The story of the pineapple tar

         I can still remember the day I boldly took up the challenge to take orders for Chinese New Year. It was my first attempt but I told myself I would do my best. True enough, my customers were so satisfied with the tarts that years after, the orders still came in. The whole family would gather together to meet the orders, and though we had to work from morning till evening, nobody complained. We were happy to see the results of our labour.

         After all, it was only for a short period during the festive season. I am forever grateful to an aunt who gave me the recipe and showed me how make the tarts. This was more than 10 years ago.

During the interim period, I had to turn down my friends’ request to make the tarts. My husband left the family and I had to undergo treatment for depression. With my poor health, I could not take the hard work that came with the baking of the tarts. Much as I would have loved to make that extra bit of pocket money, I had to say no.

         This year, I met up with my ex colleagues and they spoke of how much they missed my pineapple tarts. They asked me to consider making them again. Their children, who are now married and have children of their own, remember me as Aunty Jam Tart! Of course, I was elated by the compliments they made on how tasty my tarts were. They talked of how the pastry melted in the mouth the minute you bit into them.

         Yes, I would love to make some money during my free time. I had to think of a way to make the job less strenuous since I had to do it on my own now. My daughter suggested investing in a food processor to grate the pineapples and prepare the pastry. This really helped tremendously.

With my newfound toy, I started accepting small orders of a few boxes a week. It was still hard work as I had to cart those heavy pineapples from the market. The grated pineapples had to be stirred over low heat continuously until they caramelised and turned into jam.
         Preparing the pastry was easier, but rolling it out and filling the tarts with pineapple jam, baking and finally putting them into boxes was time- consuming. I still managed to complete the task with the tarts coming out perfect, still as delicious as before.
         The little jam tart reminds me that life has to go on. I have since let go of the hurt in me all these years. Clinging on to it will only cause me to be afflicted with all types of sicknesses.
I’m free of the panic disorder which had plagued me for years and am now able to renew this passion for baking, as I know that somewhere out there, God is with me. I don’t hope to make a fortune out of this business venture. I have my life back and that is what counts.
         So to all who have gone through trials, trust in God, speak to Him, and He will find a way for you.
         To all my friends, especially Aishah, Zainab and Rodzi, thank you for having confidence in me and supporting my endeavour. It was your love for my tarts that inspired me to remove all the chains tied around me and use the talent that God has given me. May every mouthful of the little jam tart bring you joy.

My Guardian Angel by Vemanna Appannah

                                                                                       The Star, 4 May 2014

‘There has never been, nor will there ever be, anything quite so special as the love between a mother and a son.’ - Anonymous

        The greatest gift I’ve ever had, came from God. I call her Mother!“ The saying is so true. She never gave birth to me, but she just knows when l am happy, in trouble, sad, need a shoulder to cry on or a hug. She gives me assurance that she's always there for me and makes me feel safe.

        She knows how to take away my sorrows and assure me that “This too shall pass, my son". These are words of comfort and signs of assurance which a child will experience when his mother is still by his side. Me? I was given a second chance.

        I lost my Amma due to a sudden heart attack when I was 18. My whole world crumbled then. Too young to really understand my personal bereavement, I was a lost child. Pain overwhelmed my heart. Amma's warmth, love, care and smile was gone.

        If ever there was an angel from above, that would have to be my Mummy. She held me, hugged me, loved me and cared for me, and she still does so today. She took away the agony which my heart could neither express nor cry out. She healed my wounded heart so that I can once again utter the word "mother" and I have her to thank for it.

        She never experienced labour pains, but that very pair of soft hands had conducted thousands of deliveries. She had received many babies in her hands as a midwife, but she never had one of her own. She never experienced the feeling of bearing a child, or gone through childbirth. But she was always the first to receive a child at every new labour admission. She was a “mother” firsthand to many new- borns.

        God, He listens and knows what's best for us. He predestined us to be together. There was once I asked my Mummy, "why did you chose me?" She said, “Son, things happens for a reason.”  If you were to tell me that one becomes a mother only when she gives birth to a child, l would disagree. In my case, my mother was“born" to love me, she was a gift to me.

        Both children and adults fell easily into the arms of Mother Teresa. Why? Because she was a gift to mankind. To me, my Mummy is an angel. There is an invisible umbilical tie between us, a divine bond. We are so different physically. I am an Indian of Hindu faith while Mummy is a Chinese Catholic, but in the eyes of the Maker, we are all same and His children. My mummy tells me, “Son, I’m colour blind”.

        She didn’t change my religious belief. She let me continue in my faith while she continues to attend to her Sunday obligations. Mummy and I are inseparable. Anyone who meets her for the first time would feel comfortable in her presence at the first meeting.

        My friends have easily become her friends, and they drop by my house often and have conversations with her. Those who don't know my background so well, even go as far as to say I resemble Mummy and that I have her looks. When they say that, we just gaze at each other and nod in agreement to their remark.

        They assume my father must be Indian. Thanks to Malaysia’s multi-cultural society, we needn't explain our ethnicity. There is a saying that you can choose your friends, but not your parents. This is true, and l had wonderful parents who are no longer alive. But, God picked Emmie Cheung and sent her to me. I cherish God’s gift. Children must learn to count their blessings when are they are adopted.

        To every child, their mother is their sunshine. l love you, Mummy! You are not only my sunshine, you are my guardian angel. (Happy Mother's Day!)