Chinese books
I just spent $70+ on Chinese books. Children's books to be precise.
Inspired by the presentation on Chinese books by the Chinese teachers at CHIJ Pri last Friday night, I visited Bras Basah Complex yesterday afternoon and spent the better part of the afternoon at a bookshop there, browsing.
With the help of the very friendly bookseller who took the time to understand my requirements, I managed to find several books which met my needs, namely:
1) easy to read - hey, if I can't read them, how to read them to the children?
2) good themes and storylines
3) eye-catching illustrations
The lady bookseller made lots of suggestions of books that might interest children of different ages, enthusiastically bringing out this book and that book and so on and this eventually grew to quite a high pile that I slowly sifted through.
As I browsed, I made a few discoveries:
1) Chinese is no longer such a fearsomely insurmountable language to me anymore. I used to be phobic about the language, possibly thanks to bad memories of being forced to memorise archaic idioms and sayings and having the culture, the stories thrust on me instead of being gently sold and explained to me. Since I got my D7 in Chinese in my 'A' levels, I have never touched another Chinese book. Apart from reading signs in hawker centres and learning to differentiate between Chai Tou Kao and Chow Guo Tiao, I've never voluntarily sat down to read anything chinese, let alone read a book for pleasure or enter a chinese bookstore. And yet, here I was, sitting down to browse at a Chinese bookstore, finding the experience not only non-threatening but actually very enjoyable. Best of all, I could actually read the books! I was thrilled to find out that my rusty skills were not as bad as I thought they were. I could actually understand the meaning, and even if I skipped over one or two words that I was unsure of, the general tone of the sentence and the radicals used in the words which puzzled me generally gave me a good clue about the meaning. So it came as a thrilling revelation that I was not as bad as I thought, and that I actually liked it.
2) I used to pooh-pooh Chinese books, thinking they were second-class handmaidens to their English counterparts. Let me put on record here that I am humbling myself to say I was wrong. Those Chinese books I saw yesterday are beautifully illustrated and printed. Some came in gorgeously textured paper, some had bright primary colours, others muted water colours but all were richly illustrated. And the stories - wow! They were actually great stuff. Some were funny, a few bordering on crass body-parts humour that always turned on the pre-schoolers, especially boys. I placed an order for one called 小象的大便 (The Elephant's Poo) which was out of stock - I think my kids would like it.
Others were poignant and meaningful - I bought a book in black and white that was titled 不是我的错 (Its Not My Fault). The pages showed more or less the same illustrations - very simple b/w drawings that showed a group of children and a small child crying in the foreground. On each page, one of the children from the group would be featured with a line, denying their responsibility or awareness, or trying to finger someone else, or laying blame etc. And then right at the end of the book, the writer asked: Whose fault is it then? And then the subsequent pages showed photographs of devastation, sadness and tragedy - famine, genocide, a traffic accident, pollution, war.
The bookseller was surprised that I wanted it because some parents did not want to show their children the disturbing scenes at the back of the book. But I think the book represents a good opportunity as a talking point about personal responsibility, about the need to stand up for what we believe, stand up for what is right. It's similar in concept to the book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein (my kids loved the English version but incidentally there was also one there in Chinese!)
Apart from those I also ended up buying a book on courage (勇气), a set of books on personal hygiene, friendship and social habits, a hilarious one about the skewed friendship between a mouse and a tiger and a very sweetly funny one about a cute rabbit bemoaning about how much he disliked his mother (always very mean, always in a hurry, liked to sleep late, didn't allow him his sweets and worst of all, could not marry him!) and how he decided to run away. It reminded me of Owain and how sometimes he would say: Mummy, you're the smartest, most beautiful girl in the whole earth and the whole universe and I will always love you very very very much! But then sometimes when he's cross, he would also say: Ugh! You're the meanest mummy in the whole world!
And then I also bought one for myself - my very first Chinese book! 向左走, 向右走 (Turn Left, Turn Right) is a very poignant love story written and illustrated by a Taiwanese artist simply known as Jimmy Liao. I think it was made into a movie starring the very dishy Kaneshi Takeshiro - yum - must get my hands on that too, but first, about the book! Very lyrical in the language, and very sweetly pretty water colour illustrations with a good use of space in the design and layout. Something about it really spoke to me. It was easy to read - one line a page! And while I understood most of the words, I do need the help of a dictionary occasionally. A friend said this was a real chore when I told her what I was doing, but surprisingly, I did not find it so. I enjoyed digging the word out from the depths of the dictionary, painstakingly by counting the number of strokes etc. The effort was rewarding because once I knew the meaning, the sentence became more whole and more alive and the lyricism of the words really took root.
I did not ever, in my life, think that I would one day read a Chinese book and enjoy it, or even enjoy poring over a dictionary counting strokes. But I do now. What a happy discovery.
I started this process warily, wanting only to help my children develop an interest in the language, but I myself had no real passion for it. But now the balance is shifted - I find myself actually enjoying these beautiful pieces of work, relishing the beauty, ideas and cadence of the words, marvelling at succinctly compact it can be.
I am taking baby steps and learning to see what is beautiful in this language that was oh-so baffling to me for so many years. I guess if I can do it, surely my kids can too. Surely, hopefully, some enthusiasm will rub off on them? Hopefully, with mummy also learning alongside them, together with them, they will not find the going so hard.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Part-time or full-time?
Its now the end of Feb and the beginning of March. Sometime next week, I would have to sit down, craft my usual formal memo to my bosses to request for an extension of my part-time working arrangements. The arrangement usually expires on 31 March 2008, in line with the government's financial year. So I need to decide if I should carry on like this or go back to full-time work.
With the three bigger kids in primary school and Owain off to kindergarten, it's really only Trinity who is the sole nestling I have. She will be three later this year. Does she need me? What do I really do for her? Truth be told: not much, as you will see.
Seven years ago I first made the decision to go part-time because I was pregnant with Caitlin. Having been a WOHM and gone back to work when Gillian and Isaac were both barely 2months old, and having left them in the care of helpers who came and went, I decided when I was carrying Caitlin in the womb, that I would not do this anymore. I did not want to be away from her as she was growing up, I did not want to leave her and just go back to work when she was 2months old as I did with the rest. I wanted to see her milestones, be part of her journey actively. Hence the decision to go part-time.
And I like to think I was an involved mom. Working part-time allowed me to work in the mornings and still come home in the afternoons to be with her. I got what I wanted: I saw her milestones, I was right there with her, we nursed all the way until I got pregnant with Owain, in many ways we were much closer in the early years than I ever was with Gillian or Isaac. Not debating SAHM-hood or WOHM-hood, but for me, the difference was clear - there was no such thing as 'quality time' but just... time. Spending that time with Cait was very rewarding - for me as mom and I think, for her as well.
Then came Owain and Trinity and my half-time situation was really useful - it allowed me to be with them, to nurse them for longer than I ever had, to see their lives slowly unfold.
But now, as they all grow older, things are different. Mummy is no longer front and centre of their lives. Working part-time now is more for ME-time than parenting time. I enjoy my days off because I get to go and have lunch with my friends or by myself, I get to catch a movie now and then when the cinemas are so empty, I get to wander the aisles of Borders and actually find empty armchairs to browse my books in and I love it that I get to go shopping and there are no queues for the dressing rooms.
I feel downright indolent. Even hedonistic at times.
And while I enjoy my time, I do also feel guilty. I remind myself that I am working part-time so that I could be more of a mother - instead, I find myself being more like a slacker mom than a 'real' mom. I have less than half the devotion of many true SAHMs who stay home to cook, teach, nurture their children. Mothers like El on AP make me feel so ashamed. I could be doing so much more. But I am not. I am busy enjoying myself. Even when I am home, what do I do? I'm on the PC or my nose is buried in a book! KH asked me in a rather accusatory tone just the other night, "What did you do the whole day?"
In my defence, I had gone to see the doctor, but I had also treated myself to a haircut, a nice lunch etc. I knew what he was talking about, and it created a huge wave of guilt in me because I knew he was right - I was slacking again - but at the same time, I resented his tone. Suffice to say then that my response was very cold.
So I am thinking now: since I am so unproductive working half-time, maybe I should just go back to full-time work. At least then I would be earning a full salary, getting my full bonuses etc. But I think about working full-time - means leaving the house at 6.45am every morning and not getting home until 7pm at least. And then having five kids fight for my attention then - they actually chatter all at the same time and call each other out for being 'rude' for talking when they're talking and I've got to referee it such that each kid gets his five minutes worth - and then after that, managing homework, reading stories, listening to complaints etc. And then it would be bedtime and the grind begins again. On weekends, it would be the usual run-about to bring the kids to Kumon, Berries, catechism, swimming etc. And if I taught on Saturday afternoons, my stock of time will be even more depleted. When would I get private me-time? When would I have time to read a book, catch a movie, get a facial, wander around Marks and Sparks looking for lingerie?
Reading the current discussion on AP on SAHMs and WOHMs, left me thinking. People become SAHMs and find fulfillment in being one because of their devotion to their children. I, on the other hand, want to retain my part-time work status, not because I want to be a present-in-the-moment mom for my kids, but because I just want my me-time.
Owain tries his darndest to bargain with me to pick him up from school everyday or he won't go to school - I've counter-proposed for once a week only and he's agreed. So far. But every morning he asks the same question: Mummy, are you full-day or half-day today? He cheers up when he hears I am on half-day or when I say that I have no work that day. I can't imagine his response if I tell him I am full-day everyday!
Caitlin comes to me with her spelling preparation and we do this in the mornings after breakfast before she goes off to school. We run through Chinese and English spelling or do Berries homework. She always initiates it because the work sort of reassures her about going to school - maybe she feels more prepared to cope?
Gillian comes home from school, perches herself on the sofa next to me and starts in her usual dramatic way: Mom!! Guess what happened in school today!! and then she starts rattling off. I am usually only half-listening - my attention is on the book in front of me. Luckily, the ears of mothers everywhere have a way of perking up at just the right time and I call her out on a few points. But mostly, I just grunt. And yet, my daughter tells me a bit shyly the other day: "Mom, I really like talking to you, I dunno why." I tell her that's a very nice thing to say and privately, I fervently wish she would never stop feeling this way all through the rest of her teenhood! Even though I just grunt through the conversation.
And Trinity, well yes, have to admit I don't do much here. No flashcards, no hands-on homemade science experiments, no table work done, no pretend parallel play etc. We just nurse a lot. Or we play computer games together (she's a big fan of Fishing Frenzy and a real pro at sliding the mouse over the icon and actually clicking it) . When she asks for paper, I give her a bunch of it and she sits on the floor scribbling away. No, we don't do productive stuff like alphabet tracing, colouring together etc. She just scribbles. In that, perhaps I am rather lazy.
If I work full-time, how would I do all this? I am back to the same old questions - how are kids best nurtured? What, really, is mothering all about? Is a mother's time well spent (in KH's book at least!) equated with time spent ensuring the kids do their work, checking their homework, pushing/nagging them etc? If I didn't do this, am I a poor mother?
I've come a long way from the time I first made my decision to work half-time. I started with glorified visions of wanting to homeschool, actually believing I had the discipline and patience to do this (I don't and I take my hat off to all homeschooling mothers everywhere who do!), I started my journey believing that the devotion of a mother means being there every step of the way, sacrificing to the nth degree, physically emotionally and spiritually nurturing and guiding and protecting her children. That sounds like a real tall order to me now. Or maybe it isn't but it need not be done in the way that we think it should be.
I stand where I am today, a semi-SAHM with feet of clay (marine clay from the Dead Sea preferably since they are rather good for the skin!). I am not a perfect SAHM, given my penchant for me-time. I am not even close to fitting KH's ideals of a 'good' SAHM, nonchalant as I am about my children's academic work etc.
Maybe mothering does not mean that lofty ideal I first had. Maybe that picture needs to be re-worked so that it doesn't stand alone in black or white. Maybe we can never be perfect mothers - well, at least not me! Maybe mothering is best done in spurts - spurts of time with the children and spurts of me-time. Maybe mothers should stop feeling guilty about me-time! (heh, maybe I am giving myself a reason to stop feeling guilty with all the rhetoric!)
Maybe I need to give myself another year working half-time before I take on the old ball and chain again. I think I would find it quite hard to give it up and go back to the grind. And my children? I think they would find it hard too. No answers for now. But I've got a week to think about it. Opinions anyone?
Maybe I should ask my kids.
Its now the end of Feb and the beginning of March. Sometime next week, I would have to sit down, craft my usual formal memo to my bosses to request for an extension of my part-time working arrangements. The arrangement usually expires on 31 March 2008, in line with the government's financial year. So I need to decide if I should carry on like this or go back to full-time work.
With the three bigger kids in primary school and Owain off to kindergarten, it's really only Trinity who is the sole nestling I have. She will be three later this year. Does she need me? What do I really do for her? Truth be told: not much, as you will see.
Seven years ago I first made the decision to go part-time because I was pregnant with Caitlin. Having been a WOHM and gone back to work when Gillian and Isaac were both barely 2months old, and having left them in the care of helpers who came and went, I decided when I was carrying Caitlin in the womb, that I would not do this anymore. I did not want to be away from her as she was growing up, I did not want to leave her and just go back to work when she was 2months old as I did with the rest. I wanted to see her milestones, be part of her journey actively. Hence the decision to go part-time.
And I like to think I was an involved mom. Working part-time allowed me to work in the mornings and still come home in the afternoons to be with her. I got what I wanted: I saw her milestones, I was right there with her, we nursed all the way until I got pregnant with Owain, in many ways we were much closer in the early years than I ever was with Gillian or Isaac. Not debating SAHM-hood or WOHM-hood, but for me, the difference was clear - there was no such thing as 'quality time' but just... time. Spending that time with Cait was very rewarding - for me as mom and I think, for her as well.
Then came Owain and Trinity and my half-time situation was really useful - it allowed me to be with them, to nurse them for longer than I ever had, to see their lives slowly unfold.
But now, as they all grow older, things are different. Mummy is no longer front and centre of their lives. Working part-time now is more for ME-time than parenting time. I enjoy my days off because I get to go and have lunch with my friends or by myself, I get to catch a movie now and then when the cinemas are so empty, I get to wander the aisles of Borders and actually find empty armchairs to browse my books in and I love it that I get to go shopping and there are no queues for the dressing rooms.
I feel downright indolent. Even hedonistic at times.
And while I enjoy my time, I do also feel guilty. I remind myself that I am working part-time so that I could be more of a mother - instead, I find myself being more like a slacker mom than a 'real' mom. I have less than half the devotion of many true SAHMs who stay home to cook, teach, nurture their children. Mothers like El on AP make me feel so ashamed. I could be doing so much more. But I am not. I am busy enjoying myself. Even when I am home, what do I do? I'm on the PC or my nose is buried in a book! KH asked me in a rather accusatory tone just the other night, "What did you do the whole day?"
In my defence, I had gone to see the doctor, but I had also treated myself to a haircut, a nice lunch etc. I knew what he was talking about, and it created a huge wave of guilt in me because I knew he was right - I was slacking again - but at the same time, I resented his tone. Suffice to say then that my response was very cold.
So I am thinking now: since I am so unproductive working half-time, maybe I should just go back to full-time work. At least then I would be earning a full salary, getting my full bonuses etc. But I think about working full-time - means leaving the house at 6.45am every morning and not getting home until 7pm at least. And then having five kids fight for my attention then - they actually chatter all at the same time and call each other out for being 'rude' for talking when they're talking and I've got to referee it such that each kid gets his five minutes worth - and then after that, managing homework, reading stories, listening to complaints etc. And then it would be bedtime and the grind begins again. On weekends, it would be the usual run-about to bring the kids to Kumon, Berries, catechism, swimming etc. And if I taught on Saturday afternoons, my stock of time will be even more depleted. When would I get private me-time? When would I have time to read a book, catch a movie, get a facial, wander around Marks and Sparks looking for lingerie?
Reading the current discussion on AP on SAHMs and WOHMs, left me thinking. People become SAHMs and find fulfillment in being one because of their devotion to their children. I, on the other hand, want to retain my part-time work status, not because I want to be a present-in-the-moment mom for my kids, but because I just want my me-time.
Owain tries his darndest to bargain with me to pick him up from school everyday or he won't go to school - I've counter-proposed for once a week only and he's agreed. So far. But every morning he asks the same question: Mummy, are you full-day or half-day today? He cheers up when he hears I am on half-day or when I say that I have no work that day. I can't imagine his response if I tell him I am full-day everyday!
Caitlin comes to me with her spelling preparation and we do this in the mornings after breakfast before she goes off to school. We run through Chinese and English spelling or do Berries homework. She always initiates it because the work sort of reassures her about going to school - maybe she feels more prepared to cope?
Gillian comes home from school, perches herself on the sofa next to me and starts in her usual dramatic way: Mom!! Guess what happened in school today!! and then she starts rattling off. I am usually only half-listening - my attention is on the book in front of me. Luckily, the ears of mothers everywhere have a way of perking up at just the right time and I call her out on a few points. But mostly, I just grunt. And yet, my daughter tells me a bit shyly the other day: "Mom, I really like talking to you, I dunno why." I tell her that's a very nice thing to say and privately, I fervently wish she would never stop feeling this way all through the rest of her teenhood! Even though I just grunt through the conversation.
And Trinity, well yes, have to admit I don't do much here. No flashcards, no hands-on homemade science experiments, no table work done, no pretend parallel play etc. We just nurse a lot. Or we play computer games together (she's a big fan of Fishing Frenzy and a real pro at sliding the mouse over the icon and actually clicking it) . When she asks for paper, I give her a bunch of it and she sits on the floor scribbling away. No, we don't do productive stuff like alphabet tracing, colouring together etc. She just scribbles. In that, perhaps I am rather lazy.
If I work full-time, how would I do all this? I am back to the same old questions - how are kids best nurtured? What, really, is mothering all about? Is a mother's time well spent (in KH's book at least!) equated with time spent ensuring the kids do their work, checking their homework, pushing/nagging them etc? If I didn't do this, am I a poor mother?
I've come a long way from the time I first made my decision to work half-time. I started with glorified visions of wanting to homeschool, actually believing I had the discipline and patience to do this (I don't and I take my hat off to all homeschooling mothers everywhere who do!), I started my journey believing that the devotion of a mother means being there every step of the way, sacrificing to the nth degree, physically emotionally and spiritually nurturing and guiding and protecting her children. That sounds like a real tall order to me now. Or maybe it isn't but it need not be done in the way that we think it should be.
I stand where I am today, a semi-SAHM with feet of clay (marine clay from the Dead Sea preferably since they are rather good for the skin!). I am not a perfect SAHM, given my penchant for me-time. I am not even close to fitting KH's ideals of a 'good' SAHM, nonchalant as I am about my children's academic work etc.
Maybe mothering does not mean that lofty ideal I first had. Maybe that picture needs to be re-worked so that it doesn't stand alone in black or white. Maybe we can never be perfect mothers - well, at least not me! Maybe mothering is best done in spurts - spurts of time with the children and spurts of me-time. Maybe mothers should stop feeling guilty about me-time! (heh, maybe I am giving myself a reason to stop feeling guilty with all the rhetoric!)
Maybe I need to give myself another year working half-time before I take on the old ball and chain again. I think I would find it quite hard to give it up and go back to the grind. And my children? I think they would find it hard too. No answers for now. But I've got a week to think about it. Opinions anyone?
Maybe I should ask my kids.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Weighty issues
Funny how people always believe that they want to believe.
For the past year or so I have been walking past mirrors and shopfront windows and those fleeting glimpses of myself have persuaded me to believe that I have lost some weight. I am, I believed, thinner than before. Just one month ago, I was exulting about being able to go one size lower in the fitting room - okay so it was still a teensy bit tight, but at least I've gone past the days of not even being able to zip up a size 10 pants!
Still, the scales don't lie. I watched in growing horror as the red numbers happily kept skipping up and up until they settled at a point which I could not, did not, want to believe. Good Lord! I thought as I saw the final number. It can't be me.
This revelation came at the doctor's yesterday when I went for my regular hypertension check-up. The doctor asked: what happened? Weight up? Check. Cholesterol up? Check. Triglycerides up? Check. And the worst of it is, it is confirmed that my diastolic pressure has gone up. I've obviously been a bad bad bad girl.
I say a bit feebly: too much bak kwa doc?
He wanted to (a) double my dosage of meds or (b) give me drugs to lower my cholesterol. I suggested (c) I'd go on a diet and exercise plan and lose some weight by the time I see him in 6 months. If I failed to lose the requisite amount of weight, he was free to put me on whatever drugs he wanted. Deal, he said promptly. And added, not too much - I think about 1 to 2kg less would be satisfactory. He wanted to refer me to a dietician - me!! I shook my head vehemently and begged him to let me try it myself first before he brought out the heavy artillery like dieticians. It was one thing to steer myself off char koay teow, but a whole other ball game if I had to have my foodlist dissected and analysed by an unsympathetic professional.
The rest of the day, I go about racking my brains on just what on earth could have caused the explosion - and came to the sad conclusion: ramen (particularly the oil-rich, MSG-rich broth of my favourite marutama), ikura, tobikko and other assorted fish eggs, the Sunday morning $3 packets of oily chai-tow-kway (fried carrot cake) sans egg, the $3 packets of wanton mee (加 面 Uncle!), the experimenting with pasta carbonara... and worst of all, the hours of sitting time in front of the pc - at work and at home.
To cheer myself up, and to do honour to my promise to the doc to eat healthily, I had a caeser's salad for lunch at PS Cafe at Paragon. Never mind that the salad came generously laced with a creamy rich Caeser's salad dressing, generous shreds of parmesan cheese, crunchy slivers of salty bacon and a nicely poached egg. I also happily ignore the fact that I already had two half-boiled eggs for brekkie in the morning and this would be my third. For the day. So much for the mantra of four eggs per week. I would be lucky to get through with anything less than 3 eggs a day.
Next, I hit Marks and Sparks next door. And shopped for... yes, what all depressed women generally shop for... underwear!! That just made me feel so much better - I tried to ignore the fact that the lacey lil bits I bought would look just as nice and alluring as I thought they would on the backside of an SBS bus which is about the size of my butt these days.
I bought three pretty dainty lil things anyway.
And a black lacey nightdress - again censoring the image that kept cropping up in my mind - Miss Piggy on a satin-covered dais wearing the very same outfit. Might I also add that I bought this without trying the thing on at all. You know how it is about the old hopeful trick to buy stuff a size smaller as an incentive to shrink down to fit the dress instead of the other way around... welcome to my world.
I was about to treat myself to an ice-cream in the basement and debated long and hard about that before giving up, brightening up with the thought that now I could have fun planning and shopping for healthy lunch menus - though I really haven't got the foggiest where exactly to start - something about brown rice and wholewheat bread first I think...
So I gave up on the ice-cream and went for a haircut (see how I am fitting the typical depressed woman's profile here?) at Shunji Matsuo. I preened in the mirror and thought, I don't look so fat what... but when Jane was done, I was trying hard not to feel like the egg that my graduated chin-length bob now made me feel.
Off I went down Orchard Road, mentally sizing up every woman that I passed. Hmm, that one is just as big as me. Oh her, geez, gosh would-ja look at the size of that butt! That one, hmm okay not bad, I think I would look like her if I lost a couple of kgs. Ah, she's as plump as me, but okay okay, so she's about 4 inches taller - no wonder she looks thinner!
Everywhere I went my eyes followed the various assorted butts, boobs, legs and waistlines of the women I passed like an obsessed DOM. I don't know what got into me. Body envy.
Passed California Fitness and wondered if God was giving me a sign - now that I try to look for signs from God these days - but decided against it. Joining California Fitness or Planet Fitness or any ubergym would just make me even more depressed and slice off more of my already depleted self-esteem. Imagine sack-shaped me working the treadmill alongside slim and pretty young things? Are you laughing this hard already? Plus I would need to invest more moolah in a whole new exercise wardrobe! So that's out.
Finally I hit Isetan at Scotts. My favourite supermarket for Japanese yummies. They were having one of their many Japanese regional fairs and on sale were tubs full of mentaiko, wasabi squid, seaweed, Japanese donuts, black lines of marinated sardines. Oh heaven! I love making the rounds sampling all these little bits. I finally succumbed to mayo mentaiko and another box of silverfish with sliver's of fin and tobikko. Yum!
Getting on the bus to go home, I saw a seat on the packed 105 - right at the back and the inner window seat. I had to get past a makcik with loads of plastic bags on her lap. Makcik refused to get up. So-o, I had to squeeze myself through the eye of the needle, belly sucked in, bags held high, past her sizeable lap, and plonk myself down, breathing hard and hoping my butt did not get in her face.
Transport policy makers please note: to have a world-class transport system, please oh please start by giving us more leg room on the buses!! Right now a long-haul trip on a bus could predispose you to DVT, with the teensy space that is given. I think the ministers should spend one hour during peak hour trying to get a seat on a crowded packed bus and try their luck at squeezing their butts past formidable makciks like the one I am sharing a seat with!
Still, I reflected as the scenery whizzed past, that could have been easier done had my butt been a couple of inches smaller.
No getting round it - I have to lose some weight. I have six months to do it. I can easily go into a detox two days before I see the doc and be 1 to 2 kg lighter as he stipulated, but that's cheating. So I've decided to be a good girl. I will try my level best to lose some weight. 1 to 2kg at least. More better. But I won't get ahead of myself and set targets I can't keep.
First things first... get off my butt and squeeze past makcik to get off the bus.
Funny how people always believe that they want to believe.
For the past year or so I have been walking past mirrors and shopfront windows and those fleeting glimpses of myself have persuaded me to believe that I have lost some weight. I am, I believed, thinner than before. Just one month ago, I was exulting about being able to go one size lower in the fitting room - okay so it was still a teensy bit tight, but at least I've gone past the days of not even being able to zip up a size 10 pants!
Still, the scales don't lie. I watched in growing horror as the red numbers happily kept skipping up and up until they settled at a point which I could not, did not, want to believe. Good Lord! I thought as I saw the final number. It can't be me.
This revelation came at the doctor's yesterday when I went for my regular hypertension check-up. The doctor asked: what happened? Weight up? Check. Cholesterol up? Check. Triglycerides up? Check. And the worst of it is, it is confirmed that my diastolic pressure has gone up. I've obviously been a bad bad bad girl.
I say a bit feebly: too much bak kwa doc?
He wanted to (a) double my dosage of meds or (b) give me drugs to lower my cholesterol. I suggested (c) I'd go on a diet and exercise plan and lose some weight by the time I see him in 6 months. If I failed to lose the requisite amount of weight, he was free to put me on whatever drugs he wanted. Deal, he said promptly. And added, not too much - I think about 1 to 2kg less would be satisfactory. He wanted to refer me to a dietician - me!! I shook my head vehemently and begged him to let me try it myself first before he brought out the heavy artillery like dieticians. It was one thing to steer myself off char koay teow, but a whole other ball game if I had to have my foodlist dissected and analysed by an unsympathetic professional.
The rest of the day, I go about racking my brains on just what on earth could have caused the explosion - and came to the sad conclusion: ramen (particularly the oil-rich, MSG-rich broth of my favourite marutama), ikura, tobikko and other assorted fish eggs, the Sunday morning $3 packets of oily chai-tow-kway (fried carrot cake) sans egg, the $3 packets of wanton mee (加 面 Uncle!), the experimenting with pasta carbonara... and worst of all, the hours of sitting time in front of the pc - at work and at home.
To cheer myself up, and to do honour to my promise to the doc to eat healthily, I had a caeser's salad for lunch at PS Cafe at Paragon. Never mind that the salad came generously laced with a creamy rich Caeser's salad dressing, generous shreds of parmesan cheese, crunchy slivers of salty bacon and a nicely poached egg. I also happily ignore the fact that I already had two half-boiled eggs for brekkie in the morning and this would be my third. For the day. So much for the mantra of four eggs per week. I would be lucky to get through with anything less than 3 eggs a day.
Next, I hit Marks and Sparks next door. And shopped for... yes, what all depressed women generally shop for... underwear!! That just made me feel so much better - I tried to ignore the fact that the lacey lil bits I bought would look just as nice and alluring as I thought they would on the backside of an SBS bus which is about the size of my butt these days.
I bought three pretty dainty lil things anyway.
And a black lacey nightdress - again censoring the image that kept cropping up in my mind - Miss Piggy on a satin-covered dais wearing the very same outfit. Might I also add that I bought this without trying the thing on at all. You know how it is about the old hopeful trick to buy stuff a size smaller as an incentive to shrink down to fit the dress instead of the other way around... welcome to my world.
I was about to treat myself to an ice-cream in the basement and debated long and hard about that before giving up, brightening up with the thought that now I could have fun planning and shopping for healthy lunch menus - though I really haven't got the foggiest where exactly to start - something about brown rice and wholewheat bread first I think...
So I gave up on the ice-cream and went for a haircut (see how I am fitting the typical depressed woman's profile here?) at Shunji Matsuo. I preened in the mirror and thought, I don't look so fat what... but when Jane was done, I was trying hard not to feel like the egg that my graduated chin-length bob now made me feel.
Off I went down Orchard Road, mentally sizing up every woman that I passed. Hmm, that one is just as big as me. Oh her, geez, gosh would-ja look at the size of that butt! That one, hmm okay not bad, I think I would look like her if I lost a couple of kgs. Ah, she's as plump as me, but okay okay, so she's about 4 inches taller - no wonder she looks thinner!
Everywhere I went my eyes followed the various assorted butts, boobs, legs and waistlines of the women I passed like an obsessed DOM. I don't know what got into me. Body envy.
Passed California Fitness and wondered if God was giving me a sign - now that I try to look for signs from God these days - but decided against it. Joining California Fitness or Planet Fitness or any ubergym would just make me even more depressed and slice off more of my already depleted self-esteem. Imagine sack-shaped me working the treadmill alongside slim and pretty young things? Are you laughing this hard already? Plus I would need to invest more moolah in a whole new exercise wardrobe! So that's out.
Finally I hit Isetan at Scotts. My favourite supermarket for Japanese yummies. They were having one of their many Japanese regional fairs and on sale were tubs full of mentaiko, wasabi squid, seaweed, Japanese donuts, black lines of marinated sardines. Oh heaven! I love making the rounds sampling all these little bits. I finally succumbed to mayo mentaiko and another box of silverfish with sliver's of fin and tobikko. Yum!
Getting on the bus to go home, I saw a seat on the packed 105 - right at the back and the inner window seat. I had to get past a makcik with loads of plastic bags on her lap. Makcik refused to get up. So-o, I had to squeeze myself through the eye of the needle, belly sucked in, bags held high, past her sizeable lap, and plonk myself down, breathing hard and hoping my butt did not get in her face.
Transport policy makers please note: to have a world-class transport system, please oh please start by giving us more leg room on the buses!! Right now a long-haul trip on a bus could predispose you to DVT, with the teensy space that is given. I think the ministers should spend one hour during peak hour trying to get a seat on a crowded packed bus and try their luck at squeezing their butts past formidable makciks like the one I am sharing a seat with!
Still, I reflected as the scenery whizzed past, that could have been easier done had my butt been a couple of inches smaller.
No getting round it - I have to lose some weight. I have six months to do it. I can easily go into a detox two days before I see the doc and be 1 to 2 kg lighter as he stipulated, but that's cheating. So I've decided to be a good girl. I will try my level best to lose some weight. 1 to 2kg at least. More better. But I won't get ahead of myself and set targets I can't keep.
First things first... get off my butt and squeeze past makcik to get off the bus.
Eat Pray Love
I finished reading this book several days ago, largely over the CNY holidays. Usually, as 'book advisor' to my mom, sister, best gal pals, I freely pass them the books which I have finished reading and have enjoyed. Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert would be one such book. But this time, I find myself strangely reluctant to hand this book over. I am now halfway through reading other books - largely sci-fi by Orson Scott Card - but still feel no inclination to let go of Eat Pray Love.
Something about the book still resonates with me. Elizabeth Gilbert, the author, is a prize-winning American writer who went on a one-year life-changing journey through Italy, India and Bali. She had gone through the messy end of her marriage, a tumultuous love affair and was on anti-depressants by the time she decided to make this journey. So it was that she decided to take a year to just do the stuff she likes and in the meantime, hope to find some meaning in her life and cliched though it sounds, to find 'herself'.
So she lived 4 months in Rome Italy, learning the language and deriving pleasure from the beauty of the Italian landscape, the glorious food, the marvellous people she met. The next four months was spent at an ashram in India where she fell into meditation, learnt some life truths and experienced the pinnacle of kundalini shakti (a near ecstatic experience of God). The final four months of the year was spent in Bali, in a cottage near Ubud, listening, watching and learning from healers and being healed.
Gilbert is a very engaging writer and her experiences are very interesting. But more than that, the book came to me at a time in my life when I have started asking questions about many things - situations and people that we take for granted in our lives, the issues of identity, happiness and choice. Her situation, particularly in the early parts of the book, really hit a couple of raw spots.
Reading about how she made those choices and how her year of searching panned out told me a couple of things - that in life, there are always u-turns, that happiness is not a permanent structure and the most we can hope for is a state of contentment. But that is not to say that happiness is not there - it is, just that it comes in very sweet fleeting moments. God is also not only found in the conventional judeo-christian model that I have been brought up to believe. His largeness can be experienced in so many different ways.
I felt moved and inspired and wondered if I would ever have the courage to do what she did - and if I did, where would I go? The very idea of 'finding myself' sounds very indulgent to me. Self-indulgent. My argument would be, well Gilbert could do it because she did not have 5 children. I could not take off for a year like that.
Or perhaps I dare not.
If I ever did, I would be a 'bad' mother, an irresponsible person. Labels and judgement like that really hurt. Still, that does not stop me from longing wistfully for such an opportunity to just go - roam the earth, leave all the anchors of my life.
What would I find out there? I think more than just the courage of letting go is the courage to confront what you would find if the anchors of your life are not there. If I stripped myself of all my known identities - wife, mother, daughter, employee, birth educator, so-and-so's friend etc. And lived someplace else, starting anew as a stranger, what would I find? Who would see me, find me and define me? Would I need that kind of definition? Am I even strong enough to accept me for me? And what if I did find God? Frightening thought.
Sounds like too much navel-gazing eh? Nevertheless, it is a good bookwhich raised many questions about myself, my life, about love, relationships, about God. Go read it. Might just raise questions about your own life.
Meanwhile, around this time I realised that I had frequent flier points from Qantas which would expire next month if I didn't do something about it. I checked and found that I could either go to Melbourne (only a one-way ticket) or to Bali (a two-way ticket).
If you believe in the laws of the universe, in God sending you signs, then one must wonder if it is not Bali I am meant to go - can't afford a whole year off? Do the next best thing - take a week in Bali! Alone. Scary thought. But so tempting.
And to Melbourne? I have the NCEA Aus conference coming up in Sept 08 and my fellow childbirth educator/midwife pal from Adelaide is asking me to go. So I am thinking hard about this. I have not been to Melbourne in 20 years. My last trip there was also a refuge trip of some sort.
Either way, to Bali or Melbourne, this would be a trip to make alone. No KH and no kids. And maybe along the way I'd be able to find some insight there.
I finished reading this book several days ago, largely over the CNY holidays. Usually, as 'book advisor' to my mom, sister, best gal pals, I freely pass them the books which I have finished reading and have enjoyed. Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert would be one such book. But this time, I find myself strangely reluctant to hand this book over. I am now halfway through reading other books - largely sci-fi by Orson Scott Card - but still feel no inclination to let go of Eat Pray Love.
Something about the book still resonates with me. Elizabeth Gilbert, the author, is a prize-winning American writer who went on a one-year life-changing journey through Italy, India and Bali. She had gone through the messy end of her marriage, a tumultuous love affair and was on anti-depressants by the time she decided to make this journey. So it was that she decided to take a year to just do the stuff she likes and in the meantime, hope to find some meaning in her life and cliched though it sounds, to find 'herself'.
So she lived 4 months in Rome Italy, learning the language and deriving pleasure from the beauty of the Italian landscape, the glorious food, the marvellous people she met. The next four months was spent at an ashram in India where she fell into meditation, learnt some life truths and experienced the pinnacle of kundalini shakti (a near ecstatic experience of God). The final four months of the year was spent in Bali, in a cottage near Ubud, listening, watching and learning from healers and being healed.
Gilbert is a very engaging writer and her experiences are very interesting. But more than that, the book came to me at a time in my life when I have started asking questions about many things - situations and people that we take for granted in our lives, the issues of identity, happiness and choice. Her situation, particularly in the early parts of the book, really hit a couple of raw spots.
Reading about how she made those choices and how her year of searching panned out told me a couple of things - that in life, there are always u-turns, that happiness is not a permanent structure and the most we can hope for is a state of contentment. But that is not to say that happiness is not there - it is, just that it comes in very sweet fleeting moments. God is also not only found in the conventional judeo-christian model that I have been brought up to believe. His largeness can be experienced in so many different ways.
I felt moved and inspired and wondered if I would ever have the courage to do what she did - and if I did, where would I go? The very idea of 'finding myself' sounds very indulgent to me. Self-indulgent. My argument would be, well Gilbert could do it because she did not have 5 children. I could not take off for a year like that.
Or perhaps I dare not.
If I ever did, I would be a 'bad' mother, an irresponsible person. Labels and judgement like that really hurt. Still, that does not stop me from longing wistfully for such an opportunity to just go - roam the earth, leave all the anchors of my life.
What would I find out there? I think more than just the courage of letting go is the courage to confront what you would find if the anchors of your life are not there. If I stripped myself of all my known identities - wife, mother, daughter, employee, birth educator, so-and-so's friend etc. And lived someplace else, starting anew as a stranger, what would I find? Who would see me, find me and define me? Would I need that kind of definition? Am I even strong enough to accept me for me? And what if I did find God? Frightening thought.
Sounds like too much navel-gazing eh? Nevertheless, it is a good bookwhich raised many questions about myself, my life, about love, relationships, about God. Go read it. Might just raise questions about your own life.
Meanwhile, around this time I realised that I had frequent flier points from Qantas which would expire next month if I didn't do something about it. I checked and found that I could either go to Melbourne (only a one-way ticket) or to Bali (a two-way ticket).
If you believe in the laws of the universe, in God sending you signs, then one must wonder if it is not Bali I am meant to go - can't afford a whole year off? Do the next best thing - take a week in Bali! Alone. Scary thought. But so tempting.
And to Melbourne? I have the NCEA Aus conference coming up in Sept 08 and my fellow childbirth educator/midwife pal from Adelaide is asking me to go. So I am thinking hard about this. I have not been to Melbourne in 20 years. My last trip there was also a refuge trip of some sort.
Either way, to Bali or Melbourne, this would be a trip to make alone. No KH and no kids. And maybe along the way I'd be able to find some insight there.
Monday, February 11, 2008
The Happy-Happy CNY report
Well it came and went, thank God. CNY I mean.
It went right according to how I thought it would go. First day of CNY we got the kids dressed and ready and prepared some red dates/longan tea. The kids hemmed and hawwed through the CNY greetings their father insisted they say - in Mandarin. Oh torture for Isaac but how fun to watch as they mangled the greetings. Then they served us tea and we would give them their red packets and intone the usual CNY greetings - sort of. Mine contained English phrases like - "get a good job going with the bowling!" and "work hard and do well for your PSLE!" - stuff like that - hardly the traditional stuff. But not KH, he was really going the whole hog - not that the kids really understood but that's fine - all in the CNY spirit.
Then duty done, we drove over and had lunch with my parents, my bro and my sis. The food was excellent as usual - ayam buah keluak, bakwan kepiting soup, stewed mushrooms and chicken with dried scallops and fatt choy and my mother's killer belachan. Bliss. The kids OD'ed on Cartoon Network. We played mahjong. The stakes were higher than usual (my bright reckless idea) - and I lost. Boo. My long-lost uncle came with his family members. I say long-lost because we have not seen them in years - at least 5 years? So it was with the awkward pleasantry of chatting with strangers that we had when we tried talking to our cousins.
Then at 6pm, we gathered at the ILs place. Dinner was chicken rice - yep. Steamboat and fishhead curry. And yes, after dinner, they all went for a walk and I went for mine. Yes, I think I was being a bit antisocial. :-)
I did like my walk though. My SIL's place is a sprawling old condominium complex which borders a private housing estate. Everyone else had gone to the playground. I put on a pair of flip-flops and checked out the tiny path leading from the garden of her maisonette that followed the perimeter of the condo grounds. I was alone, bearing a plastic cup of Coke, and I flip-flopped my way down the path. I liked to peep in at the houses I passed. Because of the foliage of the gardens and the shadows cast by the minimal lighting on the path, the occupants of the houses couldn't really see me but I could see them.
I saw families - lounging around, kids playing, babies crying. Someone clearing dishes. Expat kids entranced by Happy Feet on telly. Flourescent lit living rooms. Generally the ang-mos/expats seemed to have warmer lighting and living areas that appealed more to me. They had softer lighting, more lamps, more bookcases, packed with books, lovely wall hangings and the usual plethora of Asian art/sculptures of buddhas etc (though this bit is not quite my scene). One angmo garden even had lit tiki torches which I thought was a nice touch! The Chinese families I saw tended to have the harsher fluorescent lights, the stiffer wooden rosewood chairs, the white ceramic floors. The decor always seemed more functional than aesthetic. At certain points the path dipped and rose. One on side were the houses, on the other, the ground fell away to a small grassy valley and across the valley were the backyards of the private homes. Squares of light shone through from windows and open back doors, looking even starker when seen across the blackness of the valley. You could see people in the kitchens washing up, someone at a dining table. Dogs lifted their heads when I passed by as quietly as I could. One family kept chickens and they were roosting when I passed - on bamboo laundry poles perched on the usual metal stands. A toad hopped away from me. Lizards darted past on the walls. And at one point, I smelled the stale musky smell of a wild animal. The bushes in front of me rustled and I kept still. I don't know what animal it was and for an instant wondered about snakes in the bushes and tall grass flanking the tiny path. But the Coke steadied me and I walked on. I thought that being afraid was not a good idea since I believe animals do smell fear and are more likely to attack if so.
I liked my walk. I liked the solitude. I liked being an unseen voyeur into people's living rooms, wondering about the lives they led. When I returned, the house was still empty save for the maids cleaning up in the kitchen. So I settled down with a good book, MP3 plugged into my ears as I planned, and started to read.
They came back soon enough of course and the house was filled with noise and people again. Isaac's upper lip was swollen from a fall. In the living room, the younger kids played with the Wii, wildly swinging their arms while the babies like Owain and Trin watched and laughed. The BILs sat at the dining table talking. The MIL, SILs and KH played blackjack in the patio. The older teen girls (Gillian included!) huddled over a laptop in a room upstairs. The maids chatted in the kitchen. And I - curled up in an armchair - went to Italy with Elizabeth Gilbert in "Eat Pray Love" - which I have to say, is a great book! It describes, sometimes almost quite frighteningly similarly so, her state-of-mind and situation in life that eventually prompted her to get a divorce, live in Italy for 4 months to learn the language, enjoy the food and the pleasures of the land, and then move to an Ashram in India. She would eventually move to stay in Bali under the mentorship of a Balinese medicine man - but I have not gotten that far in the book yet.
The party on day 1 broke up at 11.30pm - thanks to me the party-pooper. I was tired and I just wanted to sleep in my own bed and get past the day.
Day 2 - anniversary day - was spent with my grandmother and my mother's relatives. The food was great - I cooked dried mee siam (which had good reviews from my mother and my aunt - high praise considering that they are my cooking gurus), and there on offer in the spread, was chili otak, chup-chye, my mother's chicken curry, and my aunt's stir fried chives with taukwa and prawns. Simple hearty stuff but so very good and satisfying.
I sat in the little spare room at the back yakking with Steph my cousin but who, at 19 felt more like a niece, about her poly graduation plans. It was NUS Law School or a life as a hermit for her, she declared. Very drama, but I think this is how it is when one was younger. In her I saw the impetousness, the fiery desire for something (and when one is young, it can be anything - law school, a bad boyfriend who is wrong for you etc) and the urge to get this and nothing else - I almost got a whiff of what I was like once upon a time - and maybe still am somewhere inside. And then Rachel was there, Marc's wife. She still looked shaky but I'm glad to hear that she's slowly - very slowly - picking up and that life is moving on. Inexorably, it always does. Even when you would prefer it would not, it does. I thought it was interesting that the three of us, clearly at different stages in our lives - one looking forward intensely to getting a place in NUS Law, another who just lost her soulmate, and me - standing on a cusp of being 40 and all that that implies - could sit around and talk and how there are similar threads in our circumstances we could all weave through and find a common place.
Later I played blackjack - and won $20!! Yay! Being banker helps. :-) Then we parted ways and on the spur of the moment, decided to go to Rita's house. It was nice to just spend time in the company of friends, relaxing, sitting around a dining table to talk. Our five kids as usual, blended right in with her five kids. The number of children around never fails to amaze me!
We had a lovely anniversary dinner - thanks to Ivan and Rita - at the SAF Yacht Club at Changi. Lovely setting - right in front was the sea and the scattered tankers and container ships in Singapore Anchorage, and a little beyond tiny twinkly yellow lights of a town - which we guess had to be Indonesia. At night these make the town look closer than it really looks in the day. Our two families - 16 of us in all plus helpers - sat down to dinner together. The food was good and the company great fun!
So how do I feel?
I liked our dinner. Having dinner with Rita and her family was loads more bearable and fun than having dinner with the ILs - and as expected, that was his initial plan - he had wanted to go over to his brother's house for dinner on Day 2. If you think I chafe at not having a romantic couple-only time with him - well I don't. I feel relieved in a way. At least with the chatter of children around and with Rita and Ivan there, we don't feel the strain of having to make conversation. Always very awkward feeling. But at the same time, I do wish that we could recapture some of that early feeling. Not asking for the grand actions - not a candlelight dinner, flowers etc - to me, thats just fluff. I'm just looking for the deeper connections.
Ah well. It came and went. And that's all there is, I guess.
So ends CNY 2008 too.
Well it came and went, thank God. CNY I mean.
It went right according to how I thought it would go. First day of CNY we got the kids dressed and ready and prepared some red dates/longan tea. The kids hemmed and hawwed through the CNY greetings their father insisted they say - in Mandarin. Oh torture for Isaac but how fun to watch as they mangled the greetings. Then they served us tea and we would give them their red packets and intone the usual CNY greetings - sort of. Mine contained English phrases like - "get a good job going with the bowling!" and "work hard and do well for your PSLE!" - stuff like that - hardly the traditional stuff. But not KH, he was really going the whole hog - not that the kids really understood but that's fine - all in the CNY spirit.
Then duty done, we drove over and had lunch with my parents, my bro and my sis. The food was excellent as usual - ayam buah keluak, bakwan kepiting soup, stewed mushrooms and chicken with dried scallops and fatt choy and my mother's killer belachan. Bliss. The kids OD'ed on Cartoon Network. We played mahjong. The stakes were higher than usual (my bright reckless idea) - and I lost. Boo. My long-lost uncle came with his family members. I say long-lost because we have not seen them in years - at least 5 years? So it was with the awkward pleasantry of chatting with strangers that we had when we tried talking to our cousins.
Then at 6pm, we gathered at the ILs place. Dinner was chicken rice - yep. Steamboat and fishhead curry. And yes, after dinner, they all went for a walk and I went for mine. Yes, I think I was being a bit antisocial. :-)
I did like my walk though. My SIL's place is a sprawling old condominium complex which borders a private housing estate. Everyone else had gone to the playground. I put on a pair of flip-flops and checked out the tiny path leading from the garden of her maisonette that followed the perimeter of the condo grounds. I was alone, bearing a plastic cup of Coke, and I flip-flopped my way down the path. I liked to peep in at the houses I passed. Because of the foliage of the gardens and the shadows cast by the minimal lighting on the path, the occupants of the houses couldn't really see me but I could see them.
I saw families - lounging around, kids playing, babies crying. Someone clearing dishes. Expat kids entranced by Happy Feet on telly. Flourescent lit living rooms. Generally the ang-mos/expats seemed to have warmer lighting and living areas that appealed more to me. They had softer lighting, more lamps, more bookcases, packed with books, lovely wall hangings and the usual plethora of Asian art/sculptures of buddhas etc (though this bit is not quite my scene). One angmo garden even had lit tiki torches which I thought was a nice touch! The Chinese families I saw tended to have the harsher fluorescent lights, the stiffer wooden rosewood chairs, the white ceramic floors. The decor always seemed more functional than aesthetic. At certain points the path dipped and rose. One on side were the houses, on the other, the ground fell away to a small grassy valley and across the valley were the backyards of the private homes. Squares of light shone through from windows and open back doors, looking even starker when seen across the blackness of the valley. You could see people in the kitchens washing up, someone at a dining table. Dogs lifted their heads when I passed by as quietly as I could. One family kept chickens and they were roosting when I passed - on bamboo laundry poles perched on the usual metal stands. A toad hopped away from me. Lizards darted past on the walls. And at one point, I smelled the stale musky smell of a wild animal. The bushes in front of me rustled and I kept still. I don't know what animal it was and for an instant wondered about snakes in the bushes and tall grass flanking the tiny path. But the Coke steadied me and I walked on. I thought that being afraid was not a good idea since I believe animals do smell fear and are more likely to attack if so.
I liked my walk. I liked the solitude. I liked being an unseen voyeur into people's living rooms, wondering about the lives they led. When I returned, the house was still empty save for the maids cleaning up in the kitchen. So I settled down with a good book, MP3 plugged into my ears as I planned, and started to read.
They came back soon enough of course and the house was filled with noise and people again. Isaac's upper lip was swollen from a fall. In the living room, the younger kids played with the Wii, wildly swinging their arms while the babies like Owain and Trin watched and laughed. The BILs sat at the dining table talking. The MIL, SILs and KH played blackjack in the patio. The older teen girls (Gillian included!) huddled over a laptop in a room upstairs. The maids chatted in the kitchen. And I - curled up in an armchair - went to Italy with Elizabeth Gilbert in "Eat Pray Love" - which I have to say, is a great book! It describes, sometimes almost quite frighteningly similarly so, her state-of-mind and situation in life that eventually prompted her to get a divorce, live in Italy for 4 months to learn the language, enjoy the food and the pleasures of the land, and then move to an Ashram in India. She would eventually move to stay in Bali under the mentorship of a Balinese medicine man - but I have not gotten that far in the book yet.
The party on day 1 broke up at 11.30pm - thanks to me the party-pooper. I was tired and I just wanted to sleep in my own bed and get past the day.
Day 2 - anniversary day - was spent with my grandmother and my mother's relatives. The food was great - I cooked dried mee siam (which had good reviews from my mother and my aunt - high praise considering that they are my cooking gurus), and there on offer in the spread, was chili otak, chup-chye, my mother's chicken curry, and my aunt's stir fried chives with taukwa and prawns. Simple hearty stuff but so very good and satisfying.
I sat in the little spare room at the back yakking with Steph my cousin but who, at 19 felt more like a niece, about her poly graduation plans. It was NUS Law School or a life as a hermit for her, she declared. Very drama, but I think this is how it is when one was younger. In her I saw the impetousness, the fiery desire for something (and when one is young, it can be anything - law school, a bad boyfriend who is wrong for you etc) and the urge to get this and nothing else - I almost got a whiff of what I was like once upon a time - and maybe still am somewhere inside. And then Rachel was there, Marc's wife. She still looked shaky but I'm glad to hear that she's slowly - very slowly - picking up and that life is moving on. Inexorably, it always does. Even when you would prefer it would not, it does. I thought it was interesting that the three of us, clearly at different stages in our lives - one looking forward intensely to getting a place in NUS Law, another who just lost her soulmate, and me - standing on a cusp of being 40 and all that that implies - could sit around and talk and how there are similar threads in our circumstances we could all weave through and find a common place.
Later I played blackjack - and won $20!! Yay! Being banker helps. :-) Then we parted ways and on the spur of the moment, decided to go to Rita's house. It was nice to just spend time in the company of friends, relaxing, sitting around a dining table to talk. Our five kids as usual, blended right in with her five kids. The number of children around never fails to amaze me!
We had a lovely anniversary dinner - thanks to Ivan and Rita - at the SAF Yacht Club at Changi. Lovely setting - right in front was the sea and the scattered tankers and container ships in Singapore Anchorage, and a little beyond tiny twinkly yellow lights of a town - which we guess had to be Indonesia. At night these make the town look closer than it really looks in the day. Our two families - 16 of us in all plus helpers - sat down to dinner together. The food was good and the company great fun!
So how do I feel?
I liked our dinner. Having dinner with Rita and her family was loads more bearable and fun than having dinner with the ILs - and as expected, that was his initial plan - he had wanted to go over to his brother's house for dinner on Day 2. If you think I chafe at not having a romantic couple-only time with him - well I don't. I feel relieved in a way. At least with the chatter of children around and with Rita and Ivan there, we don't feel the strain of having to make conversation. Always very awkward feeling. But at the same time, I do wish that we could recapture some of that early feeling. Not asking for the grand actions - not a candlelight dinner, flowers etc - to me, thats just fluff. I'm just looking for the deeper connections.
Ah well. It came and went. And that's all there is, I guess.
So ends CNY 2008 too.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Doing the CNY happy-happy shuffle
I used to love CNY as a child. Even as a young adult. But now that I am married, the joy of CNY is marred for me thanks to one thing: unavoidable time with my ILs. Got to grit teeth and do the happy-happy - even when I'm really not feeling the lurve.
This year to get through the annual IL session, I have done my shopping at Borders to arm myself with a stack of good books to bring along and just get lost in. While they are doing their usual yak-yak and playing blackjack, I will be in a corner, hopefully engrossed in a gripping novel. And yes, ears plugged into my MP3 player. Must remember to charge the player.
You may say: oh this is your fault - you should be less anti-social, make an effort to fit in. Well, not that I've not tried. I've tried to join in a conversation at a table only to have the table vacated within 10min of my getting there. Then I'm left at the table with one or two others, usually my BILs, and faced with an awkward silence. And where did everyone else go? You see them next huddling together in another corner of the house yakking away.
I sort of get the message.
They don't mean to snub me but they do prefer their own company. And maybe there are things they need to talk about which can't be said when I'm there. Whatever the case may be. I am not unsympathetic - I know how it is - with my brother's girlfriend, nice though she is, its hard to keep the conversation going for too long, and there are always private jokes and unknown relatives to goss about which she might not relate to. It's hard enough to find people you can click with as friends. With ILs you don't have a choice at all and its a bonus if you can click with them and be buddies (something I used to hope for a long time ago when KH and I first got married: my fantasies about going shopping with my SILs have long since evaporated into dust) but I've come to realise that some things just can't be forced. The best I can do is to maintain some form of neutrality when I meet them and do (or at least pretend!) the happy-happy routine.
After a few sessions of these, I just gave up. Better to just bring a book and sit somewhere. Or avoid gatherings altogether. Unfortunately, my kids love their cousins and eagerly lobby for more meetings! Which brings me to point non plus. I want time with my kids but my kids want time with their cousins - and I absolutely hate these gatherings. I've come to the point that I try to avoid some gatherings when I can - the kids are okay (when mom doesn't come along they get to stay later, play harder and no gloomy-looking mom there to spoil their party) but KH is not.
I will admit it - these things have been an unspoken and unresolved point of tension between me and KH. One day, I know this is all going to explode in our faces. Right now we're just tacitly agreeing not to touch this subject - it's just a ticking time bomb. So for now I'm resigned to doing the happy-happy even when I am not - something I think I am getting quite good at lately.
This year, our prep for CNY has been quite sluggish. I just didn't feel in the CNY mood. The kids have been pestering us to get the CNY decorations going, to get the flowers etc. But this year, my heart is just not in it. Just don't have the feel-good effect that I used to get.
The only joy that I am deriving from all this is the possibility of spending time with my sister! Yes, she's coming down from KL and hopefully we get to spend more time together. Seems like we're always just passing each other like ships in the night. Even when I go to KL, she's busy surrounded by dogs and I'm surrounded by kids - it's so hard to have a good talk. So this time, I am really looking forward to sitting down, hopefully having a good game of mahjong with her or even Scrabble! The last time we met in KL we were talking wistfully about not having played Scrabble or Monopoly together for ages!
And for the icing on the cake, this year, CNY's 2nd day falls on my wedding anniversary. Feb 8 marks 16 years of marriage. Actually, 17 since we did the ROM thing in 1991.
But you honestly think we will celebrate this? I think I have a greater chance at picking the winning Big Sweep ticket.
Instead, I forsee KH going to his sister's house for dinner or something like that. Bad enough that he would not take me out for dinner (trust me on this, he never did all these years without a prompt from me and this year I'm just too emotionally spent to prompt again!) or do anything romantic, but worse that this happens on CNY and I end up spending my anniversary with the ILs! Ugh!
I know. I sound so cynical. And as a good friend told me, so crochety and miserable too. Horrible right?
I don't know. Maybe its 17 years. Maybe I'm tired of CNY and the whole shebang. Maybe I just need to get away. Alone.
I think I just need to find some real happy-happy for me. Don't know where to start though.
But first, got to grit teeth and get through CNY.
I used to love CNY as a child. Even as a young adult. But now that I am married, the joy of CNY is marred for me thanks to one thing: unavoidable time with my ILs. Got to grit teeth and do the happy-happy - even when I'm really not feeling the lurve.
This year to get through the annual IL session, I have done my shopping at Borders to arm myself with a stack of good books to bring along and just get lost in. While they are doing their usual yak-yak and playing blackjack, I will be in a corner, hopefully engrossed in a gripping novel. And yes, ears plugged into my MP3 player. Must remember to charge the player.
You may say: oh this is your fault - you should be less anti-social, make an effort to fit in. Well, not that I've not tried. I've tried to join in a conversation at a table only to have the table vacated within 10min of my getting there. Then I'm left at the table with one or two others, usually my BILs, and faced with an awkward silence. And where did everyone else go? You see them next huddling together in another corner of the house yakking away.
I sort of get the message.
They don't mean to snub me but they do prefer their own company. And maybe there are things they need to talk about which can't be said when I'm there. Whatever the case may be. I am not unsympathetic - I know how it is - with my brother's girlfriend, nice though she is, its hard to keep the conversation going for too long, and there are always private jokes and unknown relatives to goss about which she might not relate to. It's hard enough to find people you can click with as friends. With ILs you don't have a choice at all and its a bonus if you can click with them and be buddies (something I used to hope for a long time ago when KH and I first got married: my fantasies about going shopping with my SILs have long since evaporated into dust) but I've come to realise that some things just can't be forced. The best I can do is to maintain some form of neutrality when I meet them and do (or at least pretend!) the happy-happy routine.
After a few sessions of these, I just gave up. Better to just bring a book and sit somewhere. Or avoid gatherings altogether. Unfortunately, my kids love their cousins and eagerly lobby for more meetings! Which brings me to point non plus. I want time with my kids but my kids want time with their cousins - and I absolutely hate these gatherings. I've come to the point that I try to avoid some gatherings when I can - the kids are okay (when mom doesn't come along they get to stay later, play harder and no gloomy-looking mom there to spoil their party) but KH is not.
I will admit it - these things have been an unspoken and unresolved point of tension between me and KH. One day, I know this is all going to explode in our faces. Right now we're just tacitly agreeing not to touch this subject - it's just a ticking time bomb. So for now I'm resigned to doing the happy-happy even when I am not - something I think I am getting quite good at lately.
This year, our prep for CNY has been quite sluggish. I just didn't feel in the CNY mood. The kids have been pestering us to get the CNY decorations going, to get the flowers etc. But this year, my heart is just not in it. Just don't have the feel-good effect that I used to get.
The only joy that I am deriving from all this is the possibility of spending time with my sister! Yes, she's coming down from KL and hopefully we get to spend more time together. Seems like we're always just passing each other like ships in the night. Even when I go to KL, she's busy surrounded by dogs and I'm surrounded by kids - it's so hard to have a good talk. So this time, I am really looking forward to sitting down, hopefully having a good game of mahjong with her or even Scrabble! The last time we met in KL we were talking wistfully about not having played Scrabble or Monopoly together for ages!
And for the icing on the cake, this year, CNY's 2nd day falls on my wedding anniversary. Feb 8 marks 16 years of marriage. Actually, 17 since we did the ROM thing in 1991.
But you honestly think we will celebrate this? I think I have a greater chance at picking the winning Big Sweep ticket.
Instead, I forsee KH going to his sister's house for dinner or something like that. Bad enough that he would not take me out for dinner (trust me on this, he never did all these years without a prompt from me and this year I'm just too emotionally spent to prompt again!) or do anything romantic, but worse that this happens on CNY and I end up spending my anniversary with the ILs! Ugh!
I know. I sound so cynical. And as a good friend told me, so crochety and miserable too. Horrible right?
I don't know. Maybe its 17 years. Maybe I'm tired of CNY and the whole shebang. Maybe I just need to get away. Alone.
I think I just need to find some real happy-happy for me. Don't know where to start though.
But first, got to grit teeth and get through CNY.
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