Mothers have to grow up too

So my 15-year-old son says he wants to work part-time. Great! I'm all for it. 

Only his choice of a part-time job is not the same as  mine. He sees the money and his eyes glow. But this has long hours, hard physical work, the likelihood of nasty and potentially exploitative bosses written all over it. Now why, I think, can't  he choose an easier route but maybe does not pay that much. I know it's not even about the money. At his age it's about his friendships - the group of close friends all out working the same gig together. 

On one level, I know this is good for him. Hardship never killed anyone. Hardship grows character. If he meets with a nasty boss, then its time he learned that the world can be harsh. If he is exploited, he will learn from his mistakes. What may seem hard to me may not be so to him. Plus the money is good. 

He is eager to work. He says he understands the hard work and the tough conditions that await. He knows all that. Or at least he brushes those aside when I list them. 

So I know all the good reasons why he  should be allowed to go his way. On a purely academic level, I get it. But there is this fierce tug in my heart that resists this. That tug is unreasonable, irrational, obstinate and emotional. That tug is made up a huge knot of emotions.

It is born of the deep anxiety to protect our children, to shield them from any form of hardship. 

But I guess to help them grow up, I myself must grow up. As I expect them to be independent, to learn through mistakes, so must I as a mother learn the hard way to let go and trust that all will be well. As tough as it is to want to cushion them from all of life's hard knocks, I must learn to stop and let them go. It is scary and full of anxious hand-wringing and second-guessing but maybe that is my journey as a mother. 

Growing up is hard. Even for mothers. 

This blog connects people

I'm revisiting Life@Riang for a few reasons. Firstly because I think its way long overdue to do a life stock-take here. It's been almost 2 years since I last posted. Too long. Thanks to Facebook the milestones of my life have been relegated to quick three-liners and food porn.

I miss the cadence of writing about my life and the children. Being a good writer takes discipline and keeping a blog like this helps sharpen the edges a bit.

Finally though, the greatest reason for writing is really the realisation that people actually do read the blog and more importantly, the blog connects lives - mine to many others out there.

Case number 1 - my uncle whom I have not seen in years, lives in far away south in Hobbitland, recently came back for a family reunion. Imagine my surprise when he scooted over to me during the after-dinner chat to say how much he enjoyed reading my blog, especially the posts on my late grandfather. Gobsmacked. He said he had googled Slugger Chiang and my blog came up. Reading it brought back memories. For him, being so far  from home and family, I guess this helps keep the tenuous links alive.

Case number 2 - a reader wrote to me about my posts about Lumiere Montessori for my children. I wrote back and I would like to think it helped her make her choices in some way. Eileen and her team of dedicated loving teachers at Lumiere do a great job. I have absolutely no regrets sending Owain and Trinity there.

Case number 3 - a friend of mine, once so close and part of my school day memories, found me through this blog. We had not been in contact for more than 20 years I think? Until she contacted me recently, I never knew how her life was going. So thanks to this, we got connected, met up and had a long talk catching up on each other's lives. A pang that I missed so much but also appreciative that this is one chance to meet again and this time, to stay in touch.

So yes, I guess I'll try to check in more often from time to time. It's worth keeping this going. I hope there will be more connections found and forged.

Monet and the colour of souls

Trinity's curiosity about life is huge. Ginormous! I am entertained, baffled, tickled and perplexed as to how to answer all the questions she has fairly, without prejudice, factually and yet simply enough that she can understand. She asks questions that none of the other children have ever asked. Some of these are tough to answer. 

Our conversation leaps from topic to topic at lightning speed. One question triggers off another and so on. 

Our conversation started with souls. Deep stuff. Even theologians struggle with this one. I try my best to tackle it valiantly. She asks: who controls our soul? Does our skeleton control our soul? Does our soul grow old when we grow old? What happens to our souls when we die? How do our souls get out of our bodies? 

So I have to give an answer that is reflective of our Catholic faith since we are Catholics. But I also struggle at certain points and I suspect I might have been treading water several times and gone under. I try to explain about conscience - the knowledge between good and bad, and the decisions we make that impact our conscience and hence, our soul. I explain that if we take care of it, our souls will look beautiful when we are dead but if we neglect it and abuse it through wrongful actions, mean words and mean thoughts, then our soul will look shriveled, old and dirty, so how do you go to heaven if your soul is dirty? Gosh, I didn't even get into purgatory yet! 

Luckily she veered off and asked: so what does heaven look like? 

I answer honestly: I don't know. And here is where I am very clear. If I do not have the answer, I say so. If I think I don't know, or I'm not sure, I admit it. I say it is my opinion or that some people think that way - I clarify that not every one shares the same view. She doesn't really care at this point because she just wants MY point of view. 

So then I do what everyone else does - I google it! 

Her next question was about bad angels. Are all angels good? Yes I say, today. But once, there were bad angels. And here's where I tell her about the fall of Lucifer. We google images to see. Lots of great art surfaces. Then she says hey mum, do you know a painting about water lilies and lily pads? The artist's name starts with an M. I name him - Monet, to her delight. Yes that's the one! Kudos to her art teacher for exposing her to Claude Monet. Wow. When I was 8, Monet was far far removed from my sphere of influences! 

So I google Monet and his famous series of water lilies. She zeroes in on Monet and the Manneporte (Etretat). When I try to explain to her that this was a rock arch in the sea, she waves me off impatiently and says: look at the sun shining on the rock mummy! It looks like a rainbow to me! I know its a rock but I like this part! I guess that is art appreciation at its purest eh? That immediate gut response to a piece of work. 

How did Monet die mummy? Lung cancer I explain. What is lung cancer? And so it goes. From there, she asks about how the heart beats, I explain about the function of the heart, the mitral valves, the structure, what happens in a heart attack, how the heart and lungs are protected by the ribcage and the sternum, what happens when cancer strikes, what are cancer cells, and all these leads weirdly, to Sandy Squirrel and how she can breathe oxygen in a space suit. Her last question of the night was: is there oxygen in space? 

From metaphysics to religion, to art and art history to biology in the space of an hour. 

I treasure this time and I appreciate this opportunity. I enjoy it even when I don't have the answers.  I enjoy it because it  feels like a journey I take too. There is a satisfaction when you see her eyes light up in understanding.I enjoy her sense of curiosity. I don't want to extinguish it. I'm glad that the grind of school has not yet killed this in her. We live in an age when information is so readily available but all that is moot if one lacks the curiosity to venture and to explore. More importantly, if I lacked the patience to help her explore all these ideas. So I guess in this way, I am sort of unschooling? 

If so, thank you Joseph Chilton Pearce for inspiring me to answer the infinite and difficult questions with patience and thank you Sergey Brin - I couldn't do it as efficiently without Google. 

A year on - an update

Life moves on in so many ways. In the day to day bustle, you don't notice where the time's gone until it's gone. So it is that I promised to keep this blog alive only to let it fizzle and fade away into the background buzz of everyday life.

So a quick update into life in my corner of the world. Not that my three followers (you know who you are!) need this update, they already know what's going on via Facebook updates etc. But sometimes it's just therapeutic to sit and take stock. Have to say though that I do have three articles sitting on my deadline of 31 Aug and I'm nowhere near completing those but as with all forms of writing I do, consider this warm-up and a good way to just let the words flow.

With another year gone, the children are older of course, and busier. It gets harder now to really get everyone around one table for a meal. The relationships also see subtle shifts.

With Gillian and Isaac, who are now 18 and 17 respectively, their lives are crowded with school, internship, friends, church work and the ever-present Facebook updates. Isaac did surprisingly decently for his O levels and got into TP's Aviation Management course. This means that we are together on campus but in a sea of 18000 students and 1700 staff, we never meet. Of course that does not mean I don't try to stalk spot my son when I head for lunch at the canteens nearest his classrooms. It does mean however, that I am more on top of things so when I spotted a camp planned for Aviation students, I pounced on him at home and asked why he didn't sign up. Things like that would be impossible if we did not share the same campus.

He fobs me off sometimes and I let him. He's older and wants his space. I don't like micro-managing. If the boy wants to look as shaggy and unkempt as a UK boy band, he's entitled to it. I may not like it but I'm beginning to realise and accept that there really is little I can do. That's something the husband does not seem to realise though and he is full-on about nagging, lecturing, prodding. I really would rather not but that's his style and I don't interfere. It just leads to the boy avoiding his father at all cost and maybe being a bit more open to telling me more stuff. That's fine with me.

Gillian is doing her internship in Butterfly Park now, giving tours to little children, student groups and tourists. She's coming home late, often exhausted but even when she tells us how tough her day was, she always manages to find pockets of optimism and snatches of joy. So if the silly parrot pecked her or the iguana dug its claws deep into her arm, she's okay because she enjoyed showing a butterfly to pre-schoolers or maybe she helped some Korean visitors feel more at ease with the insects with a smattering of Korean. She's learning that the working world is never easy but Gillian being Gillian, in her happy-go-lucky way, she always sees the silver lining and that keeps her going for the next day. And in all honesty, in life, what more can we ask for right? Not to dwell on the pain but to keep chugging along in spite of it. That kind of resilience she's got in spades.

Caitlin is in the throes of labour pains for the PSLE - the mugging, the angst, the tears and process that is called PSLE prep. The government has announced some measures to try to ease the stress. I'm not going to be pessimistic even before I've heard what these specific changes are, but what I do hear so far does not leave me hopeful that the situation will get better for subsequent PSLE kids and their parents. I'm just cynical that way. Which is why I think its just best to go your own road and do what you think is best for the child at the child's ability levels. The rest of the world and society can just take their yardsticks of success and shove it where the sun don't shine. There will never be a level playing field and those who think the government will do level out one for you would be really deluded.

For us, it's one month more and then it'll be all over. No matter how you plug at it, the quality of your work for the past two years would already preclude your performance at the PSLE. There is no magic bullet, and to be honest, hard work only does this much. I don't believe a child who consistently fails will suddenly soar to A* levels just because s/he has worked hard for the past couple of months. Intrinsically if the child has always been a 70%-scoring child, she will continue to be a 70%-scoring child at the PSLE. Maybe the burst of effort might push it up 10% but I don't expect miracles. Which is why again, the husband and I are at odds with each other. He pushes, I don't. I'm probably just lazy but I really dislike like micromanaging - have I said this before? Hmm... He's the one nattering away about powerzones and I'm the one just going - "eh do your best la." Does this create tension? You bet. In more ways than one.

Owain is puttering away at school, firing well on all cylinders except Chinese. This boy is bright. He does very well for Eng, Math and Science. The recent CA2 results showed high Band 1 grades for all three. Then when it comes to Chinese our friend plunges the depths to emerge a dismal Band 4. Not even a borderline but a really bad fail. On the bright side, he seems to have discovered an entrepreneurial flair. To reward his good performance, his Math teacher (who has a soft spot for him) gave him a highlighter and a set of some Animal Zoo cards or something like that. He does not play this card-trading game but his friends do. So he's offered to sell the deck for $8 - and someone actually accepted! The other day someone in school wanted loose change for a $2 note. Owain offered to make the change, pulling out all the coins he had - about $1.10 in all. His friend accepted the trade so Owain made $0.90 as 'commission'. This boy should either end up in government one day as PM or a really really sharp loanshark.

And now for my baby girl Trinity. This one I will protect till the end. I will defend her from her siblings when they gang up on her, from her teachers when they label her or throw boxes of homework at her and from the big nasty world if it tries to be funny with her. Like Gillian, she's extremely sunny-natured. Not the sharpest knife in the box but she makes up for it with a lot of sincere effort. She works really really hard. She takes a longer time than other kids to remember things, to absorb concepts and even then she forgets just as quickly. But the good thing about her is that she never gives up.

In the right frame of mind, when I work with her on her schoolwork, you can see that she tries hard. She can be tired and overloaded but she will try. She gives it her all. When she goes for swimming class, the coach says "Do 10 star jumps!" Other kids would be doing the half-hearted swings, cutting corners when they can. Not Trin. She would give each and every jump her whole-hearted enthusiasm, leaping high and spreading out as if her life depended on it. She can be tenacious even if she struggles. And yes she does struggle. It's showing in her school work, in her grades. She's just walking to the beat of a different drummer. When the world moves on, she'll be plodding along in the rear. That's why I feel like I have to walk with her. Take care of her for as long as I can. She's going to be 8 but she still sleeps with me and I'm so reluctant to give her up. It would be one step away from me and that is a step I am so unwilling to take.

Someday

Some day, hopefully in the not-too-distant future, I would like to go back to school.

All of us have had that One Defining Moment that changed our lives. Sometimes, I try to think about when mine was. And I think for me, that single most significant turning point in my life probably came and went without me even noticing it. Sometime during my junior college days, probably at one of the many parties I attended, or one of the days I skipped school, crawled beneath cut fences to spend a day at the movies, or hung out at a school sports event (my excuse to spot cute guys), it must have happened.

Sometime then, I think it began - the journey to where I am now.

My 'A' Level results paid the price of my good-time days and with it, entry to the university. My mother took it fairly well. She was disappointed but said in her very pragmatic way, "You could always go to secretarial school." It did not occur to me to re-take my 'A' levels - I didn't want to go through the whole stress of it again and I guess my confidence levels were probably a bit beaten up too. It also did not occur to me to go overseas - I didn't think we could afford it. So off I went to secretarial school.

I lasted three months.

All I took away from that time was the memory of fabulous curry puffs from Tambuah Mas during tea-breaks and touch-typing skills. I never made it as a secretary. I got a job as a writer in an entertainment magazine. And from there, my paths in journalism, PR, marcom just flowed on.

I worked in publishing houses, did publicity work, picked up marketing skills, edited a teen magazine, did media relations, burrowed deep into the civil service and along the way, got married, had kids - all five of them - bought my little house in Riang, travelled, wrote some more... and life just flowed on. There were offers and opportunities along the way - start up a parenting magazine (which is still in the stands today), head yet another popular parenting magazine as editor, to all of which I said no.

I was happy where I was. I still am.

But now, the children are growing older and finding their own spaces. I'm a long way from retiring but I'm still restless. My life is in a good place but I feel the need to think beyond these days.

And so something keeps drawing me back to one thought - I could go back to school. I could enrol in a university and get my degree. Long overdue. The pragmatic side first thought of programmes here which I could do on a part-time basis. That thought perished almost as soon as it surfaced. I will be the first to admit I would be too lazy to see this through. Just the thought of commuting to school after work from one end of the island to another gives me the shudders.

So I took one option after another, played with each possibility and tossed it aside until I came up with this one which I think is worth keeping:

I shall go back to school. But not here. Not now. I shall take a liberal arts degree in Japan. I've started looking at places and fees and surprisingly, it's do-able - after I sell my house! In say 10 years or slightly less, when the last of the kids is in her teens, when I am ready to let go of my beloved little house, I shall spend some time in Japan taking a liberal arts degree.

At that point in my life, I will not really care if the degree is practical, if it will add value to my career. I will pick subjects and pathways which I enjoy, not because of the value and shine they will add to my resume. It does not have to make sense to anyone. I will pick subject clusters in sociology, international relations, political science, language and culture... selected only based on high excitement levels. It also does not matter by then, whether I swot it out for distinctions or settle for Cs - although I suspect my natural competitiveness would push me towards good grades. I will very likely be the obasan on campus and that's fine. I checked - no age restrictions! It might even be cool to be an obasan on campus.

Best of all, I will spend time learning about and living in Japan - a place that never ceases to fascinate me.

I thought of Waseda University at first. They run an English language liberal arts school but they are so prestigious I'm not sure if they would take someone like me. Also the thought of living in Tokyo for three years is daunting. Plus I'm wary about being surrounded by super-bright, over-achieving ultra-competitive people.

Then I found Akita International University in the far rural north of Tohoku. It is a small college whose campus is in the country, outside of Akita City. Population 1.07million. Largest consumers of saury top sake guzzler in Japan. Akita produces Japan's rice, prettiest women and smartest kids. Home to the namahage demon who comes out every New Year's day to scare the pants off young kids - nothing like the threat of skinning you alive to make you behave. Plus the secluded Nyuto Onsen is practically in its backyard. I like what I'm hearing already.This is a very strong possibility but I'll keep my options open - I have time on my side! 

The nay-sayers will cluck all they like and say I'm self-indulgent (yes that is true), a bad parent for leaving her family (true but they would love to have an excuse to visit and we now have Skype!), impractical in all my choices - of country and course (deliciously true!).They will say the money can be used for retirement - true but I think I will have enough left over to be comfortable.

All these years I never once regretted not having a degree because of the value of the paper. That never mattered that much. I think I've proven - to myself at least - that the lack of paper qualifications never hindered me in my career (or at least it didn't matter to me since my career or what's left of it has been on the back-burner for such a long time). I never hankered for it. 

The stress of doing something like this just to gain a piece of paper is not for me. When I choose to learn and wish to devote my time and energies to a project away from my family, it better be worth it. That was why I chose the Grad Dip in Childbirth Education: I had such passion for the subject matter.

I truly believe learning ought to stem from sheer joy and a deep personal interest. This comes from making a conscious decision, a choice to learn something that one is deeply passionate about. And I think this is where it will start for me. I will work towards it and look forward to it. To that someday when I can go back to school.

Electric youth!

It's the holidays and one by one, the kids take turns at going to camp. Confirmation Camp, Christmas Camp, Altar Servers Camp, Youth Council Shepherds Camp, Youth Council Retreat. 3 days and 2 nights spent not in a fancy resort by the sea but in a church-owned building in various parts of Singapore.

The sleeping bag has never seen such action.

Over the past few weeks, at any one time, at least one of the kids would be off somewhere.

It's been fun for them and for me, given me fresh insight into a group of people I'm only just getting to know through the eyes of my kids - the youths. And what I have seen so far impresses me and leaves me with lots of food for thought.

Invariably, these camps are run by young people in their teens to early twenties. Usually they are from the youth ministries in church. Both Isaac and Gillian are highly active in these ministries themselves. Isaac faithfully serves mass twice a week at least, attends meetings with the altar server boys. And both he and Gillian are in the Youth Council. Gillian in fact recently stepped up to serve as a 'Shepherd', a youth leader in the YC.

I like the fact that these activities keep them busy and engaged. They get to know committed, responsible young people, serve the community and along the way, shape their own faith.

These kids are a good bunch. When Gillian was hospitalised, they trooped down en masse for a visit, leaving a huge home-made get-well-soon card peppered with cheerful wishes, photographs and names that even the doctor grew to be familiar with. They are unfailingly polite and courteous when we meet. 

Beyond this, I've seen them in action and I like what I see. The Risen Christ Children's League who organised the Christmas Camp is case in point. These kids - usually ranging from about 16 to 20 in age - run the Children's Liturgy at mass and they organise activities for the younger kids eg outings and camps during the holidays. They are such a cheery bunch, loaded with enthusiasm and ideas.

At the Christmas Camp, it can't have been easy looking after some 30 kids, some as young as six. But these kids took it all in their stride. They led creatively, patiently, with lots of laughter and improvisation. They managed the younger kids very well. I watched them keep the group in order, inspire the shy kids to get up on stage, manage the noisier ones, lead the singing with lots of smiles and encouragement and came mealtimes, they served the buffet line and were always, always polite with a smile.

Similarly the altar servers that Isaac work with are a great bunch. The older boys in their late teens take charge and lead the group. They behave with maturity and dignity sometimes beyond their years.

At a parents forum once, some parents gave them a hard time, pushing for some unreasonable requests. Sitting at the back of the room, I've rolled my eyes at these over-protective, critical, picky parents and wondered why they could not just leave the boys to manage the situation and work things out themselves - after all, the boys have done a great job so far. Once or twice I was tempted to tell these parents to just give the boys a break. But I didn't have to. The boys handled the prickly situations very well - always giving considered answers, always polite. They took every comment, suggestion seriously and explained clearly their stand. They never lost the "ma'am" and "sir" even when the comments grew heated. I was so proud of them and I wish I knew who their parents were - I'd shake their hands for raising such great kids.

At Isaac's confirmation camp, I realised that all the youth groups in church had been mobilised to facilitate and help in some way or other. They not only managed logistics and organisation but also facilitated discussion and reflection. How so that these kids had the maturity, faith and insight to share and to lead? To hear them speak, to hear them sing praise and worship, was stirring. I was seeing living faith in action.I was seeing youth leadership at work.

The catechists who worked with the kids for confirmation on their faith journeys from Sec 1 to Sec 3 are young people themselves, a few scant years older. I thought this was great - nothing like the young leading the young. Everything becomes immediate and more relevant. It is brilliant to get the young people to lead the faith journey. Far better than the old ways when adults did most of the teaching and the leadership.

Seeing kids lead like this gives me lots of hope for the future. Sure, not all of them are scholars, not all are brilliant in their studies, but if we get the youth of today - kids like these - growing up to fill the shoes of leaders in the future, then I think the future is in good hands.

Before my kids became teenagers, I'd fretted about them making the right choices in their friends and activities. Who has not heard horror stories of kids who went astray, made bad choices and paid the price? The image of young people - Gen X, Gen Y etc - was usually one that was self-absorbed, not altruistic, materialistic and irresponsible. They would be uncommunicative with their parents and there would be a huge chasm between kids and adults - or so I thought.

Then I met kids like these and it's set this common image up on end. The kids I know are not like this at all.

I tried to put my finger on it. Was it because of religion? Because these were church groups? But no. It went beyond religion.

In my work in the polytechnic, I get to meet and work with young people too. At least the ones I know are the same way - driven, committed, enthusiastic, creative, loyal and passionate in their views. See them lead in orientation camps. See how they manage themselves and others. They work very hard and contribute eagerly. Where was the irresponsibility, the angst, the selfishness, the arrogance often associated with Youth?

Couple of things I've reflected on - first, we must engage the youth. We must not be afraid to turn the reins over to them. We must give them a cause - something to believe in and then on our part, we must believe they have something to contribute and allow them to contribute. When they believe in something and when they are given enough trust and empowerment, you will witness the power of youth.

The power of the pack is also key and can move in either direction. Give someone lost and struggling a sense of belonging in a gang and that's where his loyalties will lie. Young people tend to search for a space they believe in, belong to and can call their own. If we can shepherd them into youth groups, and do it early enough, we can shape them for the better.

I am glad my kids are deeply involved in church groups. I never encouraged them to do so; they just found their own way in. These friends, their peers will give them a different validation and affirmation they need, that cannot be given by their parents. So I'm glad they're busy - out serving mass, facilitating a camp, decorating the church for Christmas - they are growing, learning and contributing productively. And most of all, I'm just glad they are in good hands.

Graduation

Trinity said goodbye to her kindy years with her graduation ceremony a few weeks ago. Yet another milestone we crossed.

For me, it would also be my last kindy graduation for any of my kids. Hopefully though it would not be the last time I see any of my kids in graduation gowns and mortar board!

She was among the smallest in the line-up of graduates in her voluminous gown and was holding on self-consciously to her mortar board. I was fine all the way until I saw her collect her 'diploma' from the principal, bow and then promptly lose the mortar board as it fell off having been tied too loosely at the chin.

It dawned on me that this was really the last days of carefree childhood for her. From a sheltered Montessori education where she could learn at her own pace and find her own rhythm, she now had to conform to a beat not set by her but by a faceless bureacracy, just one of the many anonymous thousands of other kids.

I have to say a big thank you to Eileen, Maggie, Chen laoshi and all the teachers at Lumiere who have untiringly and patiently worked with  Trin - and Owain - over the years. They took child-centric education to a whole new level. I don't know if any other kindy would have done the same. Perhaps the Montessori structure allowed it, but it also took their special brand of commitment to see it through all the way. Eileen in particular has always been warm, kind and nurturing to the kids. And even when I was at my most pessimistic about Trin ever making it to P1, and my fears on whether she could cope or be swallowed by the system, Eileen was always reassuring and confident. She gave me her frank observations and recommendations - whether it was to let Trin stay longer in the nursery class, to allow her to transition upwards at her own pace undictated by age or level and she did so with honesty, kindness and generosity.

That went a long way to easing the apprehension I had. My kids grew up with them and I was glad they did. I made the right choice when I decided to put Owain in Lumiere. It benefited him and Trin. They grew in this intimate, small-school family environment which took care of them and allowed them to grow whenever they were ready.

All this went through my mind as I saw her standing there, so small and yet ready to graduate and move on to a different level.

In the darkness of the auditorium, I teared up. I couldn't help it. I tried to wipe the tears away surreptitiously, hoping KH would not see. He would never let me live it down for being so sentimental.

But the tears just kept coming. These days would never come again. While I celebrate her being up there and growing up, in weird way, I was also mourning the end of babyhood for her and for me. I will really miss these days.

Taking back my turf...

It's been more than 2 weeks since the maid was fired. KH is away in Monaco (the rat) while I am on my own personal journey of discovery... as a born-again hausfrau.

It's been tough, tiring and yet... exhilarating and liberating in many ways.

All my life I've been a bit of a princess. There was always mom (there still is - thank God!), KH (to drive me around and to clean my toilets), the maids (for housework).

So for me, thrown into the deep end, this period has been one of education and growth. In so many ways such as:

1) I have, for the first time in all my 43 years of life, finally gotten on my hands and knees and cleaned the bathroom. I got past the ick factor and once I hit the rhythm, I scrubbed like there's no tomorrow. All the gunk, the slimy algae (yes you shudder, such was the state of my bathroom since KH refused to clean it before his trip to Europe leaving me to party with the toilet brush instead) all went and one hour of furious scrubbing and rinsing later, my bathroom SHONE. The kids gathered around the door in wonder. They'd never seen mom like this. Heck, they'd never seen the bathroom this clean. I felt so liberated after that - cleaning the bathroom was a cinch! I could do it and I no longer have to depend on anyone else to do this.

2) My hands were red and chapped on day 1, but by today, they'd toughened up and are just peeling and dry on the fingertips. Gloves do not help. I have finally discovered the importance of hand cream.

3) The kids clean up their plates. I cook, they eat. They are full of praise and I love watching them eat the food I cook. When the psycho maid was here, the cooking was so bad that the kids were not eating that much, skipping if they could. Owain for instance, was losing weight. So these few weeks have been a nice change to see the kids polishing off their food and knowing that I am (a) utilising my resources efficiently and creatively - leftover chicken or pork stock for example, can be used for cooking a fresh batch of soup with new ingredients and (b) knowing that I CAN cook pretty decently. Plus their plates have to pass what Cait calls the 'Momspection' which goes like this:

Owain: "Done!" and hops off dining room chair.
Me: "Hold it!" checks the plate and then "Clean! Thank you very much! NOW, you can go to the kitchen and put the plate in the sink." Or I go: "Oi! You call that  clean?? I want every grain of rice eaten. So there's less gunk to clear. Now clean that up!"

4) My days are more productive - I plan ahead and every waking hour is well used. No canteen breaks, no chit chat. My time and actions are carefully planned. After the first one or two days of extra work thanks to lack of planning, unfamiliarity etc, I have now gotten my routine down to a T. You'd find yourself expending a great deal more unnecessary energy if you failed to plan a household routine. I hate being counter-productive, wasting energy and time on superfluous action and quickly learned to finetune my routine for an overall economy of action and energy.

5) I eat a lot less. In the office, there is always a full lunch - usually a bowl of noodles, plate of rice etc. And sometimes a tea break, a curry puff, a snack. Here at home, lunch is miniscule, dinner spare. Snacks are cut fruit from the fridge.

6) Ice-cold glass of Coke is my fuel. It really keeps me going. In the office, I feel sluggish after a full breakfast or lunch. Here at home, the Coke keeps me going. Plus on a hot day, after sweeping and mopping the ground floor of my home, the icy Coke is sheer nirvana.

7) So I eat less, work more. I think I might actually lose some weight.

8) It gets easier by the day. I am defter in the kitchen, less tired than I was when I first started, more energised. I also sleep better at night. I may end my day past midnight but my sleep is sound and deep. In the past, I would wake up intermittently, my overactive mind reaching deep and thinking about stuff I needed to finish at the office, or worried about forgetting something, But these days, I sleep so well.

9) I get weaned off Facebook. Despite being at home for longer hours, I actually have less computer time than before. Hence I've been blogging less too.

10) I get free K-pop concerts from the kids - who sing along loudly - every Korean syllable. I am getting educated in K-pop world. 2PM, 2NE1, Girls Generation, Davichi - are now names as familiar as family now. Plus those catchy ditties, blasted loud, turn household chores into a song and dance routine.

11) Food bills have gone down. Even my grocery bills have shrunk. I can't fathom why when the maids were here, we had to spend so much and cook so much when we actually don't eat that much. And yet, in the scarce two weeks since we've been on our own, our food bills have gone down by at least 30%. Same goes for indiscriminate use of electricity and water. I am more mindful of these costs and I find ways to save - this is something I think I'm going to be very picky over when Lolita returns.

12) The kids help out - sort of. Everyone has their chores but sometimes I find yelling to remind them to finish their stuff is more painful than me actually just doing it myself. Gillian though, has been great.

13) Chopping and cutting is therapeutic. I get a deep sense of well-being and satisfaction from hearing the thunk of the knife on the board and feeling the pressure and the give as the blade slices through. Onions are my favourite. I enjoy my little challenges - how fast, how even, how thin?  

As the days go by, I find myself more confident at home - yes, my own home! For too long I have left things to others. But these couple of weeks have shown me that it's not as bad or as tough as I'd imagined it to be. I thought I'd be scatterbrained, uncoordinated, sloppy and I would not be able to manage my household. But it has not been the case.

In fact I find myself now, easing into a familiar routine and with this familiarity comes confidence. With this comes the next level - higher standards. There is such a deep sense of satisfaction from seeing the house shine, seeing the kids well-fed and knowing it was all your own work. And especially for an ex-princess like me, marvelling that I could actually do all this.

To tell the truth, I've hit my groove so much so that I'm even a bit reluctant to hand the reins back to any maid.

Quite honestly though, I am also disillusioned with the whole convoluted, expensive process of getting her - or any maid - in. I've had two lemon maids in one year, spent several thousand dollars in wasted agency fees, admin costs, air tickets and not to mention emotional angst, just to get decent help in the home.

Even now, despite having paid more than $500 to the agent already, I still have no confirmation on when exactly Lolita would be able to come in. I have had to chase the agent and then given conflicting reasons for the lag from both Lolita AND the agent. I'm really getting very tired of this whole rigmarole. If this is not going to happen, I'm just going to throw in the towel and go without a maid. We would just have to find a way or make some tough decisions. I don't want to throw any more good money after bad.

It seems to make less and less sense why I should have to pay a hefty recruitment fee, monthly salaries, tolerate sulks and demands and then put up with sub-par work and risk another psycho maid. If it were not for the fact that Owain and Trin need someone at home when they come home from school, I would do away with the whole idea of having a helper in the house.

I've said before that I don't think I can be a superwoman. If I had to straddle a full day in the office and come home to do housework, I would cave. I can't do it all and I honestly don't think any woman can, or should. For me, it's got to be one or the other.

These few days have seen me staying home as a full-time stay-home-mom and I'm growing to love it. But I also love my work in the office. I just want to excel in whatever I do, devote my energies to making it work, doing good work - home or office. But I can't have it both ways. It would not be fair to either scenario. In the days when I was working half-time, my energies were so dissipated. I would be pulled in two different directions, my mind restive and making the switch from home/office always takes a bit of mental adjustment. I could not devote enough time/energy to either and in the end, it was just unsatisfying - to me and everybody else.

So bottomline - I love being productive at home. I also love being productive in the office. I sense a big decision coming up.

The trouble with maids...

A week ago, I sent the maid packing. Immediately, that same day.

We already had plans to let her go and she knew that. I'd given her notice already so she had been sourcing for an employer but finally decided to go home so we'd bought a ticket for her to leave in December.

But last week, the crazy woman with more than one screw loose tried to pull one over us by pitching a 'fainting fit' when we said she could not go off that Sunday. For the record in case you're some diehard human rights activist reading this, we're not unreasonable ogres who keep our maids in chains. First, she was entitled to two days off. I had already given her THREE days off in the span of two weeks, as well as an advance on her salary. Second, she did not bother to ask us or inform us that she was going off that Sunday. I thought that was basic courtesy at the least.

So we said no. And immediately she started fake-hyperventilating loudly and then fell -  rather gracefully I might add - into a faint.

Both KH and I stared at her for a second before I started laughing. I couldn't help it. It was sheer bad acting. I was also furious that she dared pull this stunt to hold us to ransom. To take the cake, while I was laughing and telling her off, she actually opened her eyes and looked at me before closing her eyes again. Less than five minutes later, she got up, went into her room and started messaging on her phone. So much for 'fainting'. Fastest recovery ever.

Bad acting or not, it proved that she was clearly not right in the head and quite unstable. It would not be safe or wise to leave the kids with her in the house. So there and then, I told her to pack up and we shipped her off to the agent, changing her ticket to a flight that left the same day. I was so glad to be rid of her. She took with her 7 pieces of luggage including five mobile phones, and almost left her room full of garbage, waste paper, sweet wrappers, dustballs, three pairs of shoes and an unmade bed. Had I not seen all the gunk, I would have been left to clear all that. As it was, I made her do it before we took her to the agent.

Still, I thought she got off lightly. I was so angry that I wished murder was legal.

For all the trouble, the lackadaiscial quality of work she gave, I felt really short-changed as an employer. We housed her, fed her, paid her and followed all the terms of her employment contract. She started off blur for someone who claimed to have three years experience (I later found out it was three years with four employers), and eventually added insolence and entitlement into the mix. Towards the end, it became so frustrating to deal with her, to instruct her and to supervise that I'd rather just do the work myself instead of asking her to do it. She was just slothful and incompetent. All I wanted was fair work and I didn't even get that from her.

So right now, I'm quite bitter about my experiences and really not feeling very charitable to any domestic worker or even to any human rights activist who dare champion these so-called 'rights'. These people should spend time in my shoes, spending the sort of money I've had to spend on lemon maids, have them enter their homes, wreck their possessions, put their children in danger through thoughtless behavior and still try to pull off irresponsible stupid stunts like that.

Not all maids are like that, true. Neither are all employers the Simon LeGree activists seem to love to paint. Before anyone starts to champion these causes, maybe they should walk a mile in the shoes of employers first. The maids have recourse to their embassies, to the activists and shelters. To hear the activists talk, employers often look like slave-driving, sick, sadistic, power-hungry opportunists. Okay, maybe some are. But what of the majority? What recourse do employers have when their maids turn out to be nightmares? Who speaks up for the employer who got scammed into hiring someone unfit and unsuitable?

I'm not even talking about the ones who completely go off the rails, but just the ones who are incompetent or lazy or both. Has any activist tried training someone like this? Especially if you believe the bullsh*t on the CVs they give out. It's annoying and frustrating enough to give you a coronary! Activists may think that maids are given the short end of the stick here, but there are maids who come here and think it is a stepping stone to freedom, a swinging social life etc, happy to do the bare minimum and demanding more from their employers.

This is the second one I've had to change in less than a year. I'm not a demanding employer, in fact I've been accused of being blind to their faults to the point of laxity. I don't make unreasonable demands like some employers who dictate everything from hairlength to mobile phone usage. I've given previous helpers a great deal of leeway and freedom - just ask any who've worked with me. Yet even this was not enough. For the record, I changed the one before this because she was busy moonlighting as a mamasan for other maids, matching them on their off days, with men. My neighbour complained after she'd persisted in offering her services to his maid.

These horror stories are more common than activists like to think.

To ship someone off, find someone new, get used to them, train them all over again is an expensive, exhausting, painful process with no guarantee of success. Each domestic disaster just makes you angry, more wary and less trusting. Its a vicious cycle that bodes no good for anyone - employer or maid.

We all have choices to make and nothing is ever a "no choice" situation. I put up with this because I acknowledge that I am not a superwoman. I've tried juggling housework, chores, cooking with a full day at the office, attention for kids etc and I just end up exhausted at the end of a very long day that starts at 5.30am and ends at midnight. I've come to the conclusion that we just can't have it all.If I want to keep my day job and even consider to increase my work hours, I'll just have to learn to close both eyes, grit my teeth and bear it - shoddy work, poor attitude and sometimes, psycho behavior.

I'll be a fair employer and give her what is due, what we agreed on in terms of pay, off days, sufficient rest, privacy etc (note, dear activists - what WE agreed on, not what YOU think is 'fair') I just won't be someone who treats the maid as 'part of the family'. She isn't and will never be part of our 'family'. She is an employee and I am an employer. Let's be professional about this. Compassion, love, and other warm fuzzy feelings are extra and not included in the package.

Any bleeding-heart activist who gives me drivel about this can just go stuff a sock in it.

Behind that prickly exterior...

... is a girl who's a bit lost I think. But like all porcupines, its hard to get past the sharp spines. I speak of Caitlin of course.

This girl's got the face for poker. Inscrutable. Tears may fall when we talk but I never know - are they tears of sadness or anger? Is she upset with me? Upset with the situation? Upset with herself?

She never reveals her hand. Whatever is in her mind and heart remains known only to her. It's so very difficult to reach her. I never know if I am getting through. I never know if I am effective in my methods of reaching out. And I know it's only going to get harder as she grows older.

Gut feel tells me she needs help. I need to pay attention to her. She may seem like the most independent, the one who learns the fastest, and possibly the most streetsmart of the siblings. But I sense a vulnerable desperate core. It's there in her eyes, in her voice when she tells me a joke, a story, what happened at school, at gym training.

But perhaps the problem lies with me.

I feel disconnected. When she speaks, I find it hard to listen and horrible as this sounds, I feel a sense of impatience: get to the point. I tell myself that there is NO getting to the point with kids. That with kids, it is all about just listening, giving the time, the attention. No matter how repetitious, how boring, how silly, how tiresome, no matter how busy, how hungry, how distracted I get. I admire mothers who can do this - give total absolute attention to their children. Because everytime I can't, I feel less of a mother. A sham of a mother. How un-maternal it is to feel impatient.

I have to keep trying. I cannot give up. I can be angry and I can be frustrated and I can feel like talking to her is like bashing my head against a brick wall - pointless and painful. But I cannot give up. There is something there. I just need one breakthrough. I need to find that connection.

Random thoughts

Have not been actively blogging for the longest time on the Riang blog so thought I'd just check in and post some random thoughts.

Life is crazy busy these days.

Trin has stayed away from school for the past  two days, down with a persistently high fever that refused to go away since Friday. She's really all skin and bones now so I'm ditching nutrition for just weight gain which means I'm happy to offer fries, ice-cream and lots of milk if she's happy to finish those. I tried to treat her at home over the weekend but was just fighting a losing battle with the fever. The doctor listened to her lungs for an awfully long time on Monday before saying that she hears a barely audible crackle in the right lung. Could be bronchitis. Could be lung infection. I was told to bring her back by Wed if the fever persists.

It's Tuesday night now and I just gave her a dose of brufen. The fever reads as 38. Not as bad as the 39.7 reading I got on Sunday but it's not going away.

Weirdly of all the kids, she's the only one who hates the taste of meds. So each dose has to be accompanied with lots of coaxing and praise, something I never had to do with the others who would just happily slurp the meds as they would an ice-cream cone.

She's not the only kid on meds. Gillian is now wearing a brace which has to stay on for the next four weeks thanks to knee surgery she had less than a week ago. We'd put it off for as long as we could but the knee was increasingly unstable so it works for the better to get it done now. She faces intensive physio once the brace comes off and the ligament repair work more or less heals but by this time next year, she'd be walking and running with lots more confidence.

I am also grappling with maid changes. This one just is not working out and we're changing - and happy that Lolita will be returning to our household in a week or so. Good and bad. She runs the place so efficiently I don't have to step into the kitchen. But  that means I lose my domain once again, having just found my footing and confidence again in the kitchen.

The days are flying by and we're heading for the end of the year again. I mark our lives by school terms, parent-teacher meets, year-end concerts, birthday parties, family holidays.

And all too soon, it will be Christmas. Which always makes me feel pensive. Must be the schmaltzy carols. Or the kitschy Orchard Road decor - which is already up but not lit.

Or maybe its the 80s music I keep on shuffle repeat these days. My favourite du jour - Amy Grant and Vince Hill: House of Love. Happy song.

These days are such dark days. I really did not feel like writing. Everything feels so raw. But I think it would help a bit and it would also document the days we are going through now.

Tigerlily, who walked into our lives two years ago, has left us as suddenly as she came. Just like on that bright sunny day when she strolled across the street and lay down at my feet, allowing me to stroke and pet her, she lay down on a cushion in my living room, her life slowly ebbing away with every inaudible gasp.

She had been wasting away for months. Just before Chinese New Year we brought her to the vet because her fur was falling off and she was off her food. The vet thought it was hormonal and prescribed some hormones plus antibiotics just in case. Nothing worked and Tiger just continued her decline.

In her last weeks and months, she did not go out as often, preferring to hang around at home. Her favourite place to be was on the seat on our porch, watching the world go by in our garden and beyond our gates. Or she would be perched on our glass table content to snooze in the sun. Already a quiet cat, I guess she became quieter.

She was so off her food that we finally decided to bring her back to the vet on Saturday. Immediately she was hospitalised, put on a drip and forcefed, blood samples taken. We were taken aback at how ill she was because apart from her weight loss and lack of appetite, it never seemed that serious.

Things went downhill very quickly from then. We saw her in hospital, making it a point to visit her about twice a day. She could recognise KH and and I, trying a tiny meow when we greeted her. But on Monday, I got the call in the office. It was not working out and she was sliding fast. The bloodwork showed last-stage kidney failure and they thought she would not last out the night. The vet said it was likely the kidneys were not developed and could not support an adult cat - common in cats and dogs. It was nothing she caught or ate, nothing we could have done. It was congenital. The words just washed right over me.

KH and I took urgent leave, pulled the kids out of school and brought Tiger home for the last time.

We took turns sitting by her just to stroke her, talk to her and tell her it was okay, not to be scared, she was going to a better place where she could chase all the birds she wanted and what a pretty dance they would give her. She wagged her tail feebly a couple of times as we stroked her and talked.

Yes we cried. Cait, who was so attached to her, Owain and I. It was hard to say goodbye.

By 3.35pm. I was with her when she tried to get off the cushion. She stood for the last time in her life and took three shaky steps before collapsing, splayed out on the floor. KH scrambled over and we both held her. She spasmed twice and then it was over.

We called the pet cremation service. The kids were adamant that they did not want her ashes scattered in the sea with unknown other animals. So it would be a private cremation and she would be returned to us in an urn.

Isaac did not make it back in time to see her and to talk to her. He was in school and could not access the messages I left him on his phone. By the time he got to our gate and saw Owain in tears, he knew. And my big son, unabashedly wept.

She's home today, we received her in a tiny wooden box. And now she sits on our altar, flanked by the Holy Family and the Divine Mercy, her worn collar sitting atop the urn. She feels lighter than we expect. For all intents and purposes, Tigerlily is now officially an indoor cat. But I think once in a while, I will take her out into the garden and let her sit a while. Am I mad? Silly perhaps?

But then, she did so love the big earthen jar with the tempting guppies always taunting her as she stared in frustration at not being able to swipe one - I would always call out to her before she could. She also loved the lizards and the birds. They did not love her but she would enjoy sitting there eyeing them and trying to pounce.

In her last days, tired as she was, she managed to kill a sparrow and then tried to bury the carcass in her kitty litter!

She was an outdoor cat all the way.

We would never know why she chose us as her family. I'm sure there was a reason.

But we loved her till the end and for two years, we gave her a good home, food, shelter, love and lots of cuddles. I'm so glad we were with her till the end. I think she was glad to be home too - she must have smelt it in the air and in the light. I think for anyone, a beloved animal or human member of the family, this is what we can and should humanely do - bring her home to live out her last moments with the people she loved around her.

I never knew that losing a pet could hurt this much. And I always thought that cats, being less needy, less affectionate than dogs, would make far less of an imprint in our lives. But in two years, Tiger has left an imprint that would be difficult to erase.

Mornings will never be the same again without her usual greeting and then curling round our legs for a morning cuddle and stroking session. And she'd do this to all of us every morning. No more would she perch at the top of our gatepost surveying the neighbours, the cars, the children, like the empress of her domain, regal and elegant, complete with kohl-rimmed eyes. My bathroom window can now be left unlocked - no more fear that Tigerlily would escape our house at night. We tried to keep her in at night after that terrible time when she was caught in a trap at our neighbour's house. But we later realised that she had learned to unlatch the window so it was a nightly ritual that KH would call out "Is the cat in the house?" and if she was, we would close all windows and doors - including the bathroom door AND window. No more of that too now.

I will miss her sauntering into the house, leaving a warm patch on our beds when she naps for the afternoon. I will miss her eager pattering when she keeps to our heels as we hurry to fill her bowl with food. I will miss her elegant profile as she sits on the cushioned seat on our porch. I will miss calling her home at night - and she would come when I called. Only Cait and I had that privilege initially but later, she grew to include KH in her circle of trust.

My favourite memory of her? I guess it would be the day she came into our lives, when I first realised that we were adopted, and how I chose the name Tigerlily for her.

I will miss so many things. How can she be a mere cat? How can people say "its only an animal?" She was family. IS and always will be family.

And Cait. Poor thing. She looked lost in her bed, reading just a few minutes ago. Her eyes were red-rimmed. I know how she felt - there is something missing from her life that was once filled by a soft warm furry body lying next to her every night.

I tell myself that all animals go to heaven for they are created by God and as long as we loved them, we would surely see them once more. My sister agrees. She says that when I am ready to go Up There, I'd see Tigerlily there and there would be her fur all over my bed once more, ready to exasperate me again. Looks like I have to die with the lint roller in hand!

I tell myself that St Francis, the quintessential animal-lover, will take good care of her Up There. I told her that too, as she lay dying. I believe it, but it does not make me feel better. I guess I will, over time. But right now, my life is one big empty ache that only a tiny cat can fill. Right now, I will never want to get another cat. No one can take her place and the process of losing them again one day is just too painful. Once is enough. We've put away her things but I stop short of making plans to give them away. I can't. I can't bear to.

I will end with this description of how Isaac said goodbye. He had to leave to serve mass in the evening before the animal cremation people came. He stood for a moment next to her, then he bent and stroked her once, twice. Then straightened and said to her, in his usual, bright and cheery, casual way, as he always does whenever he leaves the house, as if she was still there: "Bye Cat!"

And I guess, that is the best way to say goodbye isn't it?

We have had a new helper in the house since Lolita left after being with us for more than 5 years. We thought Trin would have a hard time adjusting but surprisingly, she's shown herself to be more resilient than we give her credit for. I think kids generally are a tougher bunch than we think.

So now we have somebody new and she's literally driving me up the wall. Perhaps it is early days and I am impatient by nature but this new person is really exasperating me quite a bit. On the good side, I guess it has forced me to be less complacent, less lazy and more hands-on in the home and in the kitchen. When you have a competent, efficient helper, it's always tempting to just give in and let her handle everything, run the kitchen etc. But these days, I find myself more involved and that can't be a bad thing right?

For one thing, I know what is actually in my fridge. For another, this is the first time in years, many years, that I have cooked as much as I have over the new year period. In previous years, we opted to eat out during the New Year or freeload off my mother's dinner table. But this year, I guess I went on overdrive. This is what I cooked over the four-day period:

Day 1 - steamed radish cake served panfried

Day 2 - chicken curry

Day 3 - fried beehoon with shredded chicken

Day 4 - chicken soup with abalone, fish head curry and giant panfried prawns in tamarind and chilli

It feels really good to be back in the kitchen experimenting. I experimented with the radish cake for the first time about two days before the New Year and it turned out too salty and too hard. On New Year's Eve I tried again with different composition of water to flour and it turned out a tad loose after steaming. I chucked it in the fridge and by the next day when I took it out to panfry this in the morning, it was just right - a nice soft, melt-in-your-mouth texture. Perhaps still a tad too salty even though I'd cut back on the salt by quite a lot. Next time, this will just be a pinch.

Best compliment - the kids and KH liked it. For a picky eater like KH, this was a real compliment. I'm planning to do this again but still experimenting - this time, I'd add shallot oil and chicken stock instead of water to the flour.

I am documenting this for my own memory (which has become rather leaky in recent years), and not because this is a great recipe to follow. I picked elements from other radish cake recipes on the net but in terms of proportions, I really just relied on my own gut feel estimates.

I used chinese sausages (laap cheong), dried scallops (the small ones), fresh shitake mushrooms and dried shrimps (hae bi). I soaked the scallops and the hae bi in hot water. Grated about 1 and a half radishes. Boiled the radishes using same hot water I used for soaking. Then I chopped up the soaked, now soft, scallops and hae bi. Meanwhile, I chopped up the laap cheong, panfried it without adding oil. When the oil from the laap cheong has come out, I add the scallops and hae bi, then the diced mushrooms.

Meanwhile I add rice flour and a little bit of wheat starch flour. I know now that the trick is to keep the proportion of flour very low. I got a bit nervous when I saw the loose watery texture and added more flour the first time I did it - big mistake. The flour is really there to just adhere the radish strips together and not really form the base. I seasoned the mix with salt and pepper and a dash of soya sauce. Keep the dash very very light. Then I added the ingredients in the pan, dropped the whole thing into a shallow disposable foil pan and steamed on high heat. Voila. Have to say, it turned out very very well!

Like I said, next round, I would try panfrying the cake with shallot oil and use chicken stock instead of just water when adding to the flour/radish mix.

Its 5am in the morning and I am fresh from a dream. So fresh that my tears are still running, my hands are shaking and wads of tissues have come and gone.

The dream so vivid, has me in its grips and perhaps the only way to exorcise it is to write about it and then later read it in the cold clear light of day. I don't know if I will regret this later, writing about it while I am so raw but right now it feels like the right thing to do. It gives me a strange sort of solace.

I dreamed that KH died. Slumped on the ground, in my arms with the children around me, telling me he loved me. Even in my dream I kept willing him to come back and not leave but he did. The anguish. I still feel it. I dreamed of snatches of life after he passed - going to the supermarket, a child's wedding, and the terrible anguish still followed. Because I would see him everywhere but know he would not be real. I could still hear him giving me all his usual irritating sardonic asides. In my dream Gillian sat with me as I wept and asked, "He's not real and you don't see him right? Its just me." Weirdly enough the dream seemed to be narrated by someone and this line jumped out at me: KH giving tweets from the grave.

I woke, or rather the real KH woke me up because I was crying. Even Trin woke up. Perhaps I've dreamed of his passing before but it never hit me this intensely. He held me and comforted me for quite some time after but it was very hard to leave the dream and ease down on the tears. It occurs to me that he is getting a preview of my grief and comforting me for something which he would be unable to in the future.

Where do dreams like this come from? Is this what it will really be like? I don't know how or when life will pan out and if it will indeed come to this. But this dream has called forth a very deep fear in me - that of being left alone to soldier on in life without my partner, my best friend and my lover and the intense loneliness, pain and grief that accompanies this. In the throes of my pain just minutes after he woke me, I told him: "You cannot do this. You cannot leave before me. I won't allow you to. You go get it checked out. Every part of you."

I have this irrational fear of deja vu. His father passed at the age of 51, leaving a helpless wife and five kids. KH is turning out to look more and more like his dad did at that age. 47 is not far from 51. I know that it does not make sense and I worry for empty superstition but I will not be comfortable until he passes 51. We have so many things to do, so many plans. But I also know that these are empty - just plans. And rather than just plan, we should just live our lives, do the best with what we have now, because those plans might never ever happen. The reality is we never know when we're going to go and perhaps it is this lack of control that I fear. As a Catholic, I should have more faith in God, trusting His will and whatever He gives. But yet. I feel very small, scared and vulnerable as a human today.

We can only do the things we can and not worry about what has not come or the inevitable when it does. The day is starting now and the kids have to wake up for school. But before the busy-ness of everyday life seeps in and the dream is totally gone, I will try to remember just this one thing - to love as much while I can, not be afraid to put myself out there and while its hard to be in the moment every single moment, I can at least try.

While the pain of the dream is still fresh, I must also remember to appreciate everything about him - even the things I dislike. I never know when all these will really be taken from me. He may drive me nuts sometimes but even those, after he's gone, will look like lovely idiosyncrasies later and I know I will miss even these annoying habits.

I am taking a good deep whiff of fresh cool morning air. The dream is over. I am back in real life. I am letting go of the terrible pain and fear of the dream. Good morning life.

Isaac served his first mass as altar-boy at the 6.30am mass two Saturdays ago. KH and I got up early just to attend mass to watch him make his debut. We were not alone. There was another eager-beaver parent there armed with video cam and camera to capture the moment for his son too. KH initially wanted to do the same except that I managed to persuade him that being ‘subtle’ was more important to his son’s very fragile ego. Yet despite the ‘subtle’ use of the iPhone camera, Isaac later muttered that he could see us grinning and snapping away – “so much for being ‘subtle’ mom and dad!”

But honestly, he was just too cute in his white cassock and red vestments, hands folded demurely in prayerful position. Too angelic! I was seized with the really unholy urge to burst into loud laughter when he first came out from the sacristy with the priests and the other altar-boys. After that I have to say that I didn’t really concentrate on mass, but just watching him with an eagle eye for any boo-boos. But God was with him that morning and it all went without a hitch – except from the occasional nudges and meaningful looks from the senior altar-boy serving alongside!

He’s served a couple more times since then and he seems to enjoy it. I’m happy for him that he’s found something meaningful where he can contribute in church. And being the oldest ‘trainee’ altar-boy there, he has somewhat got a sense of being the ‘older brother’ there that the kiddies look up to.

He’s growing up to be a little man. I find that I depend on him more and more these days.

Last week was Owain’s birthday. Because I was too ill with a bad viral infection to go to his school to distribute the goody-bags, Isaac went instead. There’s something very heart-warming and sweet about this as the big ‘kor-kor’ plays birthday santa to his little brother’s P1 classmates. I could just imagine the two brothers happily giving out the goody-bags!

When his father was not around last week and I was sick, it was Isaac who volunteered to put the eye-drops in for me – something KH had done. It was also Isaac who gave feedback on Owain’s goody-bags, offering ideas on how to improve the bag’s contents and brainstorming with me on how best to get this done. And it was he who offered to stay with Cait until her class started when I could not. And when Cait was acting like the diva, it was he who offered his opinion and bluntly told her off.

Things like these help to build responsibility, and a sense of usefulness, belonging and commitment to the family and the community. When he contributes like this, he grows as a young man too. The appreciation he gets from me, his younger siblings, fellow and senior altar-boys contributes to his self-esteem and peels away the layers of self-centredness and self-absorption. It will not happen overnight of course and in many ways, having Aspergers Syndrome makes it harder for him, than the average kid out there, to appreciate the social payback. But we’ll get there and these little things are the building blocks that will pave the way.

Cait too, is adjusting to the hectic training in the national squad and she’s finding that hard work pays off.

On Friday she came home with the two leotards worn by the girls in the national training squad – one dark blue with sparkles and another the red leotard with the Singapore flag on the front. This is the crown jewel that she has been eyeing since she got into the selection trials for the training squad. On certain days, the other gymnasts all wear national colours to train. For her and the others whose places in the team have not been confirmed, they wear their own leotards. So she has always looked upon these leotards with a certain sense of longing. Seems like her dream came true when she came home on Friday with the two 'national' leotards. We wondered if this means she has made the final cut to be part of the squad? Or not? Seems like a bit of a fait accompli to me.

On Sunday she took part in the 2nd Singapore National Individual Championships. She came away with silver medals in the floor exercise, uneven bars and vault events in her category. She was 4th in the balance beam event. Her total scores gave her the bronze medal in the Individual All-Around category. While there were competitors from other schools and other gym clubs, Cait and her group-mates in the national training squad were the ones constantly on the podium, hogging the top three places in every event.

The first time her name was announced, KH and I thought we heard wrongly and so there was some fumbling for the camera to get a picture of her on the podium. We both thought that was the first and the last and never expected her name to be called so often. It was really something to see her going up the podium to be garlanded with medal after medal. She was grinning from ear to ear with delight. And for me, I thought my heart was going to stop from sheer pride! We are so very proud of her.

I think all this has given her a boost in terms of self-esteem, in her determination to keep on training no matter how tough, how boring the drills may be. Hopefully in the days and months to come, as training gets tougher and the hours longer, she will look back on this day and find the willpower and inspiration to keep going. As she told me jubilantly after the competition, “This makes the hard work all worthwhile!” Let’s hope it lasts.

We had murals done on the exterior walls when Trin decided to exercise some creative license one day.

Big googly eyes, a wobbly grin and pockets of teeth. A self-portrait. Thankfully she used blue colour pencils and not ink. There was ONE on the back wall where she did use a permanent marker, so it remains till this day.

I was more horrified and angry but decided that the best thing to do was to tell her not to do that again and to reinforce the message by asking her to clean the walls. We used detergent and water. She had a lot of fun so I'm not sure that the 'punishment' was a true deterrent.

However, she has not done done this again so I think the message stuck.

Thought I'd update on the gym training situation with Caitlin.


I was feeling lost and conflicted about this. On one hand, did not want to be pushy mom but on the other, feeling like this was such a complete waste of talent and opportunity! Prayed about it and in the bus, I told God I'd just leave it to Him to show me the answers. And He did!


He gave me the opportunity to speak to two friendly moms whose girls are also on the national training squad. One of them has a girl who is in the same school, same class as Cait and who's also on the school team. She is highly talented and very advanced in gym.


Listening and talking to these two moms, thinking deeply about my own situation, being advised by the comments of friends etc led to several conclusions:


1) We have the wider perspective as adults so we owe it to the child to give them the perspective they lack. Cait just wants to be a kid. She is reacting like a kid. She wants friends, craves approval and friendship and affirmation, hates boring drillwork, prefers to stick to the tried and true comfort zone. But as her mom, there will be times when I just have to put my foot down and steer her in the direction she may not want to go. That, according to one gym mom's earnest explanation, is NOT pushing. If given enough time and perspective and experience, the child still decides that this is not for her, then yes, time to call it a day. But until then, we have to give them every opportunity to discover and to stick with stuff they may not like. That's our job as parents.


2) Some hard stuff are worth sticking it out. The hard lessons you learn about sticking to stuff you don't like, doing the boring drillwork and seemingly elementary details, will pay off in the long run. I was given lesson after lesson in gym in those two long afternoons I spent at the gym watching them train and for that, I am grateful to these mums for explaining and sharing their time, experience and perspective.

In competition, when we see those fabulous leaps and turns and flips, our jaws drop. But the reality is harder. Judges keep an eagle eye out for the slightest imperfection in those turns and points are deducted for every little deviation. Gymnasts who do not have the fundamentals firmly in place may have a hard time teaching their bodies to 'un-learn' the incorrect moves and conditioning them again appropriately. So everytime Cait yawns about doing "the easy stuff" I remind her to be patient - it will pay off in the long run.

Similarly, sticking it out in training will teach her about tenacity, responsibility, commitment. In life there are hard lessons all the time that we need not like what we have to do, but we just have to do it. We just pray for patience and grace in these times.

I explained to Cait seriously about the opportunities she would forgo if she quit now. So many kids will want the place she has in the training squad. If she leaves the squad, where will she get such training opportunities and with these coaches? I learned that several of them had a hand in training the Chinese Olympic squad. What a valuable experience. How to pass this up? And if she does, what then? The next best club that trains the better gymnasts (and several of her school team-mates are training here) is Prime. But Prime costs an arm and a leg. I told her that I could not afford thousand-dollar training fees. I had to also consider her siblings' other needs and money needs to be stretched very carefully.

So the best thing for her would be to stick with training here. For now at least. Who knows what will happen in 3 months? Perhaps she might not even make the cut to the final team selection. But for now, she just has to not only stick it out, but give her best and learn all she can.

Drama on Saturday morning. I arrived at the bowling alley to watch Gillian in action during a bowling tournament when I was told by the teacher in charge that she was "injured". Turned out that her left knee cap gave way and she could no longer put any weight on it, much less bowl.

She later described what happened. It was the fifth frame and just as she released the ball, her right leg slipped, slamming her left knee onto the lane. She said it hurt but she could still get up and hobble back. She could even bowl the next time it came to her turn. But at that point, she heard a crack sound coming from her knee and the whole thing gave way. She crashed onto the lane, clutching her knee and that was when she was declared out of action.

I arrived to find her in tears and the parent volunteer present calling a physiotherapist for some advice. We managed to get her down from the bowling alley to the lobby and into a cab. The teacher in charge came with us. I decided on Mt Alvernia because of insurance issues.

They took an x-ray of the knee and the doctor pronounced it as acute subluxation of the patella. In layman's terms, it just means dislocation of the kneecap. The force, he surmised, must have knocked the kneecap off its position. Pain relief was given via injection to which my squeamish daughter protested because it was a male nurse giving the jab! The ortho specialist was called in and after palpating (with Gillian gritting teeth and semi-screaming), thinks that 80% it's a meniscal tear which requires surgery. An MRI would confirm it, he said. Meanwhile, she has to stay in hospital.

Long and short of it is, the MRI showed no meniscal tear but bone contusions and ligament sprains on the outer knee. However, she is still in considerable pain when he palpates the inner knee. He's not sure what it is and is a little bugged that the MRI may have missed something. One possibility might be a scaping of the bone or cartilage due to trauma - and this will only be more clearly defined over time.

So she's home now, or more accurately, in her grandmother's home where she will receive much pampering and cooing over. She's also exempt from school for a week and she's learning to navigate with crutches since she can't put her full weight on her left leg. Looks like no bowling for several months ahead at least!

One week into centralised national training and Caitlin now says she wants to quit. I could see this coming. I know that this has been brewing over the past few days. She’s been going for daily training from 4pm to 8pm practically everyday except Saturday and on Sundays, she goes for school training – also at CCAB – for three hours. Her national coach has recommended that she completely stop school training to avoid confusion in coaching techniques and instructions. The school coach concurs. But I wanted her to keep in touch with the school squad at least once a week to keep a sense of loyalty to the school and to the coach. But perhaps, this is not quite a good idea after all as you will see when you read on.

Okay, I know her daily routine is rigorous. By the time she gets home from school, at 2pm, there’s barely enough time for her to have her lunch, get a bit of rest, and finish her homework etc before granddad comes to pick her up at 3.30pm. By the time we pick her up from training at 8pm, she gets a late dinner at 8.30pm, showers, does a bit of reading and then its bedtime at 10pm. So yes, it’s very hard. It’s tough work.

But the tough routine is not the reason why she’s caving.

When we pick her up from gym, KH and I always go a bit earlier so that we can watch her train. We’ve made some observations of our own. Firstly, it’s very clear that everyone is there to train. The gymnasts are very independent and disciplined. They train on their own most of the time, going through drills and routines over and over. Sometimes their peers will give comments and suggestions but the coaches seem to have a very light hand. It’s just plain hard work and everyone seems very single-minded on this point. There was once we saw a gymnast attempt a somersault but fail to land on the balance beam. She fell hard, hitting her head on the beam. There was a loud bang followed by a keening cry of pain, audible throughout the gymnasium and all of us parents there watching froze in horror. I was asking KH anxiously: should I call an ambulance?

But what really surprised me was that none of the other gymnasts went over to see how the girl was. She lay there for a quite a while. Only one coach walked over. The others paused for a moment to watch a bit and then went back to their drills. It seemed quite cold to me.

So I infer that the bottom line is – no one is there to make friends or be buddies. Everyone there is purposeful and serious about training. At the end of the day, everyone there is a competitor. They compete to be in the first team, they compete for spots to represent the nation in competition, they compete for medals.

For Ms Popular Caitlin, who is used to a great deal of camaraderie among her team-mates in school, this is quite a sea change. The girls she’s training with had entered the training squad a year before and so they were familiar with the coaches and with each other. So she feels a bit left out and excluded. Plus her Mandarin is not very good and so understanding instructions from the coaches, who are all Chinese nationals, becomes challenging – so much so that her training mates have had to translate once in a while. She’s also had to get used to other coaching techniques. Luckily, she still has her former school coach with her.

So the duck out of water feeling is what Cait is struggling with now. In addition, now that she’s training in the national squad, everyone there is as good as or even better than she is. For someone who hates to feel inferior, this is a real come-down. She’s got her work cut out to catch up and keep up. There is pressure not to lag behind.

For the first time, she’s been making excuses to not go for gym training so I knew that the storm was coming.

Yesterday we had a talk and she blurted out that girls in her school team (she still goes back for occasional training with her school) also call her “Traitor!” for training apart from them. She was in tears when she told me about this. I know how hard it is for someone like her, who wants to be liked, to be a partial persona non grata now.

It is painful and I feel for her. I also know that this is what the path is like. It can be very lonely. Look at our table tennis world champions. Damn if you do and damn if you don’t. Win and Chinese nationals call you traitor for not playing for China. Win and Singaporeans scoff and say you’re not true blue Singaporean but imported talent.

People are going to throw names at you all the time, I told Cait. Yes, it hurts. On the flip side, there are also lots of people who are very proud of you – our family, our friends, your school, your teachers, your coaches. We’re proud that she’s come so far. But more than just the name-calling, it's knowing that you are not going to fit in that well anymore. Like it or not, you're different (or better) and the opportunity cost of training elsewhere means you will not feel like you belong in either places - not at CCAB (because of the competitive nature of the place and the people) and not in school (because you lose the momentum of friendship made through shared hard work).

Still, it’s bitter knowledge to learn at this age. And I think this is only the beginning. Learning to move beyond the comfort zone, learning to be adaptable, learning the new rules of a different jungle, learning to develop rhino hide, to sift out comments that are constructive and valuable versus plain name-calling, to learn about envy, loneliness and being strong enough to take it all, wanting the big brass ring badly enough to take it all. This is what she has to learn. She has to ask herself how badly she wants it.

I feel for her and I can understand why she wants to throw in the towel. But I also feel that this is such a waste of talent. I am also angry that she is giving up. Why can’t she take it? Why can’t she WANT to take it? As an adult with access to a wider vista, I can see so clearly all the opportunities she would be forgoing and I'm getting an ulcer just realizing it.

But more than just anger at the loss of opportunity, I worry that she will grow into someone who just gives up easily without a fight. Is she becoming someone who will just take the easy way out? Yet what is really the easy way out? Everyone has choices in life – the fork in the road – so who is to say which one is the easy way out?

As a mother, I feel sad that she’s also got to learn hard lessons at this stage in her life. I also wonder, looking at the older gymnasts training, if this is what I want my daughter to become – this coolly indifferent, single-minded person who does not really care when others fall.

I feel conflicted myself.

“Why can’t I just do gym? Why can’t I just train with my school team?” she asked plaintively.

I think I was being a practical and ambitious mom when I replied, “To what purpose? You train and then for what? What is your goal? People want to move ahead – to represent school and then maybe, represent nation. But you don’t! So what’s the point of training so hard? Just do recreational gym then. Tell Mr Lim to downgrade you from competitive gym to just recreational gym. Then you can still do the stuff you love –but without the pressure of training, without the stress of competition!”

She just looked at me stricken because hard-nosed as that might sound, it’s also true. She has enough of a competitive streak in her for that alternative to sound unpalatable.

Do I push her? Or leave her? Am I pushing her for myself or for her? The lines are so blur. As a mom, do I accept my child for who she is, or do I push her to accomplish the ‘more’ that I think she is capable of? Do I let her make decisions which I think are bad for her in the long run, and then rue the day when it happens? Or do I steer her in the direction that I think is best? As an adult, I have perspective that she does not. Do I do the “this is what’s best for you” routine? Or allow her to make mistakes? I can explain the consequences and the opportunities lost till the cows come home but she may not have the maturity to grasp this. So do I just grit my teeth and let it happen?

Like dental hygiene – you know too many sweets are bad for the kid but you can explain it till you’re blue in the face and the kid will still bug you for more sweets. Do you let it happen and say, well, you’ll realize what a big mistake this is when your teeth start decaying? Or stand firm and say nope, no more sweets because mummy knows best?

I had a grim angst-ridden night last night. But before she went to bed, the funny girl left a hand-written contract – yes contract - on my pillow. It read:

“I, Caitlin Chong, agree to go for CCAB training on ONE condition – that you will allow me to go for Sunday training with school.” It came with blank spaces for me and for her to sign, with my full name in one corner.

I could not help but laugh. But as KH pointed out – it really sounds as if we are pushing her to do this. If she really wanted CCAB training, there should be no need for conditions. Sigh. Maybe its not a good idea to let her stay with school training until she's more comfortable at CCAB.

What are we going to do? I don’t know.

Well the maid is home so I should be pleased right? Except that I do regret giving back my space in the kitchen. My new knife, so springy and responsive in my hand, will now be hers. My new grill pan will be hers to use. My system of cleaning the dining table will now take one step back. I have to get used to relinquishing control over domestic space.

Why give up, you may argue, since I am her boss and the lady of the house after all? But I know too well that when you work and you are out of the house for any amount of time, you have to let go. If I have to keep my hold on the nitty-gritty in the house and still keep my mind on stuff happening in the office, and keep tabs of the kids' lives, I know something will give. Likely, it will just be me going loco loco.

I don't think I am cut out to be superwoman. So much as I like the state of my knives and the organisation of my larder and my fridge, I will give it all back to the maid and go back to work. It starts tomorrow and already as if in transition, my mind drifts in the wee hours of the morning to pending issues at work, dreading the inevitable sandstorm of emails that I will be buried under and the headaches accompanying a major upcoming event that I am in charge of.

As if the make the transition even harder, its as if part of me is still floating in the turquoise waters of Tioman. Perhaps it takes the soul a little longer to reach home. I'm still out there slowly drifting my way back to reality.