walked a long road since I met the palmist. Of course, I did not do it alone. A lot of people paved my way and gave me a hand on this journey. Some guided me toward directions I never before imagined.

This path has it’s own set of difficulties. For this photoshoot with Marie Claire, I woke up at 7am to find the diligent make up artist already at the gate. I sprained my ankle rushing down the stairs and limped my way through the shoot. I had a class at 10am. The lecturer made a last minute decision the day before. But I insisted we continue with the shoot that took almost three hours. ‘Let’s not waste the effort,’ I said to the journalist before we hopped on the car and drove to a different scene.

People from around the world suffering from NF e-mail me from time to time. Many feel depressed and rejected by society for their illness. From failed relationships to discrimination at work, the kind of problems I hear perplex me sometimes. Clearly, I am only lucky to be where I am. A lot have lost out due to NF. That’s why I no longer write or blog as if to ‘inspire’ or to ‘help people’ outright. If they find my writings inspirational, fine. But I just remain true to myself, admit when things aren’t going well, cry when times are bad. Whether we are an inspiration or not, is for others to decide.

.

But people don’t get it sometimes. I often tell people that God always have a reason for allowing bad things to happen. God may be wanting to build our character, or use our lives to help people. In any case, I believe blessings from God are never for our personal gain. For that would be a limitation. We go through trials firstly, to humble ourselves, so that when we are ready to help people, we would claim none of the glory, for it all belongs to God. I mean, hey, He could have chosen the Ah Lian next door!

For all the trails I’ve encountered, I am still far from being humble or patient. When Marie Claire turned up, I got so excited that I rushed down the stairs and tripped onto a piece of wood that my mother used as a barricade, to prevent the dogs from going upstairs. I twisted my ankle real bad. The complications left behind by the spine surgery six years ago made it worse. So I shouted at mom.

‘I worked my butts out clearing up downstairs to make some space. I have NO MORE BALANCE NERVES IN THE BRAIN, DO YOU GET IT? But you never listen. You always crowd up the house with furnitures. It’s DANGEROUS! I don’t want to live with you anymore!.’

It’s fated, alright.

She make things difficult. But she also single-handedly shifted my bed downstairs, made sure I have access to food before leaving for work. She also have trouble falling asleep, worrying how I’d live when she’s gone.

SIGH. Mothers.

Neurofibromatosis Type 2 had affected my eyesight. Deafness makes every bit of what’s left precious. My right optic nerve no longer focus as well as it once could. Words on paper are blur and takes longer to come into focus. Imagine manually focusing the lenses of a camera that keeps getting blur. That’s how frustrating it is.

There seems to be more research on stem cell these days. A reader mailed me this inspiring news. London researchers successfully restored vision in six blind patients with stem cell transplant. It involved regenerating limbal cells in the eyes.

But my condition is different, which reminds me that numerous research programs are ongoing worldwide to discover the possibility of regenerating optic nerves, something I need very much.

If you are a doctor or researcher involved in the study of regenerating optic nerves and eyes, click here to find my neuro-ophthalmology evaluation report dated May 2007.

In summary, this is my eye condition.

Right Eye
a. Normal eyeball and retina.
b. Presence of Optic Gliomas.
c. thickening of optic nerves.
d. 20/50 visual acuity.

Left Eye
a. Under-developed eyeball.
b. Small optic nerves.
c. unusable vision.
d. elevated disk.
e. no lesions.

Conditions ruled out
Optic Nerve Hypoplasia, seen by Dr. Mark Borchert M.D.

The report above was made by Dr. Arnold C. Anthony M.D. at Jules Stein Eye Institute, UCLA.

History of eye surgeries:
1. Strabismus re-alignment of the left eye in toddlerhood that failed.

E-mail me at yvonnefmn(at)gmail(dot)com