Coaching Highlight

Am I a good coach? * I listen then ask questions * My questioning techniques have the intent of understanding and supporting, rather than...


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(The Daily Avocado)The Daily Avocado is an interactive website magazine containing articles that I've written for various publications as we...


Life Tips

Sisi Positif PHKoleh Dion Juanda Gibran Pemutusan Hubungan Kerja (PHK) saat ini sepertinya menjadi sesuatu yang menakutkan bagi sebagian o...



Lost in Bhutan (For the rest of the article read my blog: 'Lost in Bhutan' on time to time I get the ur...


Letting Go

Photo by Desi AnwarOne of the hardest things in life that we must do is to say goodbye and to let go, whether to people, situation or even things.  When we’re happy, the happiness is often tinged with sadness because we know that the moment will not last, and already we’re thinking of how much we will regret losing that feeling.

When I was a child I had a particularly sensitive nature when it came to the idea of loss, something that may be older folk would be more familiar with as they are a lot more prone to pangs of nostalgia than younger people.  For instance, I remember vividly when I was around seven or eight years old, my mother reprinted some old photos that I had not seen before to stick in a photo album.  Some had photos of me as a toddler.

Instead of being amused by the baby pictures, I was filled with an enormous sense of sadness so much so I actually shed tears copiously.  The reason was, I could not recollect any of the moments captured in the photos and I was filled with regret there was a part of my life that I lost forever, even as I did not have any memory of it.  Once upon a time, I was a little child, and now that child was gone.  I was already a big girl.


Father's Day

Photo by Desi AnwarToday is Father’s Day, so I guess this is a good time to remember my late father from whose loins I emanated when I decided to incarnate upon this earth almost five decades ago.  He passed away fourteen years ago, but his leaving this world did not mean much to me really.  For a start he is still present in my bedtime prayers, as if he is still around.  Moreover, I left home when I went to university, so being separated from my parents was a normal state of being for me.

The other thing is, as I get older I seem to resemble him more and more.  Not just in physical resemblance, but also in mannerism and in the things that I like and dislike.  In a good way of course.  But then I always remember my dear Papa with great fondness and invariably with a little chuckle, for he was a genuinely nice man.  A bit quirky, yet again he was a professor.

My father laughed a lot.  He had a loud and infectious laughter.  He was seldom angry.  At least not with his daughters.  That’s the thing about fathers and daughters I suppose.  They don’t have the heart to shout at them.  In any case, I would always come up with some kind of cheeky comments to which he could not reply.  And I would say cruel things like ‘you’re a bad teacher.  You can’t even teach me.  I know a lot more than you.’

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