Food at Riang 1
Mum called. I'm bringing over the sambal prawns you asked me to cook, she says. And do you want some chili sotong too?
Yes mum yes. How can I ever say no to your sambal prawns?? And because the phone at home is out of order (long story which had something to do with a short circuit, a blackout - yes again - and very wet walls thanks to the rainy spell) , please could you tell Lolita to not cook the chicken porridge for dinner.
Sambal prawns for dinner tonight - fiery red sauce with the scent of the kaffir lime leaves and lemongrass, tiny prawns, hardboiled eggs. With plain white rice, an unbeatable combination. Pure comfort food.
Last week on Wednesday evening when I had finished puking (thanks to a combination of bad SBS drivers, TV Mobile and drivers who hog bus lanes!) at mum's house (I didn't think I could make it home without throwing up so I did the next best thing- head for mum's place to throw up instead!), mum offered me some leftover sambal prawn and rice. And boy did that hit the spot. The zing in the sambal made me feel better almost immediately. I had second helpings. Not bad after puking my guts out.
Also looking forward to mum's chili sotong!! Her sotong is very simply done - no elaborate recipe - just fry with ground chili. Add a touch of salt and a smidgen of sugar. Magnificent in its simplicity. You taste the sea and the spice and I would imagine that not so long ago, this would have been how kampung folk ate - slivers of squid cooked simply and eated in the salty sea breeze.
Tomorrow, KH will be home. To celebrate, we will have popiah. (Helen in Australia, if you are reading this, this is DIY springrolls and if you ever get over here, I'd be happy to throw a popiah party in your honour!) I've bought all the ingredients. All that remains is to ask the likely jet-lagged KH to drive to Joo Chiat to buy the popiah skin and we're set for a yummy feast!
Ooh I can't wait.
But first, sambal prawns and chili sotong calls lovingly out to me for dinner tonight!
Monday, April 30, 2007
The beauty of plucking
It was a Saturday night, after dinner and we were bored. Okay, I was bored. So I volunteered to pluck Gillian's underarm hair. Owain and Cait held her down.
There is nothing like sitting down, lips pursed, eyes squinting into my daughter's pits and plucking out underarm hair - strand by strand.
She went: ouch!ouch!ouch! OWWW!!! ouch! Oooh... ow!! OOOUCH!!
And I went: for goodness sake DON'T move! Stop squirming!
To take her mind off the pain, I thought I'd give her one of my hard-earned beauty tips - stuff I had learned the hard way. So I told her seriously about how she should NEVER EVER use those commercial applications for hair removal - you know, the roll-on, the cream, the spray etc which promises to remove unwanted hair?
I can still remember the smell of ammonia in the bathroom when I lathered on the cream to the pits, held my arms up above my head and patiently waited for the requisite 5 or 10 minutes for the chemicals to do the deed - all the while getting colder and colder while my sister or mother banged on the bathroom door hollering at me to be done. And when the stuff finally did the job, I used the spatula provided to wipe the gook (and hair) off. Yes, it was effective alright. I went around with baby-soft hair-less pits. After several rounds of this, the underarm hair grew back - and this time, with a vengeance! It grew, I told my round-eyed children, like the Amazon must have grown before global warming came along. Lush and thick. Like a primeval jungle. You know how its one hair to one pore right? I say. Well, after using the stuff, it was two or even three hairs to one pore!! They were spouting out all over the place. And they were thicker and coarser than before!
But why mummy? Why do we have hair there? Caitlin wanted to know.
I was stumped. Good question. I don't know. And I said as much.
That is a great mystery to me. I never believed that any aspect of God's design of the human body was irrelevant - birth has taught me that much. But what was the point of having hairy pits? What was the biological function? I mean, it traps sweat and dirt, breeds bacteria and generally creates a bad pong. But as I write, a guess is forming in my mind - could it be... pheronomes?? Hmm, got to go back and explain to the kids again...
Anyway I digress. Pheronomes or not, to get rid of the hair, I used the hair-removal cream.
I finally gave up using the creamy hair-removal stuff but not before all the damage had been done. For years after that I lived with a jungle in the pits, self-conscious about raising my arm, never wearing tank tops or sleeveless tops.
Later I discovered waxing and could walk around with hairless pits again! I loved waxing - the big swish of exploding pain as the therapist whipped the hardened wax off the pit! Woohoo! I loved waxing so much I even contemplated getting a brazilian. My loving sister called me a masochist. But sadly, I finally stopped going for waxing because it was high-maintenance and expensive and of course, I had discovered the hypnotically soothing qualities of plucking. Nothing like peering, squinting, brows furrowed, neck contorted, mouth parted, fingers cramped and tense for a session of plucking. I'm likely to get carpal tunnel syndrome in the long run, but it sure is fun to pluck!
And that's why plucking, I told Gillian serenely, works best. Short and sweet. Or waxing. But plucking is better - low-maintenance and cheap.
"Ow mom you're pinching me!" she protested.
"Nonsense!" said I. But I have to say the light was rather dim. I could have grabbed a nip of flesh while grabbing the hair. Hard to tell, in that light.
After that, she sighed with relief and gratitude (I think more because I finally stopped plucking than anything else, cupped her pits and went to bed.
I think I'll buy her her own pair of tweezers. Next time we can pluck together, side by side.
Now that's what I call mother-daughter bonding at its best.
It was a Saturday night, after dinner and we were bored. Okay, I was bored. So I volunteered to pluck Gillian's underarm hair. Owain and Cait held her down.
There is nothing like sitting down, lips pursed, eyes squinting into my daughter's pits and plucking out underarm hair - strand by strand.
She went: ouch!ouch!ouch! OWWW!!! ouch! Oooh... ow!! OOOUCH!!
And I went: for goodness sake DON'T move! Stop squirming!
To take her mind off the pain, I thought I'd give her one of my hard-earned beauty tips - stuff I had learned the hard way. So I told her seriously about how she should NEVER EVER use those commercial applications for hair removal - you know, the roll-on, the cream, the spray etc which promises to remove unwanted hair?
I can still remember the smell of ammonia in the bathroom when I lathered on the cream to the pits, held my arms up above my head and patiently waited for the requisite 5 or 10 minutes for the chemicals to do the deed - all the while getting colder and colder while my sister or mother banged on the bathroom door hollering at me to be done. And when the stuff finally did the job, I used the spatula provided to wipe the gook (and hair) off. Yes, it was effective alright. I went around with baby-soft hair-less pits. After several rounds of this, the underarm hair grew back - and this time, with a vengeance! It grew, I told my round-eyed children, like the Amazon must have grown before global warming came along. Lush and thick. Like a primeval jungle. You know how its one hair to one pore right? I say. Well, after using the stuff, it was two or even three hairs to one pore!! They were spouting out all over the place. And they were thicker and coarser than before!
But why mummy? Why do we have hair there? Caitlin wanted to know.
I was stumped. Good question. I don't know. And I said as much.
That is a great mystery to me. I never believed that any aspect of God's design of the human body was irrelevant - birth has taught me that much. But what was the point of having hairy pits? What was the biological function? I mean, it traps sweat and dirt, breeds bacteria and generally creates a bad pong. But as I write, a guess is forming in my mind - could it be... pheronomes?? Hmm, got to go back and explain to the kids again...
Anyway I digress. Pheronomes or not, to get rid of the hair, I used the hair-removal cream.
I finally gave up using the creamy hair-removal stuff but not before all the damage had been done. For years after that I lived with a jungle in the pits, self-conscious about raising my arm, never wearing tank tops or sleeveless tops.
Later I discovered waxing and could walk around with hairless pits again! I loved waxing - the big swish of exploding pain as the therapist whipped the hardened wax off the pit! Woohoo! I loved waxing so much I even contemplated getting a brazilian. My loving sister called me a masochist. But sadly, I finally stopped going for waxing because it was high-maintenance and expensive and of course, I had discovered the hypnotically soothing qualities of plucking. Nothing like peering, squinting, brows furrowed, neck contorted, mouth parted, fingers cramped and tense for a session of plucking. I'm likely to get carpal tunnel syndrome in the long run, but it sure is fun to pluck!
And that's why plucking, I told Gillian serenely, works best. Short and sweet. Or waxing. But plucking is better - low-maintenance and cheap.
"Ow mom you're pinching me!" she protested.
"Nonsense!" said I. But I have to say the light was rather dim. I could have grabbed a nip of flesh while grabbing the hair. Hard to tell, in that light.
After that, she sighed with relief and gratitude (I think more because I finally stopped plucking than anything else, cupped her pits and went to bed.
I think I'll buy her her own pair of tweezers. Next time we can pluck together, side by side.
Now that's what I call mother-daughter bonding at its best.
Long-distance lurve
I've never received so many SMSes from KH before in my life.
Both of us are not usually the messaging sort. We prefer to just pick up the phone and talk. Can't understand how or why so many people can be so nimble
And between the two of us, there has been, I think, only about 10 messages in a year. And usually the very prosaic sort - 'coming back late don't wait 4 me'. etc
But over the past few days, he has been text messaging - "In a park now relaxing among parisians, families, pple playing chess. Going to champ de mars shortly." or "Im lost in the Lourve." I'll spare you the more sappy messages about being romantic, missing me etc. He's not usually so sentimental.
But I'll tell you the good thing that's come out of this. He's sort of promised (in a text message! Are text messages legally binding in a court of law??) to bring me with him the next time he goes to europe on business - which is likely to be London the next time and not Paris. He hates London - says it's dead boring. I don't care. I am imagining taking the train, abandoning the poor chap in London (haha) and running north to Scotland or the Lake district already! Hee!
I've never received so many SMSes from KH before in my life.
Both of us are not usually the messaging sort. We prefer to just pick up the phone and talk. Can't understand how or why so many people can be so nimble
And between the two of us, there has been, I think, only about 10 messages in a year. And usually the very prosaic sort - 'coming back late don't wait 4 me'. etc
But over the past few days, he has been text messaging - "In a park now relaxing among parisians, families, pple playing chess. Going to champ de mars shortly." or "Im lost in the Lourve." I'll spare you the more sappy messages about being romantic, missing me etc. He's not usually so sentimental.
But I'll tell you the good thing that's come out of this. He's sort of promised (in a text message! Are text messages legally binding in a court of law??) to bring me with him the next time he goes to europe on business - which is likely to be London the next time and not Paris. He hates London - says it's dead boring. I don't care. I am imagining taking the train, abandoning the poor chap in London (haha) and running north to Scotland or the Lake district already! Hee!
Friday, April 27, 2007
Springtime in Paris
I am in a reminiscing mood today.
Sparked off by an Ella Fitzgerald singing April In Paris on the MP3 player and an early morning sms from KH in Paris. Says he is looking at the Eiffel Tower, all lit up at night and it is beautiful. He had just finished the river cruise on the Seine and all around are lovers and young people. He wishes I were there. Heh.
So do I pal. So do I!! :-)
The last time I saw the Eiffel Tower all lit up in gold and yellow was from the roof window of our tiny hotel room in a street just off the Champ de Mars. It was so close you could reach out and touch it. I remember a full white moon peeking past it.
Back then, we were on the last leg of our five-week tour through Europe. We had gone through England, Holland, France, Italy and Switzerland, blowing the better part of some $12k I saved while he was in uni.
We drove through Europe at a time when the mainstream was signing up with Chan Bros after graduation. What a trip. We stayed in pensions and no-star tiny hotels with rickety stairs (in Amsterdam, due to space constraint, the stairs were so vertical they were more like ladders!), no lifts, saggy beds and no loo attached. We ate bread (toast or croissants being the norm. The best and unforgettable bread being the rolls fresh from the oven in a Sorrento hotel overlooking Capri) , lots of pizza and pasta, lots of pate and more bread. But we also fell in love with confit du canard on that trip.
My favourite scenes and places:
1) driving through pastoral France. The road would wind and wend and suddenly you'd find yourself right in the middle of a tiny village. And yet, no matter how tiny, each village had its own church and what huge, hulking stone beauties these were - usually romanesque constructions that were so timeless. Before this, all I knew of church was Risen Christ in Toa Payoh!
2) Mont St Michel rising out of the sea where we stayed the night. Where I spoke my first complete conversation in French - and was actually understood! KH was very impressed. Heck, I even impressed myself! :-)
3) the lovely Cinque Terra town of Vernazza in the evening. Nothing like sitting on the parapet of the ruined castle, with the blue Med turning gold. And that was where Gillian was conceived. Hence Vernazza being part of her name.
4) Sorrento in the worn Lorely et Londres Hotel. Our room came with white sheets, terazzo floors, french doors and a huge terrace that opened out to a view of the Bay of Naples, Vesuvius and Capri - and surrounded by lemon groves! And two years later when we went back to the hotel with little Gillian, the old man sitting on the bench still remembered us - we had great parma ham with melons there too.
5) Attending mass in St Peter's Square with Pope John Paull II saying mass. Yeah, he was a speck in the distance, but how can you beat having mass with thousands of pilgrims, from different cultures and creeds all over the world, all speaking different languages, in one place and yet feeling like you've come home? This is what Catholicism - the Universal church - meant.
6) Venice by moonlight. St Mark's Square turns magical at night with three orchestras taking turns to strike up the music. You could sit at a cafe and pay a bomb, but we were poor tourists lah. We just stood around the near empty square and lapped up the free music and the romantic atmosphere. In the day, the place is so packed with tourists and pigeons but at night, so empty that you could practically have the whole place to yourself.
7) Staying in the Alma Domus in Siena. Cheap, good and run by the fiercest nuns you ever met! Our room, S$60, had a tiled floor, wrought iron bed, attached shower (a rarity in Europe for this price!) and a tiny balcony. But the view was stupendous! We faced the awesome striped Duomo which was lit at night - it will just take your breath away. And in Siena, it was memorable to slurp a gelato in the brick-laid fan-shaped Campo in the sun and after that, a great carbonara in a restaurant nearby. Of course I had the midnight runs after that but it was worth it!!
8) Assisi in the evening. When the fields turn to gold.
9) Luging in Chamonix. And sitting in a teeny cable car, chugging Coke, nothing but snow below and sky above, as the teeny cable car slowly pulled its way from the Aiguille du Midi in Chamonix to Italy and back. The giant glacier lay beneath and all around were the tallest peaks of the Alps, including Mont Blanc.
9) Being chased by an irate Frenchman who demanded our passports after we sneaked into a hotel, used the loo and went out the back way. How were we to know that pushing the emergency exit door would trigger an alarm?? We had to bluster our way out of that one. And honestly I don't know why we just didn't ask for permission - would have saved us the stress!
10) Meeting and making Singaporean friends in EuroDisney. Somehow we all just clicked! They smuggled bread from the sumptuous buffet at the Disney hotel for us every morning! And when we left, all four of us, with luggage etc, crammed into our Renault Twingo and zoomed down the highway to Paris! Our friends were 'richer', so they stayed in a swish hotel off the Rue de Faubourg on the Right Bank. Their room came with a marble bathroom, four poster bed, snotty receptionists. Our room on the Left Bank had no window, save the one in the roof, a wonky tv and no toilet - down the hall! But we had a great time seeing Paris together. It was sad to part when the time came.
What great memories!
Now with the Euro at 2:1, going to Europe will be extremely expensive. So I am glad we went back then. Now at least can reminisce. I do want to go back to Europe one day though. Meanwhile, I content myself by just reading guidebooks, travelogues and surfing the net. Salivating all the way...
I am in a reminiscing mood today.
Sparked off by an Ella Fitzgerald singing April In Paris on the MP3 player and an early morning sms from KH in Paris. Says he is looking at the Eiffel Tower, all lit up at night and it is beautiful. He had just finished the river cruise on the Seine and all around are lovers and young people. He wishes I were there. Heh.
So do I pal. So do I!! :-)
The last time I saw the Eiffel Tower all lit up in gold and yellow was from the roof window of our tiny hotel room in a street just off the Champ de Mars. It was so close you could reach out and touch it. I remember a full white moon peeking past it.
Back then, we were on the last leg of our five-week tour through Europe. We had gone through England, Holland, France, Italy and Switzerland, blowing the better part of some $12k I saved while he was in uni.
We drove through Europe at a time when the mainstream was signing up with Chan Bros after graduation. What a trip. We stayed in pensions and no-star tiny hotels with rickety stairs (in Amsterdam, due to space constraint, the stairs were so vertical they were more like ladders!), no lifts, saggy beds and no loo attached. We ate bread (toast or croissants being the norm. The best and unforgettable bread being the rolls fresh from the oven in a Sorrento hotel overlooking Capri) , lots of pizza and pasta, lots of pate and more bread. But we also fell in love with confit du canard on that trip.
My favourite scenes and places:
1) driving through pastoral France. The road would wind and wend and suddenly you'd find yourself right in the middle of a tiny village. And yet, no matter how tiny, each village had its own church and what huge, hulking stone beauties these were - usually romanesque constructions that were so timeless. Before this, all I knew of church was Risen Christ in Toa Payoh!
2) Mont St Michel rising out of the sea where we stayed the night. Where I spoke my first complete conversation in French - and was actually understood! KH was very impressed. Heck, I even impressed myself! :-)
3) the lovely Cinque Terra town of Vernazza in the evening. Nothing like sitting on the parapet of the ruined castle, with the blue Med turning gold. And that was where Gillian was conceived. Hence Vernazza being part of her name.
4) Sorrento in the worn Lorely et Londres Hotel. Our room came with white sheets, terazzo floors, french doors and a huge terrace that opened out to a view of the Bay of Naples, Vesuvius and Capri - and surrounded by lemon groves! And two years later when we went back to the hotel with little Gillian, the old man sitting on the bench still remembered us - we had great parma ham with melons there too.
5) Attending mass in St Peter's Square with Pope John Paull II saying mass. Yeah, he was a speck in the distance, but how can you beat having mass with thousands of pilgrims, from different cultures and creeds all over the world, all speaking different languages, in one place and yet feeling like you've come home? This is what Catholicism - the Universal church - meant.
6) Venice by moonlight. St Mark's Square turns magical at night with three orchestras taking turns to strike up the music. You could sit at a cafe and pay a bomb, but we were poor tourists lah. We just stood around the near empty square and lapped up the free music and the romantic atmosphere. In the day, the place is so packed with tourists and pigeons but at night, so empty that you could practically have the whole place to yourself.
7) Staying in the Alma Domus in Siena. Cheap, good and run by the fiercest nuns you ever met! Our room, S$60, had a tiled floor, wrought iron bed, attached shower (a rarity in Europe for this price!) and a tiny balcony. But the view was stupendous! We faced the awesome striped Duomo which was lit at night - it will just take your breath away. And in Siena, it was memorable to slurp a gelato in the brick-laid fan-shaped Campo in the sun and after that, a great carbonara in a restaurant nearby. Of course I had the midnight runs after that but it was worth it!!
8) Assisi in the evening. When the fields turn to gold.
9) Luging in Chamonix. And sitting in a teeny cable car, chugging Coke, nothing but snow below and sky above, as the teeny cable car slowly pulled its way from the Aiguille du Midi in Chamonix to Italy and back. The giant glacier lay beneath and all around were the tallest peaks of the Alps, including Mont Blanc.
9) Being chased by an irate Frenchman who demanded our passports after we sneaked into a hotel, used the loo and went out the back way. How were we to know that pushing the emergency exit door would trigger an alarm?? We had to bluster our way out of that one. And honestly I don't know why we just didn't ask for permission - would have saved us the stress!
10) Meeting and making Singaporean friends in EuroDisney. Somehow we all just clicked! They smuggled bread from the sumptuous buffet at the Disney hotel for us every morning! And when we left, all four of us, with luggage etc, crammed into our Renault Twingo and zoomed down the highway to Paris! Our friends were 'richer', so they stayed in a swish hotel off the Rue de Faubourg on the Right Bank. Their room came with a marble bathroom, four poster bed, snotty receptionists. Our room on the Left Bank had no window, save the one in the roof, a wonky tv and no toilet - down the hall! But we had a great time seeing Paris together. It was sad to part when the time came.
What great memories!
Now with the Euro at 2:1, going to Europe will be extremely expensive. So I am glad we went back then. Now at least can reminisce. I do want to go back to Europe one day though. Meanwhile, I content myself by just reading guidebooks, travelogues and surfing the net. Salivating all the way...
Finding wonder again
"Time and life have changed everything into something perfectly understandable – and I need mystery, the thunder that is the voice of an angry god rather than just a simple electric discharge that sets off vibrations in the atmosphere. I want to fill my life again with fantasy, because an angry god is far more curious, frightening and interesting than a phenomenon of physics." - Paulo Coelho
Which makes me wonder why we have lost all wonder in our lives by the time we become adults? And at which point do we lose it? And if we have lost it, how do we regain it?
Can we?
Also wonder, why is it so important all the time to have all the answers?
And when children ask, why is it important to reply in the accurate factual than the mysterious and whimsical?
I'm just wondering...
"Time and life have changed everything into something perfectly understandable – and I need mystery, the thunder that is the voice of an angry god rather than just a simple electric discharge that sets off vibrations in the atmosphere. I want to fill my life again with fantasy, because an angry god is far more curious, frightening and interesting than a phenomenon of physics." - Paulo Coelho
Which makes me wonder why we have lost all wonder in our lives by the time we become adults? And at which point do we lose it? And if we have lost it, how do we regain it?
Can we?
Also wonder, why is it so important all the time to have all the answers?
And when children ask, why is it important to reply in the accurate factual than the mysterious and whimsical?
I'm just wondering...
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Leading a gay life!
So what prompts this post?
1. Reading about MM's views on potentially legalising homosexuality in Singapore. He calls it 'idiosyncrasies'. I think it's a bit patronising to label it as such. I think the issue is a lot more than just an 'idiosyncrasy' or even a 'lifestyle choice'.
2. Reading posts in AP about mothers who come up in arms against this. One mother I know wants to keep her daughters 'pure'. I laud the thought - but I am troubled because I just don't know how possible this will be. Call me a realist but today, in this world we live in, the grimy fingers of the R.O.W (rest of the world) may be more agile than the protective arms of mothers. And sometimes I also think being protective might actually do more harm than good.
3. Discussing with dear friends over a recent dinner, about homosexuality. A friend with a 15-year-old daughter in an all-girls' school says this is rampant today and worries for her girl. A pal whom I always thought was tres liberal shared her disapproval of homosexuality. All at the table thought it was 'unnatural' and 'against God'.
4. Watching Little Miss Sunshine with the children.
First off, let me say that Little Miss Sunshine is a great movie! A black comedy - well-fleshed out characters, great ensemble acting all round. It is dead funny, yet achingly sad in places.
Yes it is not a movie recommended for children. There are no sex scenes, but there is liberal use of profanity, scenes of drug usage and of course, one of the characters is gay. But I chose to watch with Isaac and Caitlin.
I do this because (1) I wanted to watch it and did not want to wait until the dead of night when all were asleep because chances are, I too would be sound asleep! These days my bio alarm clock is set for sleep at 10pm tops! And (2) these are issues worth talking about and these include drug use, suicide, profanity and homosexuality. I don't believe in shielding the children. I think bad/foul language is everywhere - even in schools. Ditto homosexuality and drug use. What's more important is to bring these issues out into the open and to talk about it. And even if they don't understand all of it, they know that at least their mum would be there to talk about this with them when they are ready to ask more or discuss these in greater depths.
In any case, they took the movie quite well. Apart from a brief discussion on drug use, they took the homosexuality angle in their stride and seemed more caught up in the comic and farcical elements of the movie.
One scene early in the movie sums up the whole attitude of a discussion on homosexuality.
Olive's (the little girl) uncle is the homosexual, a brilliant scholar who attempted suicide after a failed love affair. In this scene I am talking about, Olive asked Uncle Frank how he got hurt. When it transpired that he had tried to kill himself, she was aghast and open-mouthed, but not condemning. She asked why. He explained about the failed love affair etc. And when it came out that he was in love with another man, her jaw dropped. But again, significantly, she was non-condemning. It just seemed bizarre to her that a man could love another man, but not necessarily 'wrong'. Throughout this exchange, her neurotic but failed motivational speaker dad (wonderfully acted by Greg Kinnear) was gesticulating and interjecting and basically trying to head off where the conversation was going. I thought his response was typical of most people/parents: don't talk about it. Pretend it does not exist. Not a good conversation for children etc. I also thought Olive's wide-eyed trusting acceptance was telling. Children do tend to be less judgemental than adults.
So what are my views? And what do I hope my kids will take away re the issue of homosexuality?
I have gay friends. Some of the most brilliant (and nicest) people I know are gay. Being a homosexual does not mean they are less of a human being or that their morals are suspect. It may not be socially acceptable to many, yes, but I'd like to see people as individuals not as stereotypes and I hope my kids do too. I think I would be more worried for them to live in a world of judgemental intolerance.
As for this thing about sexual orientation being a 'choice', I don't know how true this is. There is some research to show that sexual orientation may possibly be decided in the early days of life in the womb, by the hormonal levels of testosterone and estrogen that wash through a woman's body. And if this is so, the idea of homosexuality being a 'lifestyle' choice may not stand for long.
During my dinner with my friends, someone asked if I would mind if one of my kids turned out to be homosexual. I honestly don't know. I don't think so. I just want my children to be able to form happy, lasting, committed and meaningful relationships - to find someone they love and who loves them dearly, enough to commit for a lifetime. If push comes to shove, I'd rather still have my child in my life than wedge a distance between us just because I cannot come to terms with a choice that does not agree with mine.
And re what my friend was worried about - 'homosexuality' in schools. I think it is normal for one to have crushes on someone else of the same sex. I had one too - a big crush when I was in Sec 1 on a Sec 3 girl. Big deal. It died a quick death when I discovered boys existed! ;-)
I have to say though, that I draw the line between extravagant displays of physical affection - be it between a hetero or homo sexual couple. Couple of weeks ago on the MRT I was aghast to see a young (very young - likely to be 16 or 17 years old?) lesbian couple, going at it in full view of all the passengers. The 'guy' took pains to look male (though I think this came across as more Ah Beng than butch so I guess that meant it worked??) while the 'girl' was really a sweet, feminine young thing in a mini-skirt. They were groping and snogging away and I didn't know where to look! Once or twice, the 'guy' caught my eye and I thought I detected a faint look of defiance. I don't take exception to the idea of lesbianism. I take exception to the exhibitionism!
Legalising homosexuality is moot point to me. With the current culture we live in, homosexuality has already moved in, unpacked and got its feet up with a cuppa - although right now more in a basement home than a penthouse!
For me and my kids, whether its homosexuality, heterosexuality etc, I think it is just very important to keep the channels open and as a parent, not to be afraid or be too squeamish to talk about these issues. So if it ever comes to this being a choice they have to make, hopefully they know my door is open. How to let them know this? I am guessing and playing by ear and so I am likely to screw up but I suspect being open, watching movies like Little Miss Sunshine together, reading the news, books etc, dinner table talk, not shying away etc?
Also important to me is to help them grow up to be tolerant and understanding that the world is made up of so many different people with different backgrounds and lifestyles. And the tricky bit I guess is how to help them hold on to their own values and ideals in a world like this, and yet not judge others by these same values. I must confess I don't quite know how to do this - since I can be quite judgemental myself. :-) But I shall try.
So what prompts this post?
1. Reading about MM's views on potentially legalising homosexuality in Singapore. He calls it 'idiosyncrasies'. I think it's a bit patronising to label it as such. I think the issue is a lot more than just an 'idiosyncrasy' or even a 'lifestyle choice'.
2. Reading posts in AP about mothers who come up in arms against this. One mother I know wants to keep her daughters 'pure'. I laud the thought - but I am troubled because I just don't know how possible this will be. Call me a realist but today, in this world we live in, the grimy fingers of the R.O.W (rest of the world) may be more agile than the protective arms of mothers. And sometimes I also think being protective might actually do more harm than good.
3. Discussing with dear friends over a recent dinner, about homosexuality. A friend with a 15-year-old daughter in an all-girls' school says this is rampant today and worries for her girl. A pal whom I always thought was tres liberal shared her disapproval of homosexuality. All at the table thought it was 'unnatural' and 'against God'.
4. Watching Little Miss Sunshine with the children.
First off, let me say that Little Miss Sunshine is a great movie! A black comedy - well-fleshed out characters, great ensemble acting all round. It is dead funny, yet achingly sad in places.
Yes it is not a movie recommended for children. There are no sex scenes, but there is liberal use of profanity, scenes of drug usage and of course, one of the characters is gay. But I chose to watch with Isaac and Caitlin.
I do this because (1) I wanted to watch it and did not want to wait until the dead of night when all were asleep because chances are, I too would be sound asleep! These days my bio alarm clock is set for sleep at 10pm tops! And (2) these are issues worth talking about and these include drug use, suicide, profanity and homosexuality. I don't believe in shielding the children. I think bad/foul language is everywhere - even in schools. Ditto homosexuality and drug use. What's more important is to bring these issues out into the open and to talk about it. And even if they don't understand all of it, they know that at least their mum would be there to talk about this with them when they are ready to ask more or discuss these in greater depths.
In any case, they took the movie quite well. Apart from a brief discussion on drug use, they took the homosexuality angle in their stride and seemed more caught up in the comic and farcical elements of the movie.
One scene early in the movie sums up the whole attitude of a discussion on homosexuality.
Olive's (the little girl) uncle is the homosexual, a brilliant scholar who attempted suicide after a failed love affair. In this scene I am talking about, Olive asked Uncle Frank how he got hurt. When it transpired that he had tried to kill himself, she was aghast and open-mouthed, but not condemning. She asked why. He explained about the failed love affair etc. And when it came out that he was in love with another man, her jaw dropped. But again, significantly, she was non-condemning. It just seemed bizarre to her that a man could love another man, but not necessarily 'wrong'. Throughout this exchange, her neurotic but failed motivational speaker dad (wonderfully acted by Greg Kinnear) was gesticulating and interjecting and basically trying to head off where the conversation was going. I thought his response was typical of most people/parents: don't talk about it. Pretend it does not exist. Not a good conversation for children etc. I also thought Olive's wide-eyed trusting acceptance was telling. Children do tend to be less judgemental than adults.
So what are my views? And what do I hope my kids will take away re the issue of homosexuality?
I have gay friends. Some of the most brilliant (and nicest) people I know are gay. Being a homosexual does not mean they are less of a human being or that their morals are suspect. It may not be socially acceptable to many, yes, but I'd like to see people as individuals not as stereotypes and I hope my kids do too. I think I would be more worried for them to live in a world of judgemental intolerance.
As for this thing about sexual orientation being a 'choice', I don't know how true this is. There is some research to show that sexual orientation may possibly be decided in the early days of life in the womb, by the hormonal levels of testosterone and estrogen that wash through a woman's body. And if this is so, the idea of homosexuality being a 'lifestyle' choice may not stand for long.
During my dinner with my friends, someone asked if I would mind if one of my kids turned out to be homosexual. I honestly don't know. I don't think so. I just want my children to be able to form happy, lasting, committed and meaningful relationships - to find someone they love and who loves them dearly, enough to commit for a lifetime. If push comes to shove, I'd rather still have my child in my life than wedge a distance between us just because I cannot come to terms with a choice that does not agree with mine.
And re what my friend was worried about - 'homosexuality' in schools. I think it is normal for one to have crushes on someone else of the same sex. I had one too - a big crush when I was in Sec 1 on a Sec 3 girl. Big deal. It died a quick death when I discovered boys existed! ;-)
I have to say though, that I draw the line between extravagant displays of physical affection - be it between a hetero or homo sexual couple. Couple of weeks ago on the MRT I was aghast to see a young (very young - likely to be 16 or 17 years old?) lesbian couple, going at it in full view of all the passengers. The 'guy' took pains to look male (though I think this came across as more Ah Beng than butch so I guess that meant it worked??) while the 'girl' was really a sweet, feminine young thing in a mini-skirt. They were groping and snogging away and I didn't know where to look! Once or twice, the 'guy' caught my eye and I thought I detected a faint look of defiance. I don't take exception to the idea of lesbianism. I take exception to the exhibitionism!
Legalising homosexuality is moot point to me. With the current culture we live in, homosexuality has already moved in, unpacked and got its feet up with a cuppa - although right now more in a basement home than a penthouse!
For me and my kids, whether its homosexuality, heterosexuality etc, I think it is just very important to keep the channels open and as a parent, not to be afraid or be too squeamish to talk about these issues. So if it ever comes to this being a choice they have to make, hopefully they know my door is open. How to let them know this? I am guessing and playing by ear and so I am likely to screw up but I suspect being open, watching movies like Little Miss Sunshine together, reading the news, books etc, dinner table talk, not shying away etc?
Also important to me is to help them grow up to be tolerant and understanding that the world is made up of so many different people with different backgrounds and lifestyles. And the tricky bit I guess is how to help them hold on to their own values and ideals in a world like this, and yet not judge others by these same values. I must confess I don't quite know how to do this - since I can be quite judgemental myself. :-) But I shall try.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Ramen, books, beauty queens etc...
So KH has flown off to Paris. Yesterday was Sunday. Took the kids to Plaza Singapura to watch Meet The Robinsons. Everyone, except Trinity. She stayed home with Lolita.
So the Ramen Ramen treat took place this week instead of next. The kids loved it, slurping every last strand up. Meet The Robinsons was not bad - much, much better than Happily Never After. Unlike Happily Never After, I didn't fall asleep, so that means something. Just as the movie was starting, KH called. He had just landed in Paris and had two hours before his connecting flight to Casablanca. It was so good to hear from him. The connection was so clear, he sounded like he was somewhere in Singapore. I miss him but I also know that if he had been around, the kids and I would never be able to do this - eat ramen and watch a movie. KH would have disapproved.
After the movie, we browsed at MPH and I ended up buying some more books - Lost Roads by ST reporter Tan Shzr Ee and Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman. Then down at Carrefour, Isaac and I bought some more - Greek legends for Isaac and Travellers' Tales San Francisco and Pilgrimages for me. Yes, I am really a book addict and I find solace in knowing that I have a hoard of interesting books awaiting me in the week ahead.
Isaac was so engrossed in the book on greek mythology that by the time he fell asleep on the couch at 8pm, he had finished it. I was alternating flipping through stories in Pilgrimages and grimacing at the Miss Singapore pageant on telly. Quite surreal. On one hand, I was whisked away to the miracle site of Chimaya Mexico, the Bodhi tree in India, wheat fields of Castile Spain on the road to Santiago on reflective journeys of religious seeking and on the other, right there on the screen - the best example of mindless empty hedonism.
By the time the pageant was over, I had roughly counted 9 as the number of times Adrian Pang used the phrase: Oh Yes! and 6 as the number of times Andrea de Cruz gushed: Ab-solutely!
The girls were bug-eyed watching the pageant on telly. I remember being as bug-eyed as they were when I watched it 'live' during the Miss Singapore World pageant at the Neptune theatre in 1984 when my aunt won. Heady days. She was Ms Singapore World and later, the first Mrs Singapore World. I remember how jubilant we all were when she was crowned on stage and how proud my late grandma was then. I also remember how she was 'the star' at family gatherings, and how unintentionally but inevitably, this upstaged the bride at a wedding we attended. Everyone wanted a look, a handshake, a chat with Miss Singapore - who cared about the bride! I remember feeling sorry for my aunt - the bride I mean.
But fairytales don't exist in real life and happy endings are not guaranteed - even if you are a beauty queen. And beauty is no immunity to unhappiness. My lovely aunt got married to an equally handsome man, had a dream wedding, gave birth to two lovely children in quick succession and generally seemed set to 'live happily ever after'. But sadly, things unravelled after a while. The 'prince' turned out to be a jerk who physically abused her and cheated on her. So she divorced him, took the children and left. C'est la vie eh?
Her eldest son is my god-son. But I am a terrible god-mother and sadly we have lost touch. Today, I think she lives in Shanghai with her children and her second husband, an American working in citibank. I think she is happy.
Watching the pageant on telly, it all came back to me.
And so ends Sunday. Eight more days and counting.
So KH has flown off to Paris. Yesterday was Sunday. Took the kids to Plaza Singapura to watch Meet The Robinsons. Everyone, except Trinity. She stayed home with Lolita.
So the Ramen Ramen treat took place this week instead of next. The kids loved it, slurping every last strand up. Meet The Robinsons was not bad - much, much better than Happily Never After. Unlike Happily Never After, I didn't fall asleep, so that means something. Just as the movie was starting, KH called. He had just landed in Paris and had two hours before his connecting flight to Casablanca. It was so good to hear from him. The connection was so clear, he sounded like he was somewhere in Singapore. I miss him but I also know that if he had been around, the kids and I would never be able to do this - eat ramen and watch a movie. KH would have disapproved.
After the movie, we browsed at MPH and I ended up buying some more books - Lost Roads by ST reporter Tan Shzr Ee and Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman. Then down at Carrefour, Isaac and I bought some more - Greek legends for Isaac and Travellers' Tales San Francisco and Pilgrimages for me. Yes, I am really a book addict and I find solace in knowing that I have a hoard of interesting books awaiting me in the week ahead.
Isaac was so engrossed in the book on greek mythology that by the time he fell asleep on the couch at 8pm, he had finished it. I was alternating flipping through stories in Pilgrimages and grimacing at the Miss Singapore pageant on telly. Quite surreal. On one hand, I was whisked away to the miracle site of Chimaya Mexico, the Bodhi tree in India, wheat fields of Castile Spain on the road to Santiago on reflective journeys of religious seeking and on the other, right there on the screen - the best example of mindless empty hedonism.
By the time the pageant was over, I had roughly counted 9 as the number of times Adrian Pang used the phrase: Oh Yes! and 6 as the number of times Andrea de Cruz gushed: Ab-solutely!
The girls were bug-eyed watching the pageant on telly. I remember being as bug-eyed as they were when I watched it 'live' during the Miss Singapore World pageant at the Neptune theatre in 1984 when my aunt won. Heady days. She was Ms Singapore World and later, the first Mrs Singapore World. I remember how jubilant we all were when she was crowned on stage and how proud my late grandma was then. I also remember how she was 'the star' at family gatherings, and how unintentionally but inevitably, this upstaged the bride at a wedding we attended. Everyone wanted a look, a handshake, a chat with Miss Singapore - who cared about the bride! I remember feeling sorry for my aunt - the bride I mean.
But fairytales don't exist in real life and happy endings are not guaranteed - even if you are a beauty queen. And beauty is no immunity to unhappiness. My lovely aunt got married to an equally handsome man, had a dream wedding, gave birth to two lovely children in quick succession and generally seemed set to 'live happily ever after'. But sadly, things unravelled after a while. The 'prince' turned out to be a jerk who physically abused her and cheated on her. So she divorced him, took the children and left. C'est la vie eh?
Her eldest son is my god-son. But I am a terrible god-mother and sadly we have lost touch. Today, I think she lives in Shanghai with her children and her second husband, an American working in citibank. I think she is happy.
Watching the pageant on telly, it all came back to me.
And so ends Sunday. Eight more days and counting.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Overheard...
On the way home after a sushi dinner, this conversation was taking place in the back seats of our car.
Gillian: "Last night when I stayed at Mama's house, Uncle Paul went out with his girlfriend."
Caitlin: "Ooh, got girlfriend means Uncle Paul is going to get married..."
KH and I were amused at the conversation taking place behind us. I shook my head commenting, "Eh, the two small ones behind very ba-gua!"
They continued nattering away about Uncle Paul and his girlfriend. I was not paying attention until I heard Owain saying knowingly, "And then Uncle Paul will sleep with the girl!"
Me: !!!!
Lest you think I start them that young on the mechanics of the birds and the bees, I double-checked with Owain on what he said. And what he really meant was that Uncle Paul, quite rightfully, will share the same bed as his girlfriend when they get married... just like mummy and daddy!
Ah so...
On the way home after a sushi dinner, this conversation was taking place in the back seats of our car.
Gillian: "Last night when I stayed at Mama's house, Uncle Paul went out with his girlfriend."
Caitlin: "Ooh, got girlfriend means Uncle Paul is going to get married..."
KH and I were amused at the conversation taking place behind us. I shook my head commenting, "Eh, the two small ones behind very ba-gua!"
They continued nattering away about Uncle Paul and his girlfriend. I was not paying attention until I heard Owain saying knowingly, "And then Uncle Paul will sleep with the girl!"
Me: !!!!
Lest you think I start them that young on the mechanics of the birds and the bees, I double-checked with Owain on what he said. And what he really meant was that Uncle Paul, quite rightfully, will share the same bed as his girlfriend when they get married... just like mummy and daddy!
Ah so...
Quiet week ahead?
KH leaves for Paris and Casablanca tonight. I will miss him. As usual, before he leaves for a trip, my heart feels heavy and my face is always glum thinking of the week ahead.
Good time to pick a fight.
I think that if I pick a fight then maybe I won't miss him so much. :-)
But no, better not to leave on a bad note right? Say goodbye with a light kiss, a light-hearted goodbye, talk soon, take care. Do this despite the lump in the throat. The kids will hug his knees and wave goodbye as usual, gathering around as he heaves the suitcase into the waiting cab. I'll let Trinity do my wailing for me. She always does - because she, like me, hates to stay home. Especially when someone else is jetting off to a place like Paris! :-)
Somehow the week ahead always drags by when KH is not around. You would think I'd gotten used to this by now right? I'm thankful he does not travel as often as he used to. And my hat goes off to women married to the road warriors who travel ever so often. I don't know how they do this. For this week at least I have to play mother and father to the five kids. Its not so much the energy-sapping routine - that I can live with. Its the loneliness that you feel in the bones that is tough.
The way to feel better is to distract myself of course.
Well, I have to work on my paper on Women's Health Services, then the one on Early Childhood Health. Then bring Owain to NSC for his hair check-up on Tuesday. Sort out the website. Meet a dear old friend for lunch on Thursday. On Friday maybe I will try out the oyako-don recipe but substituting the chicken for unagi instead (it is a no-meat day!). I also have delicious books to look forward to: one by Lorna Landvik and Neil Gaiman's latest collection of short stories.
I've also decided to sorta 'homeschool' (haha!) Owain and Cait for half an hour every day. For now, we will work on Time, pre-writing skills for Owain, writing skills for Cait, some painting perhaps. Gillian and Isaac need to prepare for their exams too. So we will be busy and hopefully the days will fly by.
Meanwhile, tomorrow is Sunday - Sundays are hardest without daddy because I can't drive and we so enjoy our meandering Sunday drives! But I won't just stay home. Staying at home in a blue fog is terrible! Maybe it's time to watch Meet The Robinsons? Go for a Ramen Ramen treat? No, I think I will keep the Ramen-Ramen treat for next Sunday. Dinner tomorrow will be pasta vongole. Lunch will be pork/liver/kidney/intestines mee sua. Yum. I am clearly using food as a distraction.
Meanwhile, I have charged the man NOT to leave the Lourve or the Musee d'Orsay without something for me from the museum shops. I'd even be happy with a fridge magnet of Rodin's Thinker! So when he is in Paris, I will be looking through our albums thinking of our time in Paris more than 10 years ago. When he is doing sign language to baffled Parisians asking for the nearest toilet, I will practise my French at the dining table with the kids. And we will all think of him.
I wonder how it will still be possible to be lonely with the noisy chatter and clatter of five kids around me? But invariably, it always is.
KH leaves for Paris and Casablanca tonight. I will miss him. As usual, before he leaves for a trip, my heart feels heavy and my face is always glum thinking of the week ahead.
Good time to pick a fight.
I think that if I pick a fight then maybe I won't miss him so much. :-)
But no, better not to leave on a bad note right? Say goodbye with a light kiss, a light-hearted goodbye, talk soon, take care. Do this despite the lump in the throat. The kids will hug his knees and wave goodbye as usual, gathering around as he heaves the suitcase into the waiting cab. I'll let Trinity do my wailing for me. She always does - because she, like me, hates to stay home. Especially when someone else is jetting off to a place like Paris! :-)
Somehow the week ahead always drags by when KH is not around. You would think I'd gotten used to this by now right? I'm thankful he does not travel as often as he used to. And my hat goes off to women married to the road warriors who travel ever so often. I don't know how they do this. For this week at least I have to play mother and father to the five kids. Its not so much the energy-sapping routine - that I can live with. Its the loneliness that you feel in the bones that is tough.
The way to feel better is to distract myself of course.
Well, I have to work on my paper on Women's Health Services, then the one on Early Childhood Health. Then bring Owain to NSC for his hair check-up on Tuesday. Sort out the website. Meet a dear old friend for lunch on Thursday. On Friday maybe I will try out the oyako-don recipe but substituting the chicken for unagi instead (it is a no-meat day!). I also have delicious books to look forward to: one by Lorna Landvik and Neil Gaiman's latest collection of short stories.
I've also decided to sorta 'homeschool' (haha!) Owain and Cait for half an hour every day. For now, we will work on Time, pre-writing skills for Owain, writing skills for Cait, some painting perhaps. Gillian and Isaac need to prepare for their exams too. So we will be busy and hopefully the days will fly by.
Meanwhile, tomorrow is Sunday - Sundays are hardest without daddy because I can't drive and we so enjoy our meandering Sunday drives! But I won't just stay home. Staying at home in a blue fog is terrible! Maybe it's time to watch Meet The Robinsons? Go for a Ramen Ramen treat? No, I think I will keep the Ramen-Ramen treat for next Sunday. Dinner tomorrow will be pasta vongole. Lunch will be pork/liver/kidney/intestines mee sua. Yum. I am clearly using food as a distraction.
Meanwhile, I have charged the man NOT to leave the Lourve or the Musee d'Orsay without something for me from the museum shops. I'd even be happy with a fridge magnet of Rodin's Thinker! So when he is in Paris, I will be looking through our albums thinking of our time in Paris more than 10 years ago. When he is doing sign language to baffled Parisians asking for the nearest toilet, I will practise my French at the dining table with the kids. And we will all think of him.
I wonder how it will still be possible to be lonely with the noisy chatter and clatter of five kids around me? But invariably, it always is.
Rush hour
The toy de jour: Rush Hour. Not the kids' edition but the adult edition.
The colourful little toy cars caught the kids' eye. Rather than let them play with the loose pieces and lose them one by one, I made them sit down and try an actual puzzle.
It was a big hit. Now Owain and Cait are fighting over who gets to play Rush Hour a.k.a The Car Game. I get to use Rush Hour as a promise for 'after you get home from school', 'after mummy gets home from work', 'after you bathe/eat/sleep' etc.
When I am on the PC, as now, Owain or Cait would play Rush Hour on the floor next to me.
Both of them are now at the Intermediate level, playing Intermediate cards from both Set 1 and Set 2. I find that going beyond Intermediate is generally too hard for them although Owain has solved puzzles from the Advanced level, but these are rare.
Playing Rush Hour reinforces concentration, attention, logical thinking and builds confidence in their own skills. They learn patience and perseverence because I tell them not to give up even if they get stumped. They do tend to ask me when the puzzles stump them. But I tell them to take their time to solve it. If they can't do it now, take a break, come back to it later (unless the other kid is breathing down his/her neck to solve it so that s/he can get a turn). And when they do solve it, they are elated. There is also some 'competition' among both Cait and Owain. Each gets a bit smug when the other can't do a puzzle and s/he can.
I like games of logic and thinking. I also like board games. Many a happy hour was spent with my siblings when growing up, playing monopoly. Today in my house, there is Monopoly, Risk, The Game of Life, Cluedo etc.
We now have Sudoku in the house which Caitlin plays. I am eyeing Blokus. The stuff from this site: http://www.familydiy.com/online.aspx is also interesting but a bit expensive. I also like the stuff from Borders - expensive stuff but not often seen in the usual toy stores.
The toy de jour: Rush Hour. Not the kids' edition but the adult edition.
The colourful little toy cars caught the kids' eye. Rather than let them play with the loose pieces and lose them one by one, I made them sit down and try an actual puzzle.
It was a big hit. Now Owain and Cait are fighting over who gets to play Rush Hour a.k.a The Car Game. I get to use Rush Hour as a promise for 'after you get home from school', 'after mummy gets home from work', 'after you bathe/eat/sleep' etc.
When I am on the PC, as now, Owain or Cait would play Rush Hour on the floor next to me.
Both of them are now at the Intermediate level, playing Intermediate cards from both Set 1 and Set 2. I find that going beyond Intermediate is generally too hard for them although Owain has solved puzzles from the Advanced level, but these are rare.
Playing Rush Hour reinforces concentration, attention, logical thinking and builds confidence in their own skills. They learn patience and perseverence because I tell them not to give up even if they get stumped. They do tend to ask me when the puzzles stump them. But I tell them to take their time to solve it. If they can't do it now, take a break, come back to it later (unless the other kid is breathing down his/her neck to solve it so that s/he can get a turn). And when they do solve it, they are elated. There is also some 'competition' among both Cait and Owain. Each gets a bit smug when the other can't do a puzzle and s/he can.
I like games of logic and thinking. I also like board games. Many a happy hour was spent with my siblings when growing up, playing monopoly. Today in my house, there is Monopoly, Risk, The Game of Life, Cluedo etc.
We now have Sudoku in the house which Caitlin plays. I am eyeing Blokus. The stuff from this site: http://www.familydiy.com/online.aspx is also interesting but a bit expensive. I also like the stuff from Borders - expensive stuff but not often seen in the usual toy stores.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Gillian: in retrospect
I was just happily telling KH the other day: I think my relationship with Gillian is improving a bit .
It's true. For one, I no longer dislike her so intensely.
That sounds like a terrible thing to say, but at one time in my life, I actually disliked Gillian very, very much. The resentment, the anger, the frustration all boiled up to form a very potent dislike which bordered on the H word.
People are always shocked when I say this. How, they demand, can you say this about your own daughter?
But why not? All the stuff about unconditional love etc. That sounds really noble, yes. Yet, human relationships and human dynamics are rarely built along the lines of platitudes like 'unconditional love'. We interact with different personalities, push different buttons. If there is one thing I've learned from all this, it's that mothers need to give themselves permission to feel human - not supermom, loving all etc. Children are all individuals and so are we. Love requires effort. And for Gillian and me - it required more effort than I thought.
It was not always like that.
When she was born, she was my everything. Ask anyone who knew me then. Lavished with love and attention. She could do no wrong. She was charming, so adorable. Then when the ADHD-dyslexia surfaced, as she hit P1, everything that I loved about her disintegrated.
Coaching her in school work was hell on earth. IS hell on earth. I still shudder when I think of those days. And I shudder to think of the monster mother that I was. Did I cane her in a morass of frustration and anger? Oh yes. Many times. Yet I recall the first time I caned her in anger, I also hugged her in remorse. But after a while, what was scary for me was not about the fact that I caned her, but the fact that I no longer felt any remorse. I felt nothing but intense, vicious dislike and resentment.
And because I felt like this, behaved like this, I felt unworthy as a mother. Tainted. What was wrong with me? Why did I treat my daughter like this? One, whom not so long ago, I had loved and cherished as a baby? Where did that girl go? Why did she turn out like this? Why did I turn out like this? I struggled with the belief that it can't be normal for a mother to dislike her child so intensely.
Her schoolwork was the catalyst. It is very very hard coaching someone who has trouble with the retention of facts, someone who finds difficulty in logic, sequencing and processing. She had difficulty in every area of her work - english (reading), maths, chinese etc. She was disorganised and messy. Her handwriting (and this is still so today!) was illegible and untidy. You could teach her, say, addition of fractions today and maybe she would get it (if it was a good day). But the next day, she would make the same mistakes, display absolutely no memory of what was taught the previous day and totally no understanding at all! It was bizarre! But so stressful.
Socially, she had problems too. She was so impulsive (thanks to the ADHD) that she would get carried away and play would end up rough (with someone else in tears) or she would be bossy, rude and demanding. She had trouble making friends. Still has. Girls found it hard to be nice to her because she could be so prickly. Even the cousins she adored viewed her with caution, leaving her out on occasion. Lying became a problem, taking someone else's things without permission (sometimes money) became a problem. Cheating is still a problem!
Other people outside the family saw a different side to her. They saw the side where she took care of her siblings, she was always forgiving, ready to share. They saw her as caring, loving and affectionate. By nature, she is an optimistic, happy-go-lucky girl. You could give her a big scolding today and by dinnertime, she'd gotten over it. It just slides right off her back! She does not harbour anger. I think she just wants to have a good time, to have a good life but (and herein lies the danger) wants it the easy way.
Funny thing is, I always felt that God answered my prayers. I had thought long and hard about what gifts to ask for her back then, she being my first child. And at last I came up with happiness. I asked God to give her the gift of being happy. Doesn't matter if she is rich or poor, smart or dumb, but give her the gift of finding happiness in her life.
I guess He gave me what I asked for.
It was, still is, a struggle to parent her. And as I said, I disliked her. I disliked myself and my behaviour. I also felt misunderstood - people (my friends, colleagues, parents) just did not understand how hard it was. They saw one aspect of her behaviour, saw my response and judged me on it. They could not see where I was coming from. And they could not comprehend the possibility that her character and mine could just rub sparks off the wrong way.
It was a tough couple of years.
I don't know exactly what was crunch time. But I knew that I was very down about it all. My blood pressure was rising and I felt hopeless and helpless - as a mother. So KH decided to leave his job - a very well-paid one - so that he could spend more time at home. The money was great but the job meant frequent travelling, long nights at work, weekends shmoozing on golf courses, conference calls from home etc. The kids hardly saw him. So he gave it up. Not many men would do this, so I realise that I am blessed.
Net result - he took over coaching Gillian. I distanced myself. I concentrated on the younger kids. I still did not like her, I still resented her. But in recent months, I think I have reconnected with the key role I started with - mothering. Not a coach, not a tutor, not a life-planner - just a mother.
I can never undo the past. The regret will always linger. And we're not out of the woods yet - we still have trust issues to work on. But I feel more optimistic now about myself as a mother and my feelings for her.
Maybe because she is growing up, and the maturity makes impulsivity less of a problem? Maybe taking a step back has helped me see her as a person? Maybe I am mellowing? Who knows?
I think I have come to terms with the ADHD etc, and what it does to her. I have come to terms with her academic standard and what this means for the rest of her life. I think that what she needs from me, as a mother, is just to BE - not fix it. We listen, we give our opinions and the wisdom of our life experiences. But we can never fix our children's lives the way we want it to be.
Which brings me full circle. I said in the beginning: love requires effort. Maybe when we have to work so hard for it, keep reconstructing it, that we really see the depth and breadth of love. I've learnt that emotional distance does not mean that one no longer loves. But keeping an emotional distance helps to heal. Gillian and I have some way to go before we can even be considered 'close' and there will be ups and downs along the way - with teenhood round the corner and those challenges, there will definitely be rocky bits.
But today at least, I feel optimistic. I no longer 'dislike intensely' my girl and I feel better about myself as mother. And that's a start right?
I was just happily telling KH the other day: I think my relationship with Gillian is improving a bit .
It's true. For one, I no longer dislike her so intensely.
That sounds like a terrible thing to say, but at one time in my life, I actually disliked Gillian very, very much. The resentment, the anger, the frustration all boiled up to form a very potent dislike which bordered on the H word.
People are always shocked when I say this. How, they demand, can you say this about your own daughter?
But why not? All the stuff about unconditional love etc. That sounds really noble, yes. Yet, human relationships and human dynamics are rarely built along the lines of platitudes like 'unconditional love'. We interact with different personalities, push different buttons. If there is one thing I've learned from all this, it's that mothers need to give themselves permission to feel human - not supermom, loving all etc. Children are all individuals and so are we. Love requires effort. And for Gillian and me - it required more effort than I thought.
It was not always like that.
When she was born, she was my everything. Ask anyone who knew me then. Lavished with love and attention. She could do no wrong. She was charming, so adorable. Then when the ADHD-dyslexia surfaced, as she hit P1, everything that I loved about her disintegrated.
Coaching her in school work was hell on earth. IS hell on earth. I still shudder when I think of those days. And I shudder to think of the monster mother that I was. Did I cane her in a morass of frustration and anger? Oh yes. Many times. Yet I recall the first time I caned her in anger, I also hugged her in remorse. But after a while, what was scary for me was not about the fact that I caned her, but the fact that I no longer felt any remorse. I felt nothing but intense, vicious dislike and resentment.
And because I felt like this, behaved like this, I felt unworthy as a mother. Tainted. What was wrong with me? Why did I treat my daughter like this? One, whom not so long ago, I had loved and cherished as a baby? Where did that girl go? Why did she turn out like this? Why did I turn out like this? I struggled with the belief that it can't be normal for a mother to dislike her child so intensely.
Her schoolwork was the catalyst. It is very very hard coaching someone who has trouble with the retention of facts, someone who finds difficulty in logic, sequencing and processing. She had difficulty in every area of her work - english (reading), maths, chinese etc. She was disorganised and messy. Her handwriting (and this is still so today!) was illegible and untidy. You could teach her, say, addition of fractions today and maybe she would get it (if it was a good day). But the next day, she would make the same mistakes, display absolutely no memory of what was taught the previous day and totally no understanding at all! It was bizarre! But so stressful.
Socially, she had problems too. She was so impulsive (thanks to the ADHD) that she would get carried away and play would end up rough (with someone else in tears) or she would be bossy, rude and demanding. She had trouble making friends. Still has. Girls found it hard to be nice to her because she could be so prickly. Even the cousins she adored viewed her with caution, leaving her out on occasion. Lying became a problem, taking someone else's things without permission (sometimes money) became a problem. Cheating is still a problem!
Other people outside the family saw a different side to her. They saw the side where she took care of her siblings, she was always forgiving, ready to share. They saw her as caring, loving and affectionate. By nature, she is an optimistic, happy-go-lucky girl. You could give her a big scolding today and by dinnertime, she'd gotten over it. It just slides right off her back! She does not harbour anger. I think she just wants to have a good time, to have a good life but (and herein lies the danger) wants it the easy way.
Funny thing is, I always felt that God answered my prayers. I had thought long and hard about what gifts to ask for her back then, she being my first child. And at last I came up with happiness. I asked God to give her the gift of being happy. Doesn't matter if she is rich or poor, smart or dumb, but give her the gift of finding happiness in her life.
I guess He gave me what I asked for.
It was, still is, a struggle to parent her. And as I said, I disliked her. I disliked myself and my behaviour. I also felt misunderstood - people (my friends, colleagues, parents) just did not understand how hard it was. They saw one aspect of her behaviour, saw my response and judged me on it. They could not see where I was coming from. And they could not comprehend the possibility that her character and mine could just rub sparks off the wrong way.
It was a tough couple of years.
I don't know exactly what was crunch time. But I knew that I was very down about it all. My blood pressure was rising and I felt hopeless and helpless - as a mother. So KH decided to leave his job - a very well-paid one - so that he could spend more time at home. The money was great but the job meant frequent travelling, long nights at work, weekends shmoozing on golf courses, conference calls from home etc. The kids hardly saw him. So he gave it up. Not many men would do this, so I realise that I am blessed.
Net result - he took over coaching Gillian. I distanced myself. I concentrated on the younger kids. I still did not like her, I still resented her. But in recent months, I think I have reconnected with the key role I started with - mothering. Not a coach, not a tutor, not a life-planner - just a mother.
I can never undo the past. The regret will always linger. And we're not out of the woods yet - we still have trust issues to work on. But I feel more optimistic now about myself as a mother and my feelings for her.
Maybe because she is growing up, and the maturity makes impulsivity less of a problem? Maybe taking a step back has helped me see her as a person? Maybe I am mellowing? Who knows?
I think I have come to terms with the ADHD etc, and what it does to her. I have come to terms with her academic standard and what this means for the rest of her life. I think that what she needs from me, as a mother, is just to BE - not fix it. We listen, we give our opinions and the wisdom of our life experiences. But we can never fix our children's lives the way we want it to be.
Which brings me full circle. I said in the beginning: love requires effort. Maybe when we have to work so hard for it, keep reconstructing it, that we really see the depth and breadth of love. I've learnt that emotional distance does not mean that one no longer loves. But keeping an emotional distance helps to heal. Gillian and I have some way to go before we can even be considered 'close' and there will be ups and downs along the way - with teenhood round the corner and those challenges, there will definitely be rocky bits.
But today at least, I feel optimistic. I no longer 'dislike intensely' my girl and I feel better about myself as mother. And that's a start right?
Monday, April 16, 2007
playing catch-up!
I am behind on my blog. Been busy trying to finish my papers for the Grad Dip. Three more papers and I am SO done! Sending the first lot off to Australia tomorrow. And hopefully will finish the next three in the coming two weeks or so. KH is flying off to Paris/Casablanca for some training soon - lucky devil! - so I reckon I will have time over the weekend to swot and tie all my stuff together.
Also been busy trying to get the Birthright webby up to speed. Content-wise about 80% done. Just need to make final decision re who to do the stuff. Acidprint is not expensive but the template webbys look sadly dreadful. I do have the option to buy one of those attractive templates from another provider and get some web genius to just upload my info (since I don't have the relevant skills/software to do this). I want to tie this up by this week. Don't want to dilly-dally anymore.
Also in the mood to do major spring-cleaning. Cleaned out the kids' wardrobe and mine over the weekend. As Isaac commented: Mum looks like she is getting organised!
Yes, finally. No kidding. If my kid can see the change, it must be dramatic enough. So now you know what kind of sea-slug I usually am at home. :-)
Meanwhile to update the blog...
Isaac received his two awards - the kumon thing and the Merit Award at SJI Jr. We were there clapping away/snapping photos at his Merit Award ceremony - basically doing the proud-parent routine. After that I treated him to a book at Borders. So he was happy! Mass at SJI Jr with the boys also brought back nostalgic memories of mass in the lovely Marymount Convent chapel in my school days.
Also, Cait and Isaac finally did the runway thing they have been excitedly waiting for! At the recent launch of the book >60 at TP, they were part of the fashion show showing clothes from all ages - kids to matured women. They wore clothes designed by 2nd year students from the Apparel Design and Merchandising course. Inspired by Japanese manga, the clothes looked unique and cute.
So over two days, we spent time at the catwalk rehearsing etc. At first, they were super-stiff. No smile, no wave, no bopping down the catwalk. They looked like scared rabbits caught in headlights. No, actually I think rabbits show more signs of life than those two. Kudos to the very patient show choreographer Hideki, for his patience! Someone once said that working with kids and animals was the hardest job and I agree!
Isaac commented that this modelling thing is harder than he thought! But after much prodding of the lifeless, they finally did me proud on the day itself. They stole the show by being the only kids in the group not to muff the routine, to smile hugely, prancing down, pausing to pose with their props, waving to the VIPs to the delight of the audience. KH was ecstatic, videoing the whole process. I was the proud mama of course - busy thanking God they didn't screw up in front of my colleagues and bosses - kidding! I was just glad they had a good time and a good experience like that. Doesn't come everyday.
And for Isaac, the icing on the cake was being able to chat and shake hands with MCYS Minister, Dr Vivian Balakrishnan after the show. Minister bumped into them while on his rounds to check out the exhibits and stopped to shake hands with the kids. We also had a brief chat about the kids, how many kids we both had, the age gaps etc. As usual, I get the raised eyebrow when I say I have 5 to his 4. Pity I forgot to sell my usual koyok about the baby bonus! Isaac and Cait were so pumped by the encounter that they printed out the photographs of them chatting with the minister and showed their classmates!
Last week was hectic. On Tuesday, I rushed from work to SGH to interview the NM of labour ward for one of my papers. Then rushed to pick up Isaac from school because the silly boy had forgotten totally about staying back for NAPFA as well as his EZ link card and so could not get home by himself. From there, rushed to Gillian's school to listen to the P6 briefing.
I dunno about other parents but it was daunting to hear stuff like: "We encourage our girls to read advanced books. At P5, they should not be reading Enid Blyton! We have girls who have completed The Da Vinci Code and books by Jeffrey Archer!"
Wah. I know that up to the age of 16 or so, I was still flipping my well-loved well-worn copies of Malory Towers, St Clares etc. Yeah, I was reading other stuff but why should Enid Blyton be sniffed at? I'd rather they read Enid Blyton than not read at all! Especially people like Gillian, for example, who loathe to read, would be better off picking up an Enid Blyton (at whatever age) than not reading at all. And come to think of it, why should the Da Vinci Code be considered a good book for impressionable 12-year-olds to read, given the religious controversy?
I thought the presentation on PSLE would be stressful to the parents sitting there. I was almost glad that we didn't have to face all the stress since Gillian is in EM3 and facing a different yardstick. Incidentally, the school wants her to see a counselor. They think she's got self-esteem problems. sigh. I have no objections. I think the school is trying everything they know to boost her chances and I am grateful. I am not sure if counselling is what she needs or if it will help in the short space of time available though. But I do know one thing: she has got very very caring teachers this year and thank God for them at least. Never before have I had so many long chats with the teachers about her progress! Will post more on Gillian in a different post.
Other than that, things are pretty much the same at Riang.
The stray cats still come into our garden to poo. The Incredible Hulk still sits in a corner of my sink glaring at us when we brush our teeth. Polly Pocket's tiny flip-flops and bikinis still lie on my bookshelf. Books still get strewn around the dining table, coffee table, on the cistern in the toilet... I still get stabbed in the back by a Bionicle's sword when I loll around the sofa.
And I still get melted chocolate in my handbag. Yes, a forgotten leftover from Easter. One of the kids left a choc egg in the bag. I don't know which one.
I only re-discovered the long-lost egg (what was left of it) one recent weekday when I was rushing to open my room door in the office and the key came out of the bag smeared with melted choc. Even after I had cleared most of the gooey mess from my bag, my wallet, my keys, etc, the choc still haunted me hours later as I sat in a training room sniffing out the choc trail. Apparently, I missed cleaning my staff pass and dog-tag so I had choc happily smeared onto my white shawl, my clothes etc. Argh!
I am behind on my blog. Been busy trying to finish my papers for the Grad Dip. Three more papers and I am SO done! Sending the first lot off to Australia tomorrow. And hopefully will finish the next three in the coming two weeks or so. KH is flying off to Paris/Casablanca for some training soon - lucky devil! - so I reckon I will have time over the weekend to swot and tie all my stuff together.
Also been busy trying to get the Birthright webby up to speed. Content-wise about 80% done. Just need to make final decision re who to do the stuff. Acidprint is not expensive but the template webbys look sadly dreadful. I do have the option to buy one of those attractive templates from another provider and get some web genius to just upload my info (since I don't have the relevant skills/software to do this). I want to tie this up by this week. Don't want to dilly-dally anymore.
Also in the mood to do major spring-cleaning. Cleaned out the kids' wardrobe and mine over the weekend. As Isaac commented: Mum looks like she is getting organised!
Yes, finally. No kidding. If my kid can see the change, it must be dramatic enough. So now you know what kind of sea-slug I usually am at home. :-)
Meanwhile to update the blog...
Isaac received his two awards - the kumon thing and the Merit Award at SJI Jr. We were there clapping away/snapping photos at his Merit Award ceremony - basically doing the proud-parent routine. After that I treated him to a book at Borders. So he was happy! Mass at SJI Jr with the boys also brought back nostalgic memories of mass in the lovely Marymount Convent chapel in my school days.
Also, Cait and Isaac finally did the runway thing they have been excitedly waiting for! At the recent launch of the book >60 at TP, they were part of the fashion show showing clothes from all ages - kids to matured women. They wore clothes designed by 2nd year students from the Apparel Design and Merchandising course. Inspired by Japanese manga, the clothes looked unique and cute.
So over two days, we spent time at the catwalk rehearsing etc. At first, they were super-stiff. No smile, no wave, no bopping down the catwalk. They looked like scared rabbits caught in headlights. No, actually I think rabbits show more signs of life than those two. Kudos to the very patient show choreographer Hideki, for his patience! Someone once said that working with kids and animals was the hardest job and I agree!
Isaac commented that this modelling thing is harder than he thought! But after much prodding of the lifeless, they finally did me proud on the day itself. They stole the show by being the only kids in the group not to muff the routine, to smile hugely, prancing down, pausing to pose with their props, waving to the VIPs to the delight of the audience. KH was ecstatic, videoing the whole process. I was the proud mama of course - busy thanking God they didn't screw up in front of my colleagues and bosses - kidding! I was just glad they had a good time and a good experience like that. Doesn't come everyday.
And for Isaac, the icing on the cake was being able to chat and shake hands with MCYS Minister, Dr Vivian Balakrishnan after the show. Minister bumped into them while on his rounds to check out the exhibits and stopped to shake hands with the kids. We also had a brief chat about the kids, how many kids we both had, the age gaps etc. As usual, I get the raised eyebrow when I say I have 5 to his 4. Pity I forgot to sell my usual koyok about the baby bonus! Isaac and Cait were so pumped by the encounter that they printed out the photographs of them chatting with the minister and showed their classmates!
Last week was hectic. On Tuesday, I rushed from work to SGH to interview the NM of labour ward for one of my papers. Then rushed to pick up Isaac from school because the silly boy had forgotten totally about staying back for NAPFA as well as his EZ link card and so could not get home by himself. From there, rushed to Gillian's school to listen to the P6 briefing.
I dunno about other parents but it was daunting to hear stuff like: "We encourage our girls to read advanced books. At P5, they should not be reading Enid Blyton! We have girls who have completed The Da Vinci Code and books by Jeffrey Archer!"
Wah. I know that up to the age of 16 or so, I was still flipping my well-loved well-worn copies of Malory Towers, St Clares etc. Yeah, I was reading other stuff but why should Enid Blyton be sniffed at? I'd rather they read Enid Blyton than not read at all! Especially people like Gillian, for example, who loathe to read, would be better off picking up an Enid Blyton (at whatever age) than not reading at all. And come to think of it, why should the Da Vinci Code be considered a good book for impressionable 12-year-olds to read, given the religious controversy?
I thought the presentation on PSLE would be stressful to the parents sitting there. I was almost glad that we didn't have to face all the stress since Gillian is in EM3 and facing a different yardstick. Incidentally, the school wants her to see a counselor. They think she's got self-esteem problems. sigh. I have no objections. I think the school is trying everything they know to boost her chances and I am grateful. I am not sure if counselling is what she needs or if it will help in the short space of time available though. But I do know one thing: she has got very very caring teachers this year and thank God for them at least. Never before have I had so many long chats with the teachers about her progress! Will post more on Gillian in a different post.
Other than that, things are pretty much the same at Riang.
The stray cats still come into our garden to poo. The Incredible Hulk still sits in a corner of my sink glaring at us when we brush our teeth. Polly Pocket's tiny flip-flops and bikinis still lie on my bookshelf. Books still get strewn around the dining table, coffee table, on the cistern in the toilet... I still get stabbed in the back by a Bionicle's sword when I loll around the sofa.
And I still get melted chocolate in my handbag. Yes, a forgotten leftover from Easter. One of the kids left a choc egg in the bag. I don't know which one.
I only re-discovered the long-lost egg (what was left of it) one recent weekday when I was rushing to open my room door in the office and the key came out of the bag smeared with melted choc. Even after I had cleared most of the gooey mess from my bag, my wallet, my keys, etc, the choc still haunted me hours later as I sat in a training room sniffing out the choc trail. Apparently, I missed cleaning my staff pass and dog-tag so I had choc happily smeared onto my white shawl, my clothes etc. Argh!
Monday, April 09, 2007
And speaking of dreams...
Not only did I want to be a fashion designer once upon a time.
I also wanted to be (a) a famous novelist (b) a successful lawyer (c) a glam globe-trotting journalist.
Plan A was my fondest dream. My old secondary school pals can attest to the many short stories (romantic trash!) that I wrote for them to read. They all had the same plot - beautiful heroine, handsome hero, tragic ending! In my stories, no one worked for a living but lived mysterious lives in glamourous surroundings! Hah - I wish! Plan A sort of quietly fizzled into oblivion as the years went by.
I think Plan B died a natural death when I could not make it to Uni.
The closest I came to my dream job, I guess, was in Plan C. Yes, I did become a journalist. Though it certainly was not globe-trotting. The furtherest I went in the name of the job was to Batam!!
My first job after 'A' levels took me to SBC then the Singapore Broadcasting Corporation, where I wrote for the RTV Times, the forerunner of 8 Days. Where, despite my pathetic state of Mandarin, I managed to struggle through interviews with Xiang Yun, Chen Zhicai, Zoe Tay and the Star Search bunch etc and HK, Taiwanese celebs - mind-boggling! The pay was low - $800+ was my first pay-check. Hardly the glam life I wanted. But it was fun and got me off to a decent start. Where else can you sit at the same table as Julio Iglesias for lunch or chat with David Copperfield over tea? (Yes, his eyes are very piercingly dark and no, I cannot confirm the raw meat in the hotel room rumour.)
From hobnobbing with the celebs on Caldecott Hill, it was off to hobnobbing with authors and the literati at book launches, autograph-signing sessions and so on. My favourite trio of writers - funnyman Colin Goh, angsty Colin Cheong and intense Nicky Moey, possibly the best horror writer we have in Singapore. Baptism of fire it was at Times where I spent two years. Everything I learnt about marketing, sales, book editing, publicity, media relations, advertising, I learnt at Times thanks to my fire-breathing dragon lady boss.
Then it was off to another 'glam' (haha) job as editor for Teens mag - this time hobnobbing with boybands, attending product launches, fashion shoots etc.
Nowhere in those early days did pregnancy, labour, birth and breastfeeding figure in as a career option. And certainly nowhere in those dreams were there five (count 'em!) kids/babies hanging around!
I cannot imagine life without my five rascals in my little yellow house at Riang. But at the same time, I wouldn't change the way my life has evolved. Everything I am today is the nett result of all my life experiences.
How life changes. Who knows what life holds around the next corner? But I bet it would be fun finding out.
Not only did I want to be a fashion designer once upon a time.
I also wanted to be (a) a famous novelist (b) a successful lawyer (c) a glam globe-trotting journalist.
Plan A was my fondest dream. My old secondary school pals can attest to the many short stories (romantic trash!) that I wrote for them to read. They all had the same plot - beautiful heroine, handsome hero, tragic ending! In my stories, no one worked for a living but lived mysterious lives in glamourous surroundings! Hah - I wish! Plan A sort of quietly fizzled into oblivion as the years went by.
I think Plan B died a natural death when I could not make it to Uni.
The closest I came to my dream job, I guess, was in Plan C. Yes, I did become a journalist. Though it certainly was not globe-trotting. The furtherest I went in the name of the job was to Batam!!
My first job after 'A' levels took me to SBC then the Singapore Broadcasting Corporation, where I wrote for the RTV Times, the forerunner of 8 Days. Where, despite my pathetic state of Mandarin, I managed to struggle through interviews with Xiang Yun, Chen Zhicai, Zoe Tay and the Star Search bunch etc and HK, Taiwanese celebs - mind-boggling! The pay was low - $800+ was my first pay-check. Hardly the glam life I wanted. But it was fun and got me off to a decent start. Where else can you sit at the same table as Julio Iglesias for lunch or chat with David Copperfield over tea? (Yes, his eyes are very piercingly dark and no, I cannot confirm the raw meat in the hotel room rumour.)
From hobnobbing with the celebs on Caldecott Hill, it was off to hobnobbing with authors and the literati at book launches, autograph-signing sessions and so on. My favourite trio of writers - funnyman Colin Goh, angsty Colin Cheong and intense Nicky Moey, possibly the best horror writer we have in Singapore. Baptism of fire it was at Times where I spent two years. Everything I learnt about marketing, sales, book editing, publicity, media relations, advertising, I learnt at Times thanks to my fire-breathing dragon lady boss.
Then it was off to another 'glam' (haha) job as editor for Teens mag - this time hobnobbing with boybands, attending product launches, fashion shoots etc.
Nowhere in those early days did pregnancy, labour, birth and breastfeeding figure in as a career option. And certainly nowhere in those dreams were there five (count 'em!) kids/babies hanging around!
I cannot imagine life without my five rascals in my little yellow house at Riang. But at the same time, I wouldn't change the way my life has evolved. Everything I am today is the nett result of all my life experiences.
How life changes. Who knows what life holds around the next corner? But I bet it would be fun finding out.
"Mummy, draw for me!"
Caitlin is very much into drawing, little sketches of girly-girls - girls in skirts, with long hair, holding onto leashes, smelling flowers, brides in flowing gowns, ballerinas in tutus... and she often asks me to "draw one girl please!"
These requests have awoken a long-forgotten keen-ness in sketching. I draw princesses with crowns, socialites in haute couture, gloved ladies in hats. She is enthralled. And so am I.
I remember as a child, very faint echoes of my own "draw your wedding gown for me mummy!" to my mother. And I remember, she would draw (to me at least!) lovely, flowy gowns and veils - and yes, it would always be her wedding gown, looking identical to the black and white photographs pasted in the album.
My love for drawing and sketching followed me all the way till I was 11 or 12. I sketched clothes. I wanted to be a fashion designer. Chanel, Lagerfeld, Lanvin, Yves St Laurent - my idols! I remember wanting to take part in the Her World Young Designer's Contest in 1979! I had cut out the coupon in the magazine, sketched out some clothes, seriously considered getting fabric swatches, and proudly showed my relatives who dutifully oohed and ahhed over the drawings. When did that dream die? I guess when the results came out and I saw the lovely sketches done by Thomas Wee. Ah then I must have realised the great divide between amateurs and professionals! ;-)
But looking back, what I think I am grateful for is the fact that no one ever poured cold water on an 11-year-old's dreams.
They must have known but no one ever said: little girl, you have the talent of a gnat compared to the greats! And for that, I am grateful - at least I had a couple of years believing that I might actually one day be a star on the Parisian fashion scene!
I don't think Cait nurtures such aspirations - she just loves to draw. And I'm happy to draw for her as long as she wants.
Caitlin is very much into drawing, little sketches of girly-girls - girls in skirts, with long hair, holding onto leashes, smelling flowers, brides in flowing gowns, ballerinas in tutus... and she often asks me to "draw one girl please!"
These requests have awoken a long-forgotten keen-ness in sketching. I draw princesses with crowns, socialites in haute couture, gloved ladies in hats. She is enthralled. And so am I.
I remember as a child, very faint echoes of my own "draw your wedding gown for me mummy!" to my mother. And I remember, she would draw (to me at least!) lovely, flowy gowns and veils - and yes, it would always be her wedding gown, looking identical to the black and white photographs pasted in the album.
My love for drawing and sketching followed me all the way till I was 11 or 12. I sketched clothes. I wanted to be a fashion designer. Chanel, Lagerfeld, Lanvin, Yves St Laurent - my idols! I remember wanting to take part in the Her World Young Designer's Contest in 1979! I had cut out the coupon in the magazine, sketched out some clothes, seriously considered getting fabric swatches, and proudly showed my relatives who dutifully oohed and ahhed over the drawings. When did that dream die? I guess when the results came out and I saw the lovely sketches done by Thomas Wee. Ah then I must have realised the great divide between amateurs and professionals! ;-)
But looking back, what I think I am grateful for is the fact that no one ever poured cold water on an 11-year-old's dreams.
They must have known but no one ever said: little girl, you have the talent of a gnat compared to the greats! And for that, I am grateful - at least I had a couple of years believing that I might actually one day be a star on the Parisian fashion scene!
I don't think Cait nurtures such aspirations - she just loves to draw. And I'm happy to draw for her as long as she wants.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Brat in church?
Attended Good Friday service yesterday afternoon at Risen Christ. The church was packed so we had to go to the upper gallery. Our seats were right at the back. I had Gillian and Isaac only with me. I didn't think the babies would be able to keep still for the whole service, which, including the Stations, easily ran to 2 hours.
Sitting in front of me was a fat boy (I think he was about 8 or 9) and his mother. For the first half an hour, he behaved - standing, kneeling whenever indicated. But after a while he got bored. He started making faces, telling his mother it was boring, and finally, I guess to shut him up, she gave him her handphone.
He fiddled with it and played games. At least it was on silent mode. After a while, he didn't even bother standing/kneeling or participating - he just sat there and played handphone games. When he reached a certain score he would excitedly nudge his mother and show her. Once in a while, his mother would take the phone and look at the score, then return it to him for more playing. When the time came that even the handphone game no longer interested him, he started on his mother. He would leap upclose to her and make faces, talk etc. When she (and I'm guessing here) told him to behave, he made loud hissy exasperated sounds at her. And the woman took it all and did not seem to dare take him in hand. Perhaps she was afraid of making an even bigger scene.
I felt that perhaps the boy should have been prepped before the service. Told the significance, warned it would be long and that he should behave. Otherwise, stay home.
I wondered if perhaps they were not Catholics - they did not go for Communion. But they did venerate the Cross at the end. Either way, Catholic or not, it was discourteous and disrespectful behavior, even though he was not noisy. I wondered that his mother let him get away with it.
Then when I was feeling all self-righteous and disapprovy, I stopped and considered - what about myself? Christ said let the man who has never sinned throw the first stone... So who am I to talk? How much had I done to prep my kids? Yeah, they didn't play with handphones so blatantly. They were not rude to me. There was none of the usual elbowing or jostling with each other. They were quiet, respectful, stood, knelt and sat whenever appropriate.
But this was all external. Just form. No substance. Inside, they must have been thinking of other stuff. I don't think they were contemplating the Passion! I don't think they fully appreciated the importance of the day, of the service. Perhaps I am expecting too much from them? I know that not even all adult Catholics can fully understand or appreciate the ceremony. But some feeling at least? I felt that they were going through the motions, but there was nothing there.
If that is so, what makes them any different from the boy playing handphone games then? What makes me any different from his mother? I too, failed to prep my kids adequately.
And this is something I struggle with during every mass. How to 'make' them feel for God? Its not enough to just go to mass. Do they love Him? Have they met Him? Talked to Him? I bet not. They behave to please me, but that is not enough. Yeah they know the stories, they attend catechism, but faith and knowledge are not equivalent.
I know the answer why of course - my own 'Catholic-ness', my own faith, is not showing through. And if they have no example, can you blame them for not feeling? If I don't act or behave as if God is right there, as if He is real to me, how can I expect the kids to? They live and learn by example after all.
But maybe there's hope yet. At least, that's what the optimist in me is saying! I remembered as a child, I went through all the motions too. Just could not connect. There was no link between me and God. Church for me was this - a time to meet my friends, catch sight of the boy I was having a crush on and just something I had to do - an obligation. I napped during the homilies, went through all the motions, dutifully received Communion, tried to pray but never felt connected. The only thing I enjoyed was the singing. I sang with gusto. I still love singing! But I digress.
So yeah, I was a church-bot. I was in the YCS, in a Catholic school, had pious good Catholic friends who always looked like they had no trouble praying! They were connected - I was not! I had all the semblance of someone with a healthy religious life - but I wasn't. I remember feeling (and still do!) a sense of shame, as if it was just a big sham, that I was trying to be who I was not.
My roots were not strong. To cut a long story short, I questioned, rebelled, strayed, left, returned. Circuitous journey. Today, the mass has a great deal more significance and meaning than it ever did before. I still struggle to pray. I don't know what I am looking for - perhaps a lightning bolt from heaven to say: Yeah, alright already! I heard ya the first time!
My faith today is cyclic - there are days when I feel inspired, empowered, humbled. There are days when I feel... nothing. I wonder if everyone else feels like me. Or am I the odd one out - still a sham.
So when I think back on my journey and consider my kids - perhaps not all hope is gone. One can only keep believing, keep trying to educate/inspire them and hope that one day, in their own journeys, they will find God. Or God will find them. I have faith that it will work out.
Attended Good Friday service yesterday afternoon at Risen Christ. The church was packed so we had to go to the upper gallery. Our seats were right at the back. I had Gillian and Isaac only with me. I didn't think the babies would be able to keep still for the whole service, which, including the Stations, easily ran to 2 hours.
Sitting in front of me was a fat boy (I think he was about 8 or 9) and his mother. For the first half an hour, he behaved - standing, kneeling whenever indicated. But after a while he got bored. He started making faces, telling his mother it was boring, and finally, I guess to shut him up, she gave him her handphone.
He fiddled with it and played games. At least it was on silent mode. After a while, he didn't even bother standing/kneeling or participating - he just sat there and played handphone games. When he reached a certain score he would excitedly nudge his mother and show her. Once in a while, his mother would take the phone and look at the score, then return it to him for more playing. When the time came that even the handphone game no longer interested him, he started on his mother. He would leap upclose to her and make faces, talk etc. When she (and I'm guessing here) told him to behave, he made loud hissy exasperated sounds at her. And the woman took it all and did not seem to dare take him in hand. Perhaps she was afraid of making an even bigger scene.
I felt that perhaps the boy should have been prepped before the service. Told the significance, warned it would be long and that he should behave. Otherwise, stay home.
I wondered if perhaps they were not Catholics - they did not go for Communion. But they did venerate the Cross at the end. Either way, Catholic or not, it was discourteous and disrespectful behavior, even though he was not noisy. I wondered that his mother let him get away with it.
Then when I was feeling all self-righteous and disapprovy, I stopped and considered - what about myself? Christ said let the man who has never sinned throw the first stone... So who am I to talk? How much had I done to prep my kids? Yeah, they didn't play with handphones so blatantly. They were not rude to me. There was none of the usual elbowing or jostling with each other. They were quiet, respectful, stood, knelt and sat whenever appropriate.
But this was all external. Just form. No substance. Inside, they must have been thinking of other stuff. I don't think they were contemplating the Passion! I don't think they fully appreciated the importance of the day, of the service. Perhaps I am expecting too much from them? I know that not even all adult Catholics can fully understand or appreciate the ceremony. But some feeling at least? I felt that they were going through the motions, but there was nothing there.
If that is so, what makes them any different from the boy playing handphone games then? What makes me any different from his mother? I too, failed to prep my kids adequately.
And this is something I struggle with during every mass. How to 'make' them feel for God? Its not enough to just go to mass. Do they love Him? Have they met Him? Talked to Him? I bet not. They behave to please me, but that is not enough. Yeah they know the stories, they attend catechism, but faith and knowledge are not equivalent.
I know the answer why of course - my own 'Catholic-ness', my own faith, is not showing through. And if they have no example, can you blame them for not feeling? If I don't act or behave as if God is right there, as if He is real to me, how can I expect the kids to? They live and learn by example after all.
But maybe there's hope yet. At least, that's what the optimist in me is saying! I remembered as a child, I went through all the motions too. Just could not connect. There was no link between me and God. Church for me was this - a time to meet my friends, catch sight of the boy I was having a crush on and just something I had to do - an obligation. I napped during the homilies, went through all the motions, dutifully received Communion, tried to pray but never felt connected. The only thing I enjoyed was the singing. I sang with gusto. I still love singing! But I digress.
So yeah, I was a church-bot. I was in the YCS, in a Catholic school, had pious good Catholic friends who always looked like they had no trouble praying! They were connected - I was not! I had all the semblance of someone with a healthy religious life - but I wasn't. I remember feeling (and still do!) a sense of shame, as if it was just a big sham, that I was trying to be who I was not.
My roots were not strong. To cut a long story short, I questioned, rebelled, strayed, left, returned. Circuitous journey. Today, the mass has a great deal more significance and meaning than it ever did before. I still struggle to pray. I don't know what I am looking for - perhaps a lightning bolt from heaven to say: Yeah, alright already! I heard ya the first time!
My faith today is cyclic - there are days when I feel inspired, empowered, humbled. There are days when I feel... nothing. I wonder if everyone else feels like me. Or am I the odd one out - still a sham.
So when I think back on my journey and consider my kids - perhaps not all hope is gone. One can only keep believing, keep trying to educate/inspire them and hope that one day, in their own journeys, they will find God. Or God will find them. I have faith that it will work out.
Food... in the middle of the night
Can't sleep so here I am at 4.45am in the morning blogging about food. At least, that was on my mind, playing like a loop reel at 3am when I first got up to pee.
Its been like this for some time. I wake around 3 - 4am to pee. Then I can't go back to sleep. I lie there, listening to the blood drumming in my ears, my mind moving from one thing to another. Today, its about food.
I am mentally planning breakfast - what to eat when we go for breakfast in a couple of hours. I consider the wanton mee at Tembeling Place. Or the wanton mee at Maxwell. But so far, I think steamed pumpkin cake and chee cheong fun are the front-runners.
I am also going through recipes. So here's a list of what I want to cook in the near future (in no particular order):
Side dishes include cockles (just barely cooked, a teensy bloody and so sinful!) in a tangy black lime-chili sauce, braised pork in dark sauce (kong bak pau) with buns, braised toman fish with black beans and chili (this one came in small slivers of whole fish, fried so cracklingly good that you just eat them whole, bones and all!), large prawns fried with cereal, tiny smooth cakes of tofu topped wth pork floss and, sweet black sauce and shallots and served cold, and of course, prawn omelette. I would have preferred it with shallots and onions, but KH and the kids are - sadly - not onion fans.
Okay yesterday was Good Friday. While the kids didn't fast, I did - ok, I skipped a meal (does that count? Not really right?) and we all made sure we abstained from meat. So no kong bak for us, just the pau. And the pork floss was wiped off the tofu before we ate (although I'm sure some strands made it past the food police). The Catholic in me is feeling guilty already... but dang it, the food was GOOD...
Can't sleep so here I am at 4.45am in the morning blogging about food. At least, that was on my mind, playing like a loop reel at 3am when I first got up to pee.
Its been like this for some time. I wake around 3 - 4am to pee. Then I can't go back to sleep. I lie there, listening to the blood drumming in my ears, my mind moving from one thing to another. Today, its about food.
I am mentally planning breakfast - what to eat when we go for breakfast in a couple of hours. I consider the wanton mee at Tembeling Place. Or the wanton mee at Maxwell. But so far, I think steamed pumpkin cake and chee cheong fun are the front-runners.
I am also going through recipes. So here's a list of what I want to cook in the near future (in no particular order):
- dried mee siam (my shortcut glory version adapted from Sylvia Tan's recipe)
- steamed pumpkin cake (winnie cheong's version from years back - with dried prawns, minced pork, shallots and seafood sauce!)
- shrimp omelette (nothing but shrimp, salt and egg - and the egg just nicely done, bordering on the 'not-so-done')
Side dishes include cockles (just barely cooked, a teensy bloody and so sinful!) in a tangy black lime-chili sauce, braised pork in dark sauce (kong bak pau) with buns, braised toman fish with black beans and chili (this one came in small slivers of whole fish, fried so cracklingly good that you just eat them whole, bones and all!), large prawns fried with cereal, tiny smooth cakes of tofu topped wth pork floss and, sweet black sauce and shallots and served cold, and of course, prawn omelette. I would have preferred it with shallots and onions, but KH and the kids are - sadly - not onion fans.
Okay yesterday was Good Friday. While the kids didn't fast, I did - ok, I skipped a meal (does that count? Not really right?) and we all made sure we abstained from meat. So no kong bak for us, just the pau. And the pork floss was wiped off the tofu before we ate (although I'm sure some strands made it past the food police). The Catholic in me is feeling guilty already... but dang it, the food was GOOD...
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Scissors, paper, stone!
Yesterday, while at the SGH pharmacy waiting for my meds with Owain, to kill time, I played scissors paper stone with him.
At first, I tried to 'pan-chan' him - after all, how can a 3-year-old boy beat a 38-year-old woman right? So as I chanted the scissors paper stone mantra, my hand would shape into a fixed shape - either scissors/paper/stone.
But as the game wore on, it was obvious that he was thinking ahead of me. So I switched. I stopped folding my hand into those icons. But he still won! This kept happening until I got a bit peeved and said in a mock-exasperated tone: Oi! Why do I keep losing!!
And the boy says: That's because you always do paper! You must change and then you will win! Here - he folds my hand into a fist - do stone!
And its true - for some reason, I DO always do paper - quite unconsciously. And he's picked up on that and so 'cuts' me with his scissors.
So as we play on, sometimes he wins, sometimes I win. We're pretty even-stevens but I gotta say - he's good...
Yesterday, while at the SGH pharmacy waiting for my meds with Owain, to kill time, I played scissors paper stone with him.
At first, I tried to 'pan-chan' him - after all, how can a 3-year-old boy beat a 38-year-old woman right? So as I chanted the scissors paper stone mantra, my hand would shape into a fixed shape - either scissors/paper/stone.
But as the game wore on, it was obvious that he was thinking ahead of me. So I switched. I stopped folding my hand into those icons. But he still won! This kept happening until I got a bit peeved and said in a mock-exasperated tone: Oi! Why do I keep losing!!
And the boy says: That's because you always do paper! You must change and then you will win! Here - he folds my hand into a fist - do stone!
And its true - for some reason, I DO always do paper - quite unconsciously. And he's picked up on that and so 'cuts' me with his scissors.
So as we play on, sometimes he wins, sometimes I win. We're pretty even-stevens but I gotta say - he's good...
Jumping into the fray...
With all the debate on about the pay increase in ministers' salaries from S$1.2mil to S$2mil, the story in ST about the woman in her 80's who had to eat plain rice with black sauce just hit me badly. In affluent Singapore, when people are quibbling about $1 mil more, this seems so unbelievably unfair. So I drummed up a letter, tried to be as er, diplomatic as I can and sent it in to the ST Forum. I don't know if they will print it.
"I refer to the current debate surrounding the increase in ministerial pay and to the front page article about the elderly subsisting on public welfare in the 3 Apr 2007 edition of ST.
While these two issues may seem separate, I find it deeply ironic to note that in Singapore, while one end is quibbling about a million-dollar increase in salary, the other end is finding it hard to survive on $290 a month.
The increase of $30 in public assistance is a pittance.
It was heart-wrenching to read about howsome elderly went without three square meals a day just to make ends meet. MPs have spoken up on how hardit is for one to live on $290. I cannot agree more with the MP who bluntly said that those who believe that subsisting on $290 a month is possible, is divorced from reality. Yet when this issue was raised in parliament, the government did not agree and felt that the amount was sufficient.
In contrast, a salary of $1.2 million a year is now deemed ‘insufficient’ to retain talent and to keep a clean government.
Flipping through a national newspaper always gives one insight into the microcosm of life in that country. That both these issues appear in the same newspaper is telling about the depth of the divide between the haves and the have-nots here.
Where is this nation heading when we have to pay huge amounts of money for a handful of people to govern,while a larger number on the ground quietly, but literally may go hungry because $290 is deemed‘enough’?
If this is 'enough' why would it not be'enough' for a top government official to survive on $1.2 million a year?
Would it cost a lot to increase payouts on the Public Assistance Scheme to be in the region of about $500 a month – in my opinion, a more reasonable figure for one to survive on? Would the proposed increase be drastically higher or lower than the proposed ministerial salary increase?
We have a talented and clean government. By all means, let’s pay them what they deserve. But talent and incorruptibility aside, another key hallmark of good governance is this: compassion.
I hope the government, while ready to up the salaries of the top ranks in government, will also find it in their hearts to further increase the payouts from the Public Assistance Scheme. That way, not only will we have a first-world government, but it will be a government with heart –priceless in value."
With all the debate on about the pay increase in ministers' salaries from S$1.2mil to S$2mil, the story in ST about the woman in her 80's who had to eat plain rice with black sauce just hit me badly. In affluent Singapore, when people are quibbling about $1 mil more, this seems so unbelievably unfair. So I drummed up a letter, tried to be as er, diplomatic as I can and sent it in to the ST Forum. I don't know if they will print it.
"I refer to the current debate surrounding the increase in ministerial pay and to the front page article about the elderly subsisting on public welfare in the 3 Apr 2007 edition of ST.
While these two issues may seem separate, I find it deeply ironic to note that in Singapore, while one end is quibbling about a million-dollar increase in salary, the other end is finding it hard to survive on $290 a month.
The increase of $30 in public assistance is a pittance.
It was heart-wrenching to read about howsome elderly went without three square meals a day just to make ends meet. MPs have spoken up on how hardit is for one to live on $290. I cannot agree more with the MP who bluntly said that those who believe that subsisting on $290 a month is possible, is divorced from reality. Yet when this issue was raised in parliament, the government did not agree and felt that the amount was sufficient.
In contrast, a salary of $1.2 million a year is now deemed ‘insufficient’ to retain talent and to keep a clean government.
Flipping through a national newspaper always gives one insight into the microcosm of life in that country. That both these issues appear in the same newspaper is telling about the depth of the divide between the haves and the have-nots here.
Where is this nation heading when we have to pay huge amounts of money for a handful of people to govern,while a larger number on the ground quietly, but literally may go hungry because $290 is deemed‘enough’?
If this is 'enough' why would it not be'enough' for a top government official to survive on $1.2 million a year?
Would it cost a lot to increase payouts on the Public Assistance Scheme to be in the region of about $500 a month – in my opinion, a more reasonable figure for one to survive on? Would the proposed increase be drastically higher or lower than the proposed ministerial salary increase?
We have a talented and clean government. By all means, let’s pay them what they deserve. But talent and incorruptibility aside, another key hallmark of good governance is this: compassion.
I hope the government, while ready to up the salaries of the top ranks in government, will also find it in their hearts to further increase the payouts from the Public Assistance Scheme. That way, not only will we have a first-world government, but it will be a government with heart –priceless in value."
Monday, April 02, 2007
The end is near?
Today marks the first day in a long, long time that the space, where my cooler bag sits on my desk in the office, is conspicuously empty. No expressing at work today. For the first time in one and a half years.
I usually hand-express two bottles a day - not a lot. That's what Trin usually takes in the day when I'm not around. But recently, Lolita told me that she's not been giving Trin even her usual two bottles. Because Trin seems to be cutting back on her ebm (expressed breast milk)intake. On 'good' days, Trin takes only one bottle. Mostly, there are days when she just refuses the ebm. I have come home in the evening to see bottles still half-filled with ebm (ah, the heartache!!). These days, Trin either wants her yoghurt drink, her Ribena or is too busy playing with her sibs. She draws the line at cow's milk and has been known to spit the stuff out (heh).
The only thing that has not changed is this: she still toddles to me when I come home, hugs my knees and looks up at me (think big beseeching eyes of Puss in Boots re Shrek). And when I lift her up into my arms, she will point to the sofa and make sounds - she wants us to sit there and nurse.
But fact remains that she is taking less and less in the day while I am gone. Because I was still actively expressing, the freezer stock was steadily increasing. So this morning, while running out of the house, I chose not to take the cooler bag with me.
Even Owain's nursing is evolving. His sibs are the ones trying to wean him off his nen-nen. Whenever he starts to scream for nen-nen, especially when Trin is nursing, Isaac will shout: Owain, if you don't stop bugging mum for nen-nen, I'm going to zap you! ('Zap' meaning tickle!)Is this another version of 'child-led' weaning? Heh. Kidding.
Last night, my poor eczemic right nipple (Owain's side) was so watery and peely that I didn't want him to nurse on it. I explained to him why I didn't want him to nurse. And he understood! He agreed and went to sleep by himself without nursing! Of course in the middle of the night, he did wake and groggily ask for milk - but I think that is more like a conditioned reflex than an actual desire to nurse. But the significant point was - he understood about mummy being in pain, about how nursing needs to stop for a while to help the breast heal. I think that is a sign of his growing maturity.
I don't think my journey with breastfeeding has come to an end today. But with all these events, I do see what's changing and I think this is a turning point. And right now, I'd just like to press the pause button and take stock. I figured that I've nursed 3 babies, over a grand total of about 6.5 years so far!! Not mind-blowing - there are other moms who nurse more than 3 babies. And certainly there are mothers who nurse for very long - into primary school! But this is a big deal for me. Why?
In my other life, I was once a pro-formula-feeding mother who CHOSE to stop breastfeeding first out of ignorance and then for no reason other than because I just selfishly wanted my breasts back and who then encouraged other mothers NOT to breastfeed if it made them feel guilty! Now with my work in prenatal classes, what I write on AP etc, what a u-turn I've made!
I feel like I've changed camp, switched allegiances. It is precisely because I have been-there-done-that, on both sides of the camp, that I now feel so strongly about breastfeeding today. Yes, I may rub some up the wrong way with what I write (as I have been told). But how I just wish that 12 years ago, someone had written, as I do today, and shaken me out of my smug complacency and ignorance then. Gillian and Isaac would have had far more bm than the 2-3 weeks' worth they got.
Today marks the first day in a long, long time that the space, where my cooler bag sits on my desk in the office, is conspicuously empty. No expressing at work today. For the first time in one and a half years.
I usually hand-express two bottles a day - not a lot. That's what Trin usually takes in the day when I'm not around. But recently, Lolita told me that she's not been giving Trin even her usual two bottles. Because Trin seems to be cutting back on her ebm (expressed breast milk)intake. On 'good' days, Trin takes only one bottle. Mostly, there are days when she just refuses the ebm. I have come home in the evening to see bottles still half-filled with ebm (ah, the heartache!!). These days, Trin either wants her yoghurt drink, her Ribena or is too busy playing with her sibs. She draws the line at cow's milk and has been known to spit the stuff out (heh).
The only thing that has not changed is this: she still toddles to me when I come home, hugs my knees and looks up at me (think big beseeching eyes of Puss in Boots re Shrek). And when I lift her up into my arms, she will point to the sofa and make sounds - she wants us to sit there and nurse.
But fact remains that she is taking less and less in the day while I am gone. Because I was still actively expressing, the freezer stock was steadily increasing. So this morning, while running out of the house, I chose not to take the cooler bag with me.
Even Owain's nursing is evolving. His sibs are the ones trying to wean him off his nen-nen. Whenever he starts to scream for nen-nen, especially when Trin is nursing, Isaac will shout: Owain, if you don't stop bugging mum for nen-nen, I'm going to zap you! ('Zap' meaning tickle!)Is this another version of 'child-led' weaning? Heh. Kidding.
Last night, my poor eczemic right nipple (Owain's side) was so watery and peely that I didn't want him to nurse on it. I explained to him why I didn't want him to nurse. And he understood! He agreed and went to sleep by himself without nursing! Of course in the middle of the night, he did wake and groggily ask for milk - but I think that is more like a conditioned reflex than an actual desire to nurse. But the significant point was - he understood about mummy being in pain, about how nursing needs to stop for a while to help the breast heal. I think that is a sign of his growing maturity.
I don't think my journey with breastfeeding has come to an end today. But with all these events, I do see what's changing and I think this is a turning point. And right now, I'd just like to press the pause button and take stock. I figured that I've nursed 3 babies, over a grand total of about 6.5 years so far!! Not mind-blowing - there are other moms who nurse more than 3 babies. And certainly there are mothers who nurse for very long - into primary school! But this is a big deal for me. Why?
In my other life, I was once a pro-formula-feeding mother who CHOSE to stop breastfeeding first out of ignorance and then for no reason other than because I just selfishly wanted my breasts back and who then encouraged other mothers NOT to breastfeed if it made them feel guilty! Now with my work in prenatal classes, what I write on AP etc, what a u-turn I've made!
I feel like I've changed camp, switched allegiances. It is precisely because I have been-there-done-that, on both sides of the camp, that I now feel so strongly about breastfeeding today. Yes, I may rub some up the wrong way with what I write (as I have been told). But how I just wish that 12 years ago, someone had written, as I do today, and shaken me out of my smug complacency and ignorance then. Gillian and Isaac would have had far more bm than the 2-3 weeks' worth they got.
Chasing down a Sunset
Rolling large fields, tall grass waving in unison, large shady rain trees dotting the landscape, whitewashed row houses with chimneys. This is what we saw as we drove through one of our favourite Singaporean places - Seletar airbase. This is a slice of pretty old England in Singapore.
Once housing British, NZ and Aussie troops and airbase personnel, the old houses with their large verandas, cement floors, double doors and generous windows are now rental units housing largely expatriates and the odd musician and poet/ex-NMP! The airport is still in use - albeit only for smaller jets and single-engine planes. Commercially, flights to Redang and Tioman take off here, but otherwise it is a quiet place.
We love just driving through the roads with the quaint names - Birdcage Walk, Picadilly, etc. The place is quiet, broken only with the hum of cicadas. If there is ever a place in Singapore where one can live a resort lifestyle (and I am not talking about lifestyles of the rich and famous as in Sentosa Cove!) , this is it. Somehow, you just feel so far away from the city, and the pace feels conspicuously slower, lazier and more relaxed the minute you cross the old guard post into the airbase.
Bus services are few - I think there is only one that goes all the way in! And there are no modcons to speak of - no MRT station, no mall, no convenience store, no schools, no markets and the only food places there in easy reach are the Kingfisher Club and the Seletar Airbase Golf Club. Though I have to say, the food is not bad. KH and I used to go to the Golf Club for brekkie on Sat morning - we like the mee siam and mee rebus there.
When an old friend and her partner were living in one of the houses there, we would have occasional gatherings at the house or at the nearby clubs for dinner/barbecue. Nice ambience, good friends, decent grub - those were good days. Sometimes the kids would go for a swim at the nearby Kingfisher Club while we big girls hung out together. KH, the occasional golfer, would join in the golf game but er, have to say the man is not exactly a great golfer. He says it's due to lack of time and practice. With 5 kids, he has more or less given up golf.
So on Sunday, the Chongs took a turn down memory lane - literally - and went for a drive around the Seletar airbase estate. We were there for a purpose - we wanted to hunt down the Sunset Grill and Bar. According to the makansutra, this was a place in a ramshackle ex-officers flying club and served good american grub - buffalo wings, steak, pasta, burgers etc. Apparently, if you sit outdoors, you can see planes land and take off. We tried once before, to find this place, but were unsuccessful. So this would be our second attempt.
After twisting down this lane and that, and asking a few people (all of whom were clueless!) we finally spotted a small sign that said 'East Camp" and swung down that road. We cut through the golf course, flanked the runway of the airbase and finally came to a group of faded hangers and single-storey buildings. And right there, sitting next to the runway, under a huge leafy Angsana tree, was the Sunset Grill. Ah yes, indeed one can sit right there and watch the planes land and take off as entertainment during the meal. The place was closed when we arrived - open only from 4pm to 11pm.
It was not a posh place, and looked a bit scruffy with plastic chairs and wooden tables and "lots of red ants!" (reported Gillian and Isaac) but I like the location - I think it is unique and interesting and that's part of the battle won for an interesting dining experience in Singapore and all that remains is to try the food.
I think we'll be back for dinner some day soon. We all liked the adventure of looking for the place, liked the idea of dining right next to a runway (and yes, while we were there, a small jet did land right in front of us!). The very location and remoteness of the place spelled a certain sense of charm and romance. Even the kids were enthusiastic.
We drove off when someone came running out of an office next to the restaurant, flailing his arms and waving at us to "get off the runway!!" Yes, no parking on the runway - or rather, the taxiway - this was the road where the planes would taxi from the hangars to the runway and vice versa. There were no signs to indicate this was a taxiway though. The road was bumpy, potholed in areas.
That's what we enjoy - just driving around sometimes with no purpose or destination in mind but upon finding a certain road intriguing, would just go off and investigate. Thats when we find interesting places! And to my mind, that's really what life can be like - filled with unexpected detours, hidden corners and surprises - sometimes nice, sometimes nasty - but the journey, always worth it.
Rolling large fields, tall grass waving in unison, large shady rain trees dotting the landscape, whitewashed row houses with chimneys. This is what we saw as we drove through one of our favourite Singaporean places - Seletar airbase. This is a slice of pretty old England in Singapore.
Once housing British, NZ and Aussie troops and airbase personnel, the old houses with their large verandas, cement floors, double doors and generous windows are now rental units housing largely expatriates and the odd musician and poet/ex-NMP! The airport is still in use - albeit only for smaller jets and single-engine planes. Commercially, flights to Redang and Tioman take off here, but otherwise it is a quiet place.
We love just driving through the roads with the quaint names - Birdcage Walk, Picadilly, etc. The place is quiet, broken only with the hum of cicadas. If there is ever a place in Singapore where one can live a resort lifestyle (and I am not talking about lifestyles of the rich and famous as in Sentosa Cove!) , this is it. Somehow, you just feel so far away from the city, and the pace feels conspicuously slower, lazier and more relaxed the minute you cross the old guard post into the airbase.
Bus services are few - I think there is only one that goes all the way in! And there are no modcons to speak of - no MRT station, no mall, no convenience store, no schools, no markets and the only food places there in easy reach are the Kingfisher Club and the Seletar Airbase Golf Club. Though I have to say, the food is not bad. KH and I used to go to the Golf Club for brekkie on Sat morning - we like the mee siam and mee rebus there.
When an old friend and her partner were living in one of the houses there, we would have occasional gatherings at the house or at the nearby clubs for dinner/barbecue. Nice ambience, good friends, decent grub - those were good days. Sometimes the kids would go for a swim at the nearby Kingfisher Club while we big girls hung out together. KH, the occasional golfer, would join in the golf game but er, have to say the man is not exactly a great golfer. He says it's due to lack of time and practice. With 5 kids, he has more or less given up golf.
So on Sunday, the Chongs took a turn down memory lane - literally - and went for a drive around the Seletar airbase estate. We were there for a purpose - we wanted to hunt down the Sunset Grill and Bar. According to the makansutra, this was a place in a ramshackle ex-officers flying club and served good american grub - buffalo wings, steak, pasta, burgers etc. Apparently, if you sit outdoors, you can see planes land and take off. We tried once before, to find this place, but were unsuccessful. So this would be our second attempt.
After twisting down this lane and that, and asking a few people (all of whom were clueless!) we finally spotted a small sign that said 'East Camp" and swung down that road. We cut through the golf course, flanked the runway of the airbase and finally came to a group of faded hangers and single-storey buildings. And right there, sitting next to the runway, under a huge leafy Angsana tree, was the Sunset Grill. Ah yes, indeed one can sit right there and watch the planes land and take off as entertainment during the meal. The place was closed when we arrived - open only from 4pm to 11pm.
It was not a posh place, and looked a bit scruffy with plastic chairs and wooden tables and "lots of red ants!" (reported Gillian and Isaac) but I like the location - I think it is unique and interesting and that's part of the battle won for an interesting dining experience in Singapore and all that remains is to try the food.
I think we'll be back for dinner some day soon. We all liked the adventure of looking for the place, liked the idea of dining right next to a runway (and yes, while we were there, a small jet did land right in front of us!). The very location and remoteness of the place spelled a certain sense of charm and romance. Even the kids were enthusiastic.
We drove off when someone came running out of an office next to the restaurant, flailing his arms and waving at us to "get off the runway!!" Yes, no parking on the runway - or rather, the taxiway - this was the road where the planes would taxi from the hangars to the runway and vice versa. There were no signs to indicate this was a taxiway though. The road was bumpy, potholed in areas.
That's what we enjoy - just driving around sometimes with no purpose or destination in mind but upon finding a certain road intriguing, would just go off and investigate. Thats when we find interesting places! And to my mind, that's really what life can be like - filled with unexpected detours, hidden corners and surprises - sometimes nice, sometimes nasty - but the journey, always worth it.
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