In the Kitchen with Kak Joe

Hmm.... This title has a nice ring to it. Maybe I should start a new blog dedicated to only my culinary achievements. But then again, I suddenly remember someone having a 'food blog' with his 'friend' and I decided that's not what I want to do. Anyway, back to the subject title.

It all began after I was diagnosed with having major depression and acute anxiety. Being a therapist myself, I knew that in order for me to manage my condition, I need to get myself involved in something that is truly engaging... something that will force me to get out of my head and focus in the here and now.

Pinterest sparked some ideas in me. I love how it made any form of information or knowledge regarding almost anything so easily accessible. I created several boards and among them was entitled Fabulous Food. That's where I pinned all the kitchen projects that I want to try. I started out with making chocolates and the easiest I found was making fresh strawberries covered in dark chocolate.

 Followed closely by fresh blueberries covered in milk chocolate.

And then came Peanut Butter Cups and it's twin sister: White Chocolate Cups with Mixed Fruit Swirl.

 One weekend, I walked into Borders at The Curve and found Star Trek chocolate molds and I made these gems, with blue coloured mint fondant filling.

And I also tried out this very delicious recipe for Cream Cheese Truffles.

 After a while, I got tired of handling chocolates in this hot humid weather. I moved on to baking. And the first thing I did was pay homage to my 'hometown': Swansea, by making Welsh Cakes. And these babies sold like... hot cakes! Hahahaa!

Well, this year is full of firsts for me as far as making chocolates and baking are concerned. I became a little more ambitious and made a double layer Moist Chocolate cake for Jazelia's 22nd birthday. This is how it turned out!

 ... and how it looked on the inside.

 And upon request from another birthday girl, I made moist chocolate cupcakes for her. I think Laton and her family loved them.

When I got called in to volunteer for the MH370 mission, I knew immediately that I needed to clear my head and prepare myself for the challenge. So, I made up my mind to handle yeast for the first time by making Nutella Cinnamon Rolls. They turned out gorgeous and delicious that I got the affirmation I needed to know I was ready to go.

 After 105 hours of volunteer work, I then needed to unwind. So I went back into the kitchen to bake my mom her favourite cake: Walnut and dates cake.

But I didn't just stop there. I went on to make my own version of fairy cupcakes.

Pretty soon, I grew tired of making sweet cakes and desserts only. I decided to try making something savoury and I made these Savoury Muffins with fresh tomatoes, mushrooms, beef, grated cheese and potatoes in them. They were so delicious! 

 And on the same day, I made hubby's favourite dessert: English Bread and Butter Pudding served with custard.

 Soon after, I was invited to a friend's 40th birthday party and I decided to go the extra mile. I made a 2 layer Mississippi Mud Cake, complete with chocolate ganache frosting. I think I did fairly well decorating it.

 On the next day, still high on the adrenaline of the day before's achievement, I decided to make my late grandma's steamed fruit cake. Another Ace for me!

I even dared to try making Red Velvet Cupcakes!

And yesterday, I made English Shortbread...

 and Chocolate Marshmallow Brownies.

In between, I've also dabbled in several savoury dishes such as Beef stew in the crockpot

 Kefta Tagine

 ... and Chicken Tagine with green olives and lemon.

 So! There you have it! My kitchen expeditions and achievements. I am proud of myself for being able to manage all the above projects. And its good to know this cooking and baking therapy works for me. I'll post more achievements as and when it happens. Meanwhile, please remember: this is NOT a food blog page.

The Dilemma of Journaling

I was gifted 2 journals this year; one by my daughter and another by Rina, my pet sister. These gifts  are making me very nervous! The pressure of writing! By hand! With no delete or undo options! And I truly hate whiteouts! Ok. Enough of pressure venting... For now...

I had the idea of using Blog2Print. I had even completed choosing the cover, layouts, etc. But when I keyed in my debit card details, it was rejected simply because it's from Malaysia! That got me very upset, to say the least. So, there goes that option.

Whilst going through the accumulated hoardings stored in drawers all around my home, I stumbled upon several notebooks I had kept as journals before internet was made accessible to me. I decided that maybe its a good idea for me to begin by transferring my past writings into one of my new journals.

I had thought of keeping one journal just on my kitchen expeditions, but it includes pasting photos of my culinary achievements. Alas, I do not own a polaroid camera. Therefore, I am seriously considering going to the photo shop to have my photos printed out just so I can design the layout of my cooking journals as how I envision it in my head.

Fountain pen or Bic ballpoint pen? One of the journals is not lined. I'm not sure I can write in straight lines. Also, I fear my handwriting has been reduced to chicken scratchings, not unlike a doctor's writing. And my anxiety level continues to rise. Time for meds. I hope this will soon turn out to be a therapeutic exercise, as how it's suppose to be.

So... fountain pen or Bic ballpoint pen...?

Hoping for a Single Hope

In the morning of Saturday 8th March, 2014, I woke up to the news that Malaysian flight MH370 had disappeared. How can a huge Boeing 777 vanish into thin air? All social medias has gone berserk with news of all sorts; from worried families and friends, rumours, speculations galore. I just didn't know what to think or believe. I tried my best to put it out of my head. But it was simply impossible to do.

On the following Monday, I was called in to volunteer as a counselor for this mission. Families of passengers on board the flight were all accommodated in a local hotel. A family crisis centre was put in place and I was happy I could be useful. I decided to clear all my work schedule and dedicate my full commitment to this mission.

Despite the fact that I was working in a highly tensed and stressful environment, I was calm. I was driven and fully conscious of what needed to get done. I responded accordingly and professionally. I even surprised myself when I realised that my depression and anxiety had flown out the window! Wonderful, right? But my heart still bleeds for the families and friends of those on board the missing flight.

Due to the nature of my work, I am not at liberty to divulge details. All I can say is after 105 hours of volunteering work in the span of a month, I learnt something about myself. I felt like as if I had walked into a storm and come out of it a changed person. I'm no longer the same. I don't know how else to articulate that.

As I'm writing this, its been more than a month since the flight had disappeared. No debris to prove of any crash. So many conspiracy theories circulating around the social media. We still do not know what had happened to it.

The way the human mind works when there's no information or news forthcoming, we tend to go to the next best thing we have, and that is to draw our own conclusion. And we do this in order to survive, to move forward, to let go, to accept that things have changed. We do this to cope. And at our worst, we would form assumptions and conclusions laced with fear of the unknown, uncertainties and anticipation of loss. And for as long as the truth of what had indeed happened eludes us, we have nothing but that: assumptions of the worst. Its our way of preparing ourselves for the worst pain we might have to endure.

My own personal perspective is not exclusive to this option. I find myself assuming the worst when I'm left in the dark where there use to be light. I'm left to keep on standing on my own when there was once a source of support that I could lean on. I'm left dealing with uncertainties in place of a time when promises were made and believed. I am no longer sure where I belong or what grounds I'm standing on. 

I've seen the best and I know it well. I say this with great certainty because I had experienced it personally in multiple occasions, so much so that I've learnt to rely on it being something dependable. Precedence set and carved in stone. But it's no longer there. So, where is the best as promised?

What I now know for sure is that in moments of grief and loss, most people react with  anger. Nothing is ever good enough. Everything is a source of provocation to bring about wrath and you become the punching bag for them to let out their frustrations. But I'm also aware of my own limitations. I cannot see in the dark. I cannot hear what is unspoken. I cannot know what is not told. I am no longer sure where I belong. But its been made clear to me where I don't belong. 

And so, I continue to stand still. Still standing and standing still. Unknowing. Hoping for a single slither of hope. For closure.

Wishing on a Prayer

Salaam, everyone. I have a favor to ask. All this while, I've asked and gotten support and prayers from you for my husband and family members during their challenging times. This time, I'm asking for myself.

Unknowingly, I've been battling major depression and other disorders that come with that diagnosis. With the help of an awesome doctor, I've been on prescribed medication for almost a month. As a result, I am now able to live my life in such a way I couldn't do for many years. I've begun with a total makeover and now jump starting my daily life with the hope that the rest of my life would be the best years of my life.

Some may disapprove of my 'public' admission but I have never pretended to be a perfect human being. I also am confident this would make me a better counselor than I've ever been before. 

I know Allah has equipped me with the strength to survive whatever He deems me fit to face. I'm grateful for my loving husband who never fails to hold me together each time I fall apart. 

So, I would really appreciate if you could spare a doa for me and maybe a few words of encouragement. Thank you so much to all of you who have chosen to share moments of your lives with me. Jazakallahu khayr, in advance. 

P/S: I'm starting Jazzercize classes today. Wish me luck! 

Dodging Depression

I believe this is one of the hardest entry yet for me to write. But I truly believe this needs to be done, staying true to the original purpose of this blog as a dumping place for my internal dialogues. So here goes nothing.

Last Wednesday, for the first time in my entire life, I visited a psychiatrist. And after answering all his probing questions, I was diagnosed as having a mood disorder: Depression. In all honesty, that felt like a grenade exploding in my head. Apparently, all these years I have been battling insomnia, anxiety, weight gain, etc; it was merely dealing with symptoms of depression. Affirmation wouldn't quite describe it for me. It was more like a revelation. Well, at the very least, I didn't take the short cut and be quick at labeling myself with that disorder. In fact, I did everything in my power of control to dodge it! Way to go, Johana! There must be some form of achievement there, somewhere.

Anyone who knows me well would have seen how hard I fought these symptoms, using all kinds of therapies, including alternative and mainstream medicine. I believed in supplementing my body's deficiencies by taking vitamins, using healing properties of gemstones, undergoing acupuncture, reiki... the whole nine yards. Those treatments worked temporarily. Obviously, because I wasn't dealing with the real source of the problem.

My biggest stumbling block has always been trust. I have difficulties trusting people. Because when I do trust, I do it wholeheartedly and explicitly. I trusted the psychiatrist because he came highly recommended by my supervisor and he spoke highly of this professional and very experienced specialist. My psychiatrist was quick to add that the medication he prescribed for me is derived from melatonin and that I should be alright between 3 weeks to 3 months, depending on my degree of depression as well as the factors contributing to my condition.

How do I feel about my diagnosis? Relieved. For once, someone validates and justifies why I felt the way I did. Past tense. Why? Because most of the negative emotions I had have ebbed away. I am grateful for this relief, although deep in my heart, I wish I had trusted someone sooner to help me with what I had. I recognize the fact that it may not be over just yet. I am still somewhat shaky, but definitely a lot stable than I have felt in a long, long time. I am finally able to feel happiness, joy and peace of mind. For as long as I can remember, I have felt only one thing: numb. Not anymore. 

In my previous entry, I wrote that I was beyond fixing. I am glad I was wrong. Allah has finally answered my prayers. Syukur. 

Beyond Fixing

You don't need to say it. I know I'm beyond fixing. There's no cure for what I have. I don't think there's even a word to describe it accurately. You didn't fail me. I'm beyond fixing.

Itchy Fingers Pounding Keys

I'm sorry. There's an absence of enthusiasm in my choice of words for this entry, which is highly unsimilar to entries I've made in the past around the end or beginning of a year. Maybe it's because I am 6 kg overweight due to water retention and my face is veiled with a mask of angry and itchy rashes. 

Let's recap 2012 in a paragraph: besieged by a strange ailment that rendered me unable to speak, the death of my much loved grandfather, the passing of my brother-in-law on my birthday, a fall that caused me to suffer from slipped disc and unable to walk for almost 3 weeks, frozen shoulder that gives me terrible pains and muscle spasms which has lasted until now. In a nutshell, 2012 was hell for me.

Of course, when compared to the plight of those more unfortunate than me, my life would resemble a day in paradise. I mean, I'm hardly starving or dying. Nor am I homeless or penniless. Or many other worse things my morbid mind is capable of conjuring up in this ungodly hour of the night. To be fair, I have survived quite a bit of struggles of my own, although some quarters would accuse me of being a cry baby or drama queen for even mentioning my so called troubles.

But the point is I survived. And I find it truly insulting when someone trivializes my sufferings simply because I survived them. Does pain become nothing after it has stopped? Don't the tears shed mean nothing now that the suffering has ended?

Please excuse my ramblings. I have to keep on typing just so I can stop my fingers from scratching the itchy rashes on my face. Yes. My face is full of rashes. And this is a huge deal for me right now. Wanna know why? Because it's the only one I have to face this world!

Many advice pivot around the same topic. Forget the past. Let it go. But I reckon we need to be careful what we forget and what we let go. Because almost everyone we already have in our lives currently has a part in our past. Are we to forget them too? What exactly are we suppose to forget? Because if everyone I know forgets their past, and since I'm a part of it, I would be forgotten too. And so would they. How would they like to be forgotten?

Apologies. It's not enough to say you're sorry if it doesn't come along with a promise never to do it again. It has to come with a question, "How can I make up for all the wrongs I have done?"An apology does not buy you permission to repeat your misdoings. Forgiveness should not be abused in such manner.

I've come to the realization that I've done a terrible thing: accommodate. I've taken all I was served and refashioned myself until I am beyond recognition. I look at myself in the mirror and I don't know who that stranger is. All in the name of pleasing others. All in the name of tolerance and acceptance. And what has that amounted for me? I've lost myself. I've got nothing left to give. So, what gives?

For those who have the inclination of personalizing anything and everything I write or say, here's a newsflash for you: this is NOT about you. This is MY BLOG. It's about me. These are my thoughts. I use this blog to vent my thoughts. 

The ground is shaky all around me. This is hardly the time to set up a home and grow deep roots. I must wait until there's calmness again. I don't know when that will be. Meanwhile, I plough through. Soldier on, Johana. The world is watching.