ONE of the advantages of being Malaysian is that, like me, you may well be of mixed heritage and parentage.

While my father is of Chinese descent, my mother is what he would cheekily refer to, in crass Cantonese, as chaap choong, or “mixed breed” – her mother (the daughter of a traveling musician) being part Spanish, part Filipino, and her father (son of an English rubber estate manager), Anglo-Indian.

To be sure, my mother is gorgeous, even now, at 75, probably compliments of her exotic genes.

As far as I can remember, the inevitable comparison “Wah, you look like Elizabeth Taylor-lah!” (much to my own consternation and eyeball-rolling), always gave her a major buzz, putting her on a day-long high.

Although I haven’t had the great fortune of inheriting her good looks (au contraire, I’m always referred to as my father’s Xerox copy), I seem to have a face that is, disconcertingly, at once familiar yet unclassifiable.

So while people would stare in open awe at my mother’s dazzling features and complexion, folk generally scrutinise me with corrugated brow, perplexed.

Nevertheless, I too have had my share of the limelight, of being compared to a star or two, interestingly enough, depending on the length and style of my hair.

In the spirit of one-upmanship, I’m fond of telling my mother that I’m better off than she for being likened not just to one, but many Hollywood Greats.

Many eons ago, when I still had the time and energy to maintain hair that flowed past my shoulder blades, I too had my share of admirers.

My first job as a teacher of English as a Second Language saw one of my teenage male students swooning over me because I reminded him of Sandra Bullock.

Poor child! A few years later, my sister-in-law, Harbir, pointed to the cover of Cindy Crawford’s workout video, The Next Challenge expecting her five-yearold son to say “video cassette” when, to her shock, he said, “Aunty Lynn!” And as if to confirm that seeing a little bit of me in Cindy Crawford was an inexplicable genetic flaw, her 72-yearold mother walked into the living room some days after while the exercise video was playing, squinted her cataractcovered eyes, and asked: “Is that Lynn?” Some 10 minutes later, Harbir’s short-sighted sister sauntered into the room (albeit without her spectacles), and also with squinted eyes, echoed the query: “Is that Lynn?” About the same time, my cousin, a doctor, returned from Ireland with an Irish friend who swore that I was the closest thing to an “oriental version” of Catherine Zeta-Jones he’d ever come across.

Then came the time, when the exhilarating stresses and strains of marriage, motherhood and work compelled me to opt for a short, layered hairdo, matters took a bizarre twist.

Having breakfast with my mother one morning and sporting my new look, I spied her studying me closely, her expression inscrutable.

“What?” I demanded.

Much to my chagrin, she cracked up into a side-splitting laughter that I will only describe as “evil”.

When she gathered enough energy to counter the mirth, she said, through teary-eyes: “You know who you look like now? Cindy Crawford’s ex-husband, Richard Gere!” It was only too easy for me to put her view down to spite.

Jealous mother! Late that night as I snuggled with my husband, he cupped my chin gently in the palms of his hands, gently tracing the lines of my ever so prominent cheekbones with his thumb.

His voice husky with desire and eyes boring deeply into my own, he whispered: “You are so handsome, like Keanu Reeves…” Yup, the wretched weirdo slept on the floor that night.

And yes, Keanu Reeves is now definitely a taboo subject between us.

And you can bet that your bottom Ringgit that the next person who says that my chin reminds them of Michael Douglas’s will be dispatched a swift kick in the @%$!

Woo Lyn, who has a Masters in English Literature from Canada, is growing her hair long and wonders if Julia Roberts will come into the picture.

Source: Malay Mail – May 22, 2008