Post christmas; Pre new year.

The list of parties that we had lined up over the period of christmas have ended one after another over the past few days. The feasting has also trickled down in accordance. The mountain of prettily wrapped presents that had been sitting in my room for the past few weeks have already been given away, and a pile of opened presents take its place. 

As I glance at the new boxes of toys stacked upon one other, it seems to me that the number of presents the kids received this year, doubled what we had given. I realise belatedly that most of the toys S had received were not of cars.

My son has this single obsession with cars since he was a toddler. His conversational topics often, if not always, revolve greatly around the subject of cars. Car models, brand names, racing terms and movies spew out endlessly and expertly from him while I listen on in befuddled confusion. The 101 questions that come from him are also often in relation to cars. ('Is the Acura NSX faster or the Nissan GTR R35?')

Due to his particular interest, we have amassed (both bought and received) countless toy cars throughout his growing years. In trying to 'diversify' his interest, we have experimented with buying him remote controlled cars, tamiya, and various sets of road and train tracks, on top of the many hot wheels and tomica that he already owns.

We have also tried buying him typically boy character toys such as Ben10, Ironman, Superman, TMNT, Maxsteel and the likes, but soon realise that non-car toys could only sustain his interests for a fleeting period of 2 days maximum. 

No matter what we bought, he would always go back to his little cars; running them along tracks, down makeshift slopes, pretend racing and drifting (complete with sound effects), watching the wheels turn. 

He especially liked the hot wheels and tomica range because they fit easily into his palm and/or pockets whenever he goes out. The number of 'travelling companions' that he brings along each time ranges from at least two (according to him 'one car cannot drag race') to six, or however many his pockets can hold. 

As such, we always fell back to buying him cars, or had people continually gifting him with cars simply because they were known to be his constant favourite.

This christmas however, he's received very little presents of cars, but we are thankful of it. We want to say thank you to each and everyone of you for the wonderful presents. But more than that, thank you for putting S's strengths and weaknesses into your thoughts, placing careful considerations in choosing him a gift that would help diversify and expand his interests away from cars, helping us along in our neverending efforts and attempts to exposing him to a wider range of experience. 

For those who had gifted him with cars, thank you, because you know he loves his cars best and that christmas for him wouldn't be complete without any presents of cars to open to. 

It's back to reality as I pick up remnants of torn wrappers strewn all over the floor, clearing (or attempting to clear) left over food in the fridge, and keeping away the presents that we have received. 

As the new year sets upon us, I bid a reluctant goodbye to the month long hols and prep myself and S for the new school cycle to come. Oddly enough, I (kind of) look forward to the beginning of the new school year, which will be re-opening in just a few days time. 

As S embarks onto a new journey in Primary 2, I am no longer the newbie schooling parent as I was at the beginning of this year. I shouldn't be nervous anymore, but yet I am. With bated breadth, I await with anticipation, the new experiences and challenges that may come, and hope to rise up to each one in my own way.

It is a mystery what 2015 will bring us. May it be a good and fruitful one for us and everyone around. Or with the recent trend on 'local upsize'; may it be a Great year!
Happy new year everyone.

Cinderella and a Christmas party

We arrived home at the stroke of midnight. As we turned into the driveway, the car was still a car, and not a pumpkin. And no one had turned into horses or mice. All I had were 2 sleepy children in the backseat. 

One fought sleep hard, but lost and was now exhaustedly sleeping away with her mouth wide open. The other looked on stonily, eyes kept wide open by imaginery toothpicks in the form of a mantra that went 'Go home can open presents. Go home can open presents.' Those words sustained him until we arrived home, torn paper wrappers and all. 

We weren't returning home from a ball. We had just came back from a yearly xmas gathering with my old school friends. Some of us had known each other for twenty three years. Some longer, at twenty nine. As we grew through the years, we watched alongside as each other experienced life going through the different phases. 

From individuals, we watched as some progressed into couples, and then to families of four, and some five. From childhood to awkward tweens, to motherhood and currently into middle age and beyond, we have certainly come a long way together. 

Our Christmas gathering has been a yearly affair for the past (six, maybe seven?) years. Due to various personal commitments, our meet ups throughout the year can get quite sporadic and random. It is also tricky trying to arrange a suitable timeslot for everyone. As such, our meetings are rarely in a complete group of six. But at the end of every year, we would all be anticipating and looking forward to this gathering where attendance was an (almost) unspoken compulsory. 

This year, to accomodate everyone's schedules, we had the gathering way ahead of Christmas. We spent a wonderful evening together with husbands and kids. The food that we had were simple; some bought, some made. But the conversations that flowed between us were rich. Good times, as always, simply pass by so quickly. 

Amidst rocking dining chairs and screaming children running up and down, we came together and shared, with the many years of our friendship, laughters, food and warm conversations all around. It was heartwarming not only to see and catch up with everyone present, but also to witness the growth of each others' children through the years. 

Some of them that we've seen as babies, have now embarked onto primary school. One is still in the crawling stage, and another has just begun to speak in complete sentences. It is a sobering thought to know that as we see these children growing and progressing differently every year, we too, age in return as the years go by. 

In time to come, perhaps our gatherings will come to a full circle, when these same little children that we now tow along, attend future gatherings together as young men and women and with their own friendships forged amongst them. It would indeed be a heartening sight. 

When I left the party last night, I didn't leave behind a glass slipper. Instead, I left with a tummy full of food, an armful of presents, and a heart filled to the brim with gratitude and love for each and everyones' friendship. 

Thank you ladies, for making all of these possible. 

May we have many, many more gatherings to come. 

Merry christmas, and meet up soon.

P1 Term 4 - end of school

I watched with pride as his little footsteps hurried across the stage. He shook his VP's hand and stood posing as the photographer snapped pictures. My boy was up on stage collecting his Good Progress Award for Chinese language.

For a child with speech difficulties, struggling with daily conversations and in relating events, it was an immensely proud moment for hubby and I as we watched the scene unfold before us.

This same boy had once dreaded going to kindy because of his fear in chinese lessons, even feigning illness on several occasions just to skip school. Subsequently starting primary one with only a smattering of chinese in him, he had progressed over the year beyond our wildest imaginations, improving little by little, to receiving an award on stage.

Although his report card pegged him only at 53 for his chinese, we were nevertheless humbled and touched by his efforts and improvements. His progress then at kindergarten 2 had been deproving. It was only after months of pondering and probing did the teacher and I come to the conclusion that because he lagged too widely behind his peers, he had totally given up on trying to catch up. His confidence suffered and as a result, he dreaded attending chinese classes. 

I wasn't exactly overly worried then because for a child with learning difficulties, I knew that we were able to get him excused for Chinese in primary school. But shortly after he started school, we made a decision to engage a chinese tutor instead. Our intentions then were nothing academic. We had only wanted to try to bridge the gap since he was 'starting on a clean slate' with new peers. We were hoping that at the very least, we could reduce the fear he felt in things chinese, and improve his confidence in learning and grasping the language. Ultimately, our hopes for him were that he would be able to converse in simple mandarin.

Engaging a tutor didn't come cheap. But in wanting to prevent S from dreading school once again, we decided to give it a shot. I'm not sure if it was because the tutor was effective, or that we began to put in more effort to speak more mandarin to him at home, or a mixture of all the above, but over the months we noticed his confidence level creeping upwards. 

His outright rejection towards things chinese slowly decreased, and he was gradually more willing to answer in simple mandarin. Although we were heartened by his progress, we didn't think too deeply into it. So long as he was progressing, no matter how slowly, we were encouraged.

Seeing him walk up the stage to collect the award was truly the icing on the cake. Since S wasn't very often relating school events back to us, we only got to know that he was an award recipient moments before stepping foot into the auditorium. The school had recognised the efforts he put in and the progress that he had shown, and so did we. As he stood on stage, I clapped as loudly as I could with tears in my eyes. 

All the sacrifices that were made, the cancellation of appointments, the rushes home after work, the tight squeeze of time after dinner and before bedtime coaching him on his homework, the endless frustrations and worries expended throughout the months, the scarcity of me-time, these simply melted away the moment we saw him on that stage. He made us very, very proud parents with his improvements and progress.

The fall of those red velvet curtains after the award ceremony and year end concert also signified the end of school for the year. Over the year, S has developed from a scrawny, unsure boy, into one who is more outspoken and confident, filling out (a little too) snugly into his initially over-sized uniform. His preference is fast angling towards somewhat of a thrill seeker and sports enthusiast, showing so much more agility and dexterity in his movements. Evident in his taking of steps two by two, sometimes in threes, he also enjoys jumping off from a (short) height, and in taking the road less travelled (read as manouvering grassy slopes instead of walking on flat cement ground).

As I watch S lounging on the bed at home, playing on the ipad with intense concentration and deft fingers, rationing the amounts of nitro that he has in manouvering his golden Ferrari on Need For Speed, I realise that time will slowly develop this boy into a child of his own character. 

He needs much improvements in his other subjects (he failed maths) and many other aspects such as his patience, span of attention, cognitive and social skills, and his initiative to help, amongst many others. The progress will be slow, but nevertheless, we will get there by and by in his own time.

The closure of the primary one journey opens a new chapter for next year with new sets of books and bigger-sized uniforms. There is much more to accomplish with him in the neverending journey of education. I'm not sure how our journey will go, or where the road will lead us to, but as I hold my boy's pudgier hand, I steel myself for the similar but tougher cycles to come in Primary Two. 

In the meantime however, all that I will be doing is putting up my feet and enjoying the December holidays. 

Till the next year.    

Little Boys Are Made Of These

Dirty fingers, smelly feet.
Homework writings never neat.
Sweaty faces, messy hair
And mealtimes are often a messy affair.
Sloppy kisses, unkempt shirts
Pudgy fingers smudged in dirt.
Toy cars, robots, jokes so lame
Snakes and ladders, racing games.
Train tracks, ping pong, baseball bats
Adores Cartoon Network and its silly cats.
Zombies, monsters, scary things
Jumping, knocking, scraping knees.
Monkey faces, big wide smiles
Raucous laughters, behaving wild.
Cuts and scrapes and carelessness
Smiles, and cheeks with rosiness.

Little boys are made of these.
We hold their hands, but they hold mommy's heartstrings.

Teochew Nang

Teochew Nang, kaki nang,

Heiyo heiyo...

Di gor liang, di gor zhor,

Di gor wu jee, di gor por.

(Old Teochew poem: sit where it's shaded, go where that is loaded.)

Teochew Nang, ka chng ang ang.

(Silly limerick: Teochew people have red behinds)

I am a Teochew. And I'm proud to be one. 

Thinking back, my biggest Teochew influence would have been from my Ah ma - Pa's mother. I don't have much memories of Ah gong as he passed away quite awhile back, but my mind oddly retains pretty vivid memories of his funeral.

Anyway, Ah ma was the eldest we had around and she was often dubbed as the 'Dowager' by my youngest uncle who lived with her. A matriarch in her own rights, she was a feisty little old lady who could be demanding, domineering, unreasonable and strict in her ways of thinking and in how she wanted things done. But to us grandchildren, she was always a doting Ah ma who had loved us all. Conversant only in Teochew, I had the opportunity to practise my dialect skills each time I visited her, and it was through those experiences that I am conversant in Teochew now.

I remembered going to her house every weekend when I was younger, to a riotous rowdy mix of adults gambling and cousins hanging around. There was always food on the table and loud conversations going on. I looked forward to those weekends. We didn't converse a lot during those occasions, but she was a 'fixture' there. I would always seek her out and shout an 'AH MA!' to her and she would acknowledge me with 'Oi! Le lai liao ah.' (Oh, you've come already.)

She loved to drink 'pok chwee' (soda drinks) but couldn't drink much because of her diabetes. So whenever I could, I would offer to share a can and a few sips. "Ah ma, wa ga le gong si jik kong ai mai?' (Ah ma, I share a can with you?) and she would reply with a 'hor la' (ok).

Every time I visit, she would always demonstrate her doting ways by insisting on making me a hot cup of milo, irregardless if I wanted to drink or not. And she knew that I loved dumping 'gems' biscuits into my milo and spooning them up to eat when they were all soft and soaked, so she often bought a tin for me. 

One period during my schooling days, Pa would dictate that I spend a few days of my holiday every year to stay with her. I dreaded those days because the thought of staying with her was honestly boring. But stay I did, and during those days, I would be her extra hands, accompanying her to the market in the morning, having our kway tiao soup 'jeng her yi' (only fishballs) and lugging big red plastic bags of her marketing home. There was once I remember, she wanted to buy durians. And we ended up carrying huge bags of the thorny fruits home. 'Wa lao, Ah ma. Jing dang leh,' (it's very heavy) I told her as we made our way back. I can't remember her reply then, but I was definitely relieved to rid my hands of the weighty bags once we got home. 

Stays with her always made me melancholic. Initially dreadful, renewed attachments were always formed during those stays, leaving me sad and pensive whenever my stay ended. When Pa came to fetch me home, I always left with a heavy heart. Looking back, I guess this was his way of making me spend time with Ah ma and although I disliked his decisions then, I've grown to be grateful for the intentions he had, and the ties that fostered me closer to her along the years.

As I grew older, the weekend visits to her house gradually lessened and stays with her stopped altogether. In the prime of my twenties, I was occupied with everything life had going for me then and I didn't notice the transformation. 

Over the years, her head of permed black hair had slowly transformed into silvery soft strands, and as her memories blurred, her once robust, feisty persona slowly toned down to a less domineering and demanding lady. I had taken for granted that my Ah ma would forever be young and healthy, and by the time I really took notice, she had withered and aged, and suffered from dementia. 

When dementia hit her, it was another chapter altogether. Some incidents that happened with her are amusing now as we look back. But when we were going through it, it was certainly anything but funny. There were times when she would call up my house looking for another auntie, or worse, not remember who she wanted to call.

'Ah ma' I would call her upon recognizing her voice, 'le chweh di diang?' (Who are you looking for) 'Aiyo, wa mm gi dek liao' (I forgot) she would tell me in an angry, confused voice.

Or she would call up my house and without so much of a 'hello', she would exclaim 'Oi! Wa ah buay jiak leh. Dou jing khoong. Le ga wa buay jik pao guay png. Wa ai guay twee hor.' (I have not eaten yet and I am very hungry. Buy me a packet of chicken drumstick rice). I had to call my uncle to realize that he had already bought her lunch before he left the house.

But I guess the scariest time of all was once when she called and immediately started shouting over the phone that she had slipped and fallen in the bathroom, and was now sitting on the floor. I panicked and told her to get the helper to help her up, to which she vehemently replied that she didn't want the maid to touch her. I called my uncle immediately to see if one could reach earlier than the other and made my rushing way down to her house. Huffing and panting upon reaching, I peered through the metal gates and spotted her sitting on her regular spot 'kiao kah'-ing (legs propped up). She returned my frantic calls with a genuine look of surprise and remarked 'Oi! Zho ni le gin nik ah ne wu oy lai toi wa?' (How come you so free to visit me today?) Exasperated wasn't enough of a word to describe how I felt then. 

My youngest uncle probably bore the brunt of her episodes through the years of her dementia since he stayed with her. Those times were trying and exasperating, but we were all happy to see her happy; occasions that were exceeding rare. And so, I had thought that my upcoming wedding would be an occasion enough for her to look forward to. We had consulted her several times for the proper wedding customs, brought her along for the food tasting sessions, and even custom-made a 'lao ma bia' (Ah ma biscuit) for her longevity. On the day of '过大礼' (bringing over of wedding dowry), the symbolic items were happily brought over to her house. 

It was a joyous occasion and I had expected smiles and happiness. But instead, a face that was very angry greeted us. I was hurt and offended by her reaction. My mind retraced, racing through everything that I had done. Did I miss on doing something or did something that was not according to the customs? I couldn't recall. When I sat down and greeted her, she rebuked me with her sternest voice and said 'Wa xiang siok le. Zho ni le geh nang bo ga wa ta.' (I dote on you the most. Why didn't you inform me that you were getting married). She left me speechless to say the least.

Thankfully, my wedding went along well and I shall always be thankful and glad to have her and Pa attend and be part of my joyous occasion. To those who didn't know, my Pa had been suffering from Leukemia then and Ah ma wasn't in her best of health. That happy occasion was the last time I had them together with me.

Not too long after my wedding, Ah ma had to be hospitalized due to water in her lungs. I would visit often and lay beside her holding her frail, small hands in mine. My Ah ma, as I realized, was really old now. She would lie on her hospital bed alert and at times, with cataract-covered seeing eyes, she would scare us with questions of 'zho ni jie joong zhor ah ne gu ah buay gao?' (Why is this boat ride taking so long to reach?)

Or 'zho ni ah ne zui huay xio?' (Why are there so many monks?)

And once she remarked to me that there were a lot of 'bee pang' (bees) flying around and that they were giving her money ('ee nang kor wa lui leh'). I told her that we should keep the money and slowly guided her hands from the air into her pockets to 'safekeep' whatever monies the 'bees were giving' her.

Shortly after, she slipped away quietly one night in her sleep. When I went to take my last look at her, she was lying there all small and frail and prim. In the times spent with her throughout my growing years, I always remembered her neatly dressed, her fingernails cut short and clean, and her hair seldom out of place. Prim in her lifetime and even in her death, I will always remember my Ah ma this way

The Matriarch of our family was given an elaborate Teochew funeral with 'big houses' and 'big cars'. Wearing only socks, we had to cross a bridge and toss out coins into a metal basin during the funeral ceremony amidst monks chanting and loud 'dong dong chiang's noisily blaring at the void deck. I cannot remember the significance of most of the procession, but it was a loud, noisy and traditionally Teochew funeral - the way that she would probably have liked it. 

A can of opened 'pok chwee' stood out among all the other traditional offerings at the altar in hope that she would now be able to drink all the sodas that she liked. And on the very last night of the wake, I spotted a single bee resting somewhere near where her body was placed, I hope, still giving her money in her afterlife.

I miss her curses of 'wa bear oy!' (Omg!) 

I miss her delicious fried yams. 

But most of all, I miss her unifying presence in the family.

Di gor liang, di gor zhor,

Di gor wu jee, di gor por.

Princess L's 4th Birthday

Four years ago, this little baby (quite literally) popped out of me. A bawling babe then, she has since grown (though by not a lot), into Little Ms Petite. But what she doesn't have in size, she makes up for in speech. 

Over the years, she has progressed from baby babbling to sentences that explicitly expresses her observations and wants, to vividly describing her thoughts and imagination, and to recent times of correcting us on our 'wrong english'.

A bite on her nugget later, she exclaims that it "looks like a boot. So funny right?"

Or when a piece of slightly chao-tah fried chicken is put on her plate, she tells us that she doesn't "want this piece because it looks so dirty."

To kor kor when he says a sentence wrong, "No. Not 'shot'. Its 'shoot'. Like 'you shoot me.'"

To her grandmother, who accidentally tells her to pass the phone to ah-gong. "No, not 'her'. It's 'him' because Gong-Gong is a boy!"

Sings "~Beauty and the maaan..." and when I correct her, she tells me that since the beast has become a man, we must not sing it as 'Beauty and the beast' anymore. 

And like all little girls, she dreams of being a princess and meeting her prince one day. With the latest craze in Frozen, she tells me she is Elsa while I am Anna, and points to Prince Hans as a 'bad prince because he pretend to love Anna.'

While I am continually amazed at her (at times rather astute) thinking, I am similarly aware that my baby girl is growing more and more as the days pass by.

This year as she turns four, her cake of choice is (no suprise) a Frozen cake. Sitting by the gigantic cake this afternoon, she smiled shyly as her school of nursery friends sang her the birthday song. And in tune with her current obsession, friends and family have also kindly gifted her with a variety of Frozen item-ed presents. 

I watched as she approached the small pile of presents with a mixture of surging happiness and shyness. And as she (with a lot of help from kor-kor) ripped open the presents with glee, leaving papa to collect the torn scraps of wrapper strewn all over the floor, I couldn't help but think that my baby girl has grown so much, so fast.

My little chatty, helpful girl, who complains incessantly about her brother, with the kooky thinking, quirky taste, two teeth less, who writes her 'a' lopsidedly, colours on her colouring book with only one single colour per page irregardless that there are seven princesses pictured together, says the funniest things I've ever heard, the one who shares her wild imagination, tells me 'I love you' and 'goodnight' multiple times before she sleeps every night, is already Four.

And the sobering truth that one day, she will grow up and then she wouldn't want to be celebrating her birthdays with us anymore, creeps into my thoughts. 

But I take heart because in meantime and for a few years more, I can still be her Co-cake-knife-handler, assistant candle-blower, be witness at her 'presents-opening-ceremony', and papa will retain the honorable title of the 'official strewn-wrapper-crusher'. 

So, Happy Birthday my Sweetheart! Don't grow up too fast.
Wishing you happiness and health, and everything good.

Love, Hugs and Kisses,
Papa & Mama.

S updates - Term 3

As the holidays for Term 3 ends and Term 4 approaches fast, I attempt to recall incidences that have happened during the previous term for my quarterly blog update. To my dismay, (or maybe relief) I wasn't able to think of any. To me, this translates to the fact that nothing major had happened, that might have caused me to overly fret or particularly remember. Term 3, as I recall, was rather monotonous and uneventful. Which in my instance, is something to be thankful of. 

There certainly were several small glitches here and there. The Chinese teacher called to inform me of the numerous corrections that S had accumulated and failed complete. And there was the ordering of the year-end photos that S, despite multiple reminders from us to hand the order envelope to the collection booth, kept forgetting until the order closed. Then there was the time he missed his first lesson of extra classes and followed the school bus home instead of staying back like we had reiterated a gazillion times over the weekend prior to the session.  Evidently, it seems that S doesn't take well to instructions, and that reminders are probably a waste of our breath. But in the scale of bigger issues, these were no-sweat stuff.

Term two had ended rather poorly, and I worried every so often, of S being bullied, of him not eating recess, of him not knowing when and how to ask for help instead of keeping mum about things, and many other nitty gritty worries that I've simply lost track of. Thus, to have this term pass by so uneventful and quiet is something that I am thankful for.

Academic-wise expectedly, S didn't perform as well as his classmates. And I do understand that he needs more time than typical to improve and that it isn't fair to compare his progress to his peers, or lament that his test results are (yet again) bordering on failure. So the least I want him to do, is to enjoy school. And I want to keep reminding myself this point. 

It is so easy to lose focus and fall into the kiasu mindset (for lack of a better word, no offense intended please) of parents with typically progressing children. I would have easily fallen into the same track if I could because it is just so easy and natural to want to compare worksheet scores, art pieces, Chinese word recognition, processing skills and every other thing they learn and do in school. But since S isn't a typically progressing child, that choice wasn't ours to take right from the start. 

Having said that however, it still takes a lot of effort and self reminders to avoid falling into the comparison trap, and to keep the focus on simply letting him enjoy the schooling process. I'll admit that I am in a constant internal battle wavering between pushing him (what if I over-push and result in him having a phobia of certain subjects, or worse, hate school?), or letting him progress at his own pace. (What if he remains stagnant?)

Despite my confusion in directing him through school, I'm glad to say that so far, he seems to be enjoying himself in school. Although like other children, he is lazy in getting his homework done, and tells me Maths is his least favorite subject. He certainly takes after me on that last part. 

As with the start of every new term, I am unsure of how things will progress with him. I can only wait and observe from the sidelines as my thoughts continually battle each other, and support him as much as I can from there.

Term four seems set to be a term of frustrations with the introduction of the multiplication table. For a child with language difficulties, with normal problem sums stumping him on a daily basis, I am not looking expectantly towards days of frustrating explanations of concepts that I myself am clueless in explaining. 

But I will endeavor to try, and hope that together, we can inch towards a never-give-up attitude to courageously face on to the difficulties that we may come across. 

If only my patience level could be multiplied just like the multiplication table.

Oh well, it's the last term after all.

Chiong ah~!!

Dad's 64th.

My mind can't remember the date you were gone
But it flags out to me the day you were born.
You would have been all of '64' today
With a cake and candles, and hair so grey.
You would have been smiling with wrinkled eyes
As you 'chide' me for the cake, your usual guise.
Life's little joys we had back then
You're in a happier place now, I understand.
Life is a cycle we can't control.
Still, I miss you with all my heart and soul.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

4th Sept 2014

In Loving memory of Pa

Another piece brought over from my now defunct blog.

May 23 ’06

The time has come for you to rest,
In Peace, a place in Heavens.
The day you took your very last breath,
I won't forget what happened.
Neither will forget
All that you've ever taught,
I’ll keep your words close to my heart
For always they shall belong.
I will cherish the moments spent together
In the sweetest memories and most beautiful songs.

I never wished to let you go
But life's like that it seems
You left us for another world
Suddenly time it seemed to cease
But life goes on, the sun still shines
Everything carries on like yesterdays.
Even though you are no longer here
In my Heart, a special place you will always stay.

 
Losing someone you love is always a hard thing to bear. Words can only barely describe the pain and anguish of the fact that the someone you love has gone and is never going to come back. That you are never ever going to see that someone, touch, speak or even laugh with them again.

Sympathetic and kind words can never distinguish the raw pain of the loss.

I once read somewhere, that the ones we love are always taken away from us too soon and the ones that are not important, never goes away.

How true.

But for all that has happened, the main lesson I learned is to cherish the ones still around you and never to take them for granted. And the one important thing to remember is to appreciate with good knowing, the present moment we all have now.

Now.
Not yesterday.
Not tomorrow.
Not later.

If you feel like going to that somewhere, do go. Why wait till tomorrow? You might not have the chance.

If you feel like wearing that special perfume, spritz it. Why wait for a 'special' occasion? The present moment is special enough as it is.

If you feel like mending some broken bridges, pick up the phone and call the intended person to apologise. Either party might not have a tomorrow or another day.

If you feel like telling that special someone 'I love you's, tell it to that person straight away.

Don't wait for regrets to even happen, then regret not doing it. The present moment passes in the blink of an eye and is gone. Never will the moment happen again.

My Dad had this pair of shoes that he never could bear to wear. He stored it lovingly in the original shoebox, tucked away in his cupboard. He was probably waiting for an appropriate special ocassion to put it on. And the special ocassion that he next wore these shoes were for his funeral. With a heavy heart, we retrieved this special shoes for him to wear for his last walk.

And it is with heavy hearts that my Mom, sis and me carry as we go through his possessions, packing them, deciding what to throw and what to keep.

I wish with all my heart that my Dad was still here with us, talking to us, fingering his knick-knacks and eating his favourite foods. But we all know the harsh reality that he has left us and we are never going to see him again. In this lifetime, and with his absence, I take comfort in knowing that I tried my every best to make him comfortable and happy, and that I was as best and as filial a daughter I could be to him.

My Dad chose to be cremated after his death. So in respecting his wishes, we cremated him. After when we were to collect his ashes, I literally saw a life person reduced to only a small box of bones and ashes. And it really struck home. No matter how much riches a person had in his lifetime, he could never bring it with him after death. No matter how posh a home he once stayed in, he could never have it back. No matter how pretty a person was, or how many nice clothings they once had, everything will just be reduced to bones and ashes. Just that and nothing else. We are born with nothing, and we leave with nothing.

I will forever miss my Dad with all my heart and soul. The only consolation I have is of the memories I have of him. The teachings he imparted and the life skills he taught, I will never forget. Stored deep in my heart, mind and soul, these lifetime teachings imparted from Father to daughter will always be in me.

My Dad was a person of patience and generosity in his life. He was also ever willing to lend a helping hand, always volunteering to help with this or that. In contracting this illness, it made him see things in a different perspective. He never took things to heart and was always willing to let things go by. He valued harmony above all things. And although he was a man of little words, I know he loved us very much.

In his absence, I shall strive to emulate him in the many life attributes and perspectives that he viewed. And most importantly, I learn to remember to cherish the ones we still have around. Pa may be gone. But I still have Mommy. I will constantly remind myself that I still have her and to cherish her.

In all honesty, the last few months we had with Pa were very intense and difficult. Looking back, I have much difficulty in remembering those days when he was strong and healthy. All the memories I have of him are when he was skinny and sick. But even in his sickness, he always was a cheerful and cheeky man. Still willing to help in whatever way he could, taking life lightheartedly, never giving up and fighting the illness with all his strength till his very last breath.

In mourning of his loss, I tell myself that he no longer has to feel pain anymore. That he is now free in spirit, unbound from his weak body and burdens. The other memories I'm sure, will trickle back in bits slowly. In meantime and always, I shall remember him in the little ways and everyday habits he charmed our lives with.

Only the person living, has the power to change things. To finish uncompleted tasks. The person who has passed on will forever be gone. Leaving those behind with memories to help them cope with the loss and to move on, to carry on living life.

In loving memory of my Pa...
I will miss you always.

To all Fathers out there,
Do not think for One moment that You are second best in your Child’s Hearts.
For You will always be their Guiding Light in their moments of Darkness.
Just as Mine was to Me.

Life Before Death

Brought over from my now defunct blog.
It has been so long since I last wrote this, but I still tear whenever I read back.

Written sometime in 2006... a form of outlet for my emotions during the days I  struggled to go through.
 
This is about my painful experience when I lost my Dad to Leukaemia in May this year. During which, in those trying times, I was not aware to look out for any palliative care or support until his last days. All I could manage was to take each uncertain day one day at a time. At times, the day would pass by all too soon, while other days crawled slowly by. Everything I did was based on ‘survival’ instincts to somehow, forge forward and attempt to constantly remain afloat in the midst of hopelessness.

Life before death is a hard and downhill journey that all of us need to experience before reaching that final unknown destination. It is often filled with fear and uncertainty. But to be beside your loved ones, accompanying and watching them during their last lap of life before death is also not an easy passage to take. It is a painful process, filled with feelings of sorrow and despair.

My Dad fought valiantly like a brave soldier throughout the three years since he was diagnosed with Leukaemia. And while times definitely had also not been easy for me, I am proud to have fought by him in that battle, to be beside him throughout.

From the very beginning when the bombshell was dropped on to us, to the final goodbye, I was content to just have Dad by my side and thankful for each ‘extra’ moment of time allotted to his life. For those three years, life was difficult for every one of us - my Mom, younger sis, my husband, myself and even his brothers and sisters. Sacrifices were made and we were often struggling to swim against the currents of despair and hopelessness.

In the beginning, I was devastated. My whole world, previously a safe cocoon, was now falling apart. Right from the beginning, I believed that Leukaemia did not, and could not be cured. I cried every night before I went to bed, and every morning when I woke up. However, after a few long weeks, things started to calm down. Although the situation was already spinning out of my hands, I had to fall into the steps and directions the hospital gave. Watching tubes and needles inserted into him, hearing him cry out in pain whenever he had to go through the painful process of bone marrow aspirations - all these tore out my heart. But all I could do was to stand bravely in silence behind the curtains, in hope of soothing him with the knowledge that I was just beside him, and to greet him with the brightest smile I could muster when the ‘ordeal’ was over.

For a short while, I was in denial.
Hoping against hope, that maybe the diagnosis was a mistake.
Maybe he stepped on something ‘dirty’.
Maybe if I went to sleep now and wake up tomorrow, everything would have been just a bad dream.

But the reality is that the situation would never change. The diagnosis was as real and as correct as the fevers and diarrhoeas that took turns to wrack his body. The talisman water that he drank never made his illness disappear. And day after day I woke up, the ill sense of dread was always hanging in the air, and the nightmare never ended. And many days after that, life seemed like a roller coaster ride of emotions - of fear and sorrow and despair, all tumbling in my heart and mind. An immense amount of emotions where I kept fiercely guarded and locked up in my heart, emptying in tears only in the private confines of the toilet cubicle.

Before, Leukaemia was something distant and far away. Something that seemed to only happened to other people. It was only a sickness that I read about on magazines and in the papers. I never imagined it would strike so near home one day.

I remember that day distinctly when the Doctor announced the grim news to my Dad and I. I remember running to the toilet and locking myself in the cubicle, crying the whole afternoon away till my eyes were red and sore. I can only guess my Dad wept on his hospital bed - the bed that he would eventually spend almost half of his remaining days on. It must have been hours when I emerged from the toilet for the sky had already turned dark, as dark as my emotions swirling around in the bottomless pit of despair.

Gradually, reality was reluctantly allowed to sink back into my life. In acceptance, I turned to the Gods for help. Fervently, I visited temples and gave more generous donations praying that the Gods would help cure my Dad and allow him to safely live past this ‘hurdle’, even bargaining for a longer life span if his life was due, in exchange for a few years out of mine.

And for awhile, it seemed to work. For a few good months out of all his suffering, Dad seemed fine and healthy, although often looking pale and emaciated. The dreadful sickness had reduced him to a mere wisp of a shadow of his past. But as long as he was happy and not in any pain, so was I. No matter that by now, all my free time were dedicated to him and he was number One on my priority list. For those times, I was always by his side, accompanying him for checkups, bringing him out, even just sitting silently beside him at home, watching him watch tv. I took pleasure in the simple fact that every moment spent with him was every moment extra. And I cherished every precious second with him.

Temporarily, life seemed almost calm and predictable, and within my grasp of control.

However, in the midst of all the gloominess, there was to be an upcoming joyous occasion – My Wedding. While preparing for my wedding and worrying about the usual of tripping over my gowns and ruined make up etc, I was all the more worried about my Dad’s health and his condition. Thankfully, that day went along well. Dad wore a suit and tie, and Mom wore a cheongsam. My close friends later told me how Dad beamed on that day like a proud father that he was. I wished time could stand still on that special moment where everything and everyone was happy and healthy. To me, my wedding seemed to be the last happy occasion my family would experience together.

Time flew all too soon for a man who was to go sooner than expected. In the three years that I was caring for my Dad in all the ways that I could, I did not regret one single moment. If any of my sacrifices made him feel better in any way, I was grateful to be given the chance to ease his suffering. And I’d like to think that along the way I did something right. That I had somehow, touched the Gods to grace him another year with us.

Exactly one year after my Wedding day, Dad passed away.

Try as I might, I cannot forget the look his face had on when he was gasping for air and the vacuous expression his eyes had taken on, oblivious to all our callings and shouting out to him. Even though we knew that bringing him home against the Doctor’s wishes meant him dying at home, nothing could prepare us when that moment came.

Dad had wished us to bring him home where he could feel more comfortable and we respected his wishes. One day after we brought him home, a doctor and a nurse from the hospice came to check on him and counsel us, ‘teaching’ us to be calm and to expect what was happening, signs to spot in his last hours and how to position his hands when he finally died. However, nothing could prepare me for THE moment, where my saneness was pushed to the brink, hovering between instincts and instructions. I finally gave in to instincts, and dialled 911. The ambulance arrived shortly and brought him to the hospital where he gasped his final last breadth, and left us to the sound of the beeping flat line on the heart monitor.

It’s been a few months since his passing, and although I am slowly coming to terms with the loss of him, it doesn’t lessen the pain of the knowledge that he cannot be around me to share my joys and continue being a part of my life anymore. Time, although a wonderful healer, is also a very slow worker, mending the wound in my heart bit by bit, day by day.

Looking back, sometimes I wish I didn’t know Dad so much.
So that I wouldn’t love him so much.
So that I won’t hurt so much now.

But I know that I would have lost much more should I not have known him. I do not regret all that I have done and I am glad that I had done all I could to ease him. I hope that he would be proud of me as his daughter, just as I was proud to have him as my Dad.

At the same time, I know I should be thankful that Dad spent his last few months able- bodied and independent. That he could spend his last days going to places that he wanted to go, looking up old friends and doing things that he wanted to do. In the short time that was allotted to him, at least he had the chance to say his goodbyes in his own ways.

After Dad passed on, I poured out my frustrations and sadness in writings of him and of how I felt. It was a way for me to release the overwhelming emotions that I kept bottled up. In trying to act as the strong eldest daughter, I often had to act cheerful in front of my Dad when he was alive, and for my Mom and sister after the painful loss of a husband and father.

I was also very afraid that I would one day forget all about this man whom I had loved and cared so much for. In writing vividly about the moments with Dad, I hoped that I will be able to recapture the memories as vividly whenever I read back. For that few seconds, I can be transported back to the time when I still have Dad alive and with me. Many times when I miss him, I would read my articles over and over again, and I would remember Dad. His face, his toothless smile, the wrinkles around his eyes, his leathery skin and how it felt to hold his hand.

And I would weep and smile at the same time because it would remind me the bitter sweet experience we went through together, and I am comforted to know that at least during this lifetime, I had been given this affinity to be born to him, learn from him, and in his time of need, able to care for him. I am forever honoured to have him for my Dad.

Life before death may be a difficult journey, but Life after death is as equally a painful process of healing and acceptance.

I only hope that if there ever is a life after death, I wish him a life full of happiness and contentedness, without having to go through the pain and sorrow of his previous one.

 

 

S's Sports Day: Another day, another journey

"Mommy! You must come to my school!" My boy told me angrily. 

I was puzzled initially at his outburst because I didn't understand what he meant. After some probing, I realised that he was referring to his orientation campfire where some (ok, maybe most) of his classmate's parents attended. Since it was stated that parents were only 'encouraged' to attend, I didn't. And he must have felt left out. His reactive response was probably one week delayed since relating events was an issue S had always struggled with, but ok, I got it. The message was received loud and clear.

I drowned in guilt for a few days after that.

That was in January this year. I had then apologised and solemnly promised him that I would attend his next school function, which would be today, since there was a mini Olympics cum National Day Observerance going on. Again, stated in the newsletter that I received earlier, were that parents were 'warmly welcomed' to support the event. (A cue that otherwise meant to me as 'You MUST attend'.) So I dutifully applied for leave, and we trotted off to school early in the morning.

There were already a sea of parents present when we arrived, and we had to search for awhile within the mass of identically looking children seated in haphazard rows on the parade square, before spotting him. After some mad waving to get his attention, he finally spotted us and waved back excitedly. You could see the instant he spotted us by the way his eyes lit up, and I felt an instant pang of regret in my heart by denying him this simple happy moment the first time I had missed attending. 

There were some singing and cheering that followed, and some riotous organising of the children into their respective houses, before the games finally began. 

I watched him listen for the horn and take off, manoeuvring expertly between the cones, doing a series of hops on one foot, execute a flawless forward roll, and bounce deftly on the ball, before finally making the dash back to his team-mates. I watched with tears glistening in my eyes and pride swelling in my heart. I was just so proud of him and so proud of the moment I caught of him.

His team didn't get the gold medal in the end. They achieved bronze, but he was beaming with pride with his medal nevertheless.

Watching him giving off his best and enjoying the school activities, I marvel at the improvements he has made and how far he has progressed since the earlier days. I remembered the drooling child who didn't know how to play with other children. I remembered the countless o.t sessions we ferried him to during his pre-school days. I remembered how he was on the first day of school, when he was still so unsure and uncertain of everything. 

My boy with the developmental delays, who couldn't balance on one leg, had poor hand-eye coordination, and difficulty following simple instructions, had progressed so much and so far since then. And he made us very proud parents.

There is still a lot of room for improvements for him, and it will be a neverending process in trying to catch up with his peers. But when I look at the distance he has covered and the achievements he has made, I know that we will make the journey together, progressing little by little, in his own special way.

Till the next school function, and many more ahead. 
I promise.

加油, my Son. 

Confessions of a mediocre student

I was never an outstanding student. 

Mediocre, and at times even below average in some of my subjects. I was never popular or exceptionally well-liked, and I never ran with the in-crowd. But the school that I came from was a good school, and I am proud to have belonged.

It has been a good twenty years since graduating from Secondary school. While I certainly had my fair share of fun during those intense 4 years, most of the friendships I had then, sadly disintegrated upon graduation. Looking back, maybe I was too young then to understand the importance of keeping and holding friendships. Maybe I was insecure. Almost all of the friends I knew then were headed towards a renowned JC and subsequently without doubt, to further on in a Uni. Either that, or they had plans for overseas studies.  

Me? I was stuck in neither. With scores that were barely enough to scrape into a select few neighbourhood JCs riskily and with absolutely no financial means for overseas studies, I had no choice but to enroll into a polytechnic instead. 

During the 90's, going to a poly was considered 'second class', frowned upon by teachers and parents alike. Although unspoken, it was a common thought then that going to a poly equalled a lousy future. And that thinking, ingrained into me throughout the years, influenced me to think that I would not achieve anything promising as well. 

But I did what I had to do to move on. Shrugging my shoulders with false nonchalance, I enrolled myself into a course. Keeping my head high, I tried to straighten my backbone as much as my low-esteem self could, steeling myself to travel the road that was less desired. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not shake off the feelings of inferiority and the perception of others of me. 

Coming from the school I was from, the expected path of progression after secondary school would be to JC, and then subsequently into Uni. The pressure of keeping up was tough. So when I fell between the cracks, I deemed myself a failure. Feeling disappointed, hopeless and ashamed of my results, I remembered sobbing my heart out to my mom who, at a loss on how to comfort me, carried on wordlessly in her household chores. 

I sat on the sofa that afternoon crying away for my ruined future, my lost dreams, for not meeting up to expectations, and for the path that I would never have. I cried for those ideals that like the tears rolling down my face, would simply disappear with just one swipe of my hand. 

Feeling like I was now beneath them, I began to shun most of the friends and declined gatherings that came my way. Inferiority complex, harsh and cruel, had eaten away at whatever self-esteem I had. That was in 1994. I was 16 then. Impressionable and eager to fit in. 
And reality was that I no longer did.

Shortly after, I took on part-time jobs and started school in poly. I immersed myself into a new circle of friends. I felt at ease in starting out again on a clean slate. In some ways, my thinking then were that we were all equals starting afresh in some place far away from the distinguished world of JCs and Unis. Although I could never erase the wonderful times I spent at MG, I felt I could cover up those moments with activities and new friends made, and dull the fact that I would never ever belong in the same league as those friends again. 

With my new 'life', I moved onwards starting anew in this alternate path of another 'universe'. As the time passed, I graduated, found a job, got married and had kids. I found other circles of friends and led a pretty normal life in comparison to the bleak picture that I had initially painted for myself in my younger days. 

Those days were almost forgotten until last week, when I attended the school's Founder's Day dinner - my first after graduation. Twenty years flew by just like that.

I would have loved to say that throughout those years, I had grown into a confident woman, one who was proud of the results achieved with my (lack of) educational status. But when I was once again surrounded by the same girls, this time more sophisticated, beautiful and successful, the familiar feelings of inferiority came flooding back into my memories.

Even though I knew that the dinner was just a facade everyone put on to show each other their best side, even though I understood the fact that each individual had their own stories uncomparable to the other, and even though I knew that I was doing pretty well in my own standards, I still felt like I fell far short. 

Anyone remember the chubby, clumsy  girl with plaited long hair, thick eyebrows and the funny thumb? The one with the quirky sense of humour developed to compensate for the lack in self confidence? The one who was never outstanding in any way except maybe for the time when she was infamously sent to A & E to get stitched up after carelessly slicing her hand during an art exam? 

That girl grew up. 

But though age and maturity managed to mould me into this slightly more confident and wiser woman than I was then, underneath it all I had to constantly fight the thoughts of inferiority that kept creeping in. Peer pressure and status comparison can so easily cripple my sense of self confidence.

I could never be the ceo or editor of any company, nor would I ever be as glamorous and well-travelled as some of the girls I saw that night. I don't dress in fashion's latest trend or sashay around in sexy heels. I don't travel at all for my job, I don't understand cheem corporate lingos, and I certainly don't know nuts about standing on stage giving impressive presentations. 

What I do instead, are totally irregular and unpredictable working hours, handling 'clients' of a different kind. Sporting worn out sneakers, I climb right up to rooftops of hdb estates, slash through dense forested areas, experience unpredictable high speed chases and violent struggles (thus keeping my fingernails very short), and the most glaring difference of all - getting exposed to the dark and dangerous side of Singapore. 

I know that my job, unglamorous and unprestigious through and through, cannot be placed on the same pedestal simply because they belong to a different league worlds away from theirs. But yet, I had to constantly fight off feelings of insecurity, reminding myself to take pride in my job of many years, where a lot of hard work and experiences were gained, many of which were out of the norm, to where I am standing today. From the bottom of my heart, I knew that my job, in its own way, was 'no horse run'. And still, I struggled to keep a lid on my insecurity.

But at the end of the day, when I get back home to my own little nest, to the warmth of my husband and hugs of my beautiful children, I think to myself - it's enough. 

Maybe I did measure up. 

Maybe, I didn't. 

But it shouldn't matter anymore because I have reached an equilibrium in my life, a point where I am happy and contented with what I have. I might not have everything that I want, but everything that I need is right here with me.
And that is enough.
I have enough. 

To Master, To Grow, To Serve.
Thank you MGS for the wonderful times spent in the embrace of your campus(es), for the friends and the laughters, and the joys of learning.

And another Thank you to the very few special ones who had travelled the distance with me on my journey of self discovery, tolerating me when I wasn't me once, and all throughout the years when I was acting weird trying to find my balance. You know who you are. ♡

L.

Adieu, mid-year hols

As the mid-year hols come to a close, I bid goodbye to my days of idling. Days when I do not have to rush back after work and hasten through dinner to oversee homework and assignments, to plan and prep for the weekly spellings, 听写s and the show & tells. When I can let my mind idle and put my legs up, not needing to worry if I had forgotten to pack his bags or if his pencil case was in order. And most importantly, of the days when I do not need to fret if he had been bullied in school. 

Term two had been one fraught with many difficulties and new realisations. To elaborate briefly, there were instances when S had 'given' his money to someone else and, in his naive explanation, told me that his friend didn't have any 'gold' coins but only had 'grey' ones. When he had his colour pencils vanish into thin air and I came home to realise his pencil box bare with only 2 miserable pencils. He tells me that they were 'stolen', and while I cannot be sure of that, neither am I convinced that his friend had accidentally packed his ruler, eraser and colouring pencils into his own bag. 

And the instance when an unknown student had approached him during recess and snatched his money away, leaving him hungry with only 20c and not enough to buy any food. That afternoon, he came home ravenous from school and promptly gobbled down a whole bowl of rice.  

It puzzled us at first why he was left with so little money, yet he claimed he ate nothing for recess. Upon probing further did we find out the reason. Needless to say, I was incensed. I asked him why he didn't retaliate and say 'no', or inform his fellow students or teachers for help. His sad reply to me then was 'because the teacher said must respect your friends'.

I was heartbroken by his answer. My heart wept for his naivety and helplessness. For his, as well as mine.

Knowing that I had only heard one-sided versions of the stories and even then, it wasn't the whole story since his relating skills were still pretty poor, I explained to his teachers at length that although I didn't want to fingerpoint, I wanted the situation improved. If teachers and parents could work close together, we could better bridge the gaps and intervene sooner when needed. While his teachers were very understanding and acknowledged my concerns, I understand that there is only so much they can achieve. On my part, I will have to monitor and handle whatever situations that arise along the way and feedback to the teachers when necessary. 

In the end, we managed to solve only one of the issues. His colour pencils were never found, and the girl was never identified. These two incidences were subsequently taken on as learning points for S. Since then, we have been emphasizing and reinforcing on how he should behave should such incidents happen in future. I am not sure how he would react should he be 'put to the test'. We can only try and hope. 

I can easily replace the things that he lost, but not the mentality that it is okay to be bullied/taken advantage off/pranked on, and staying silent about it.

And so, my days of rushing, planning, prepping, worrying and fretting begin once again. The cycles of school that parents can never avoid. As I refill his recess money and replace new colour pencils into his pencil case, I gear myself up for the cycles to come. His bag has been packed and is ready for the start of the new term. I only hope that his heart and mind are equally prepared. The month long hol had been a great break, but now it has come to end.

I believe Term 3 holds even more difficulties and obstacles for us to overcome and realise. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dreading it. It is scary to be expecting unknowns, but come what may, we must struggle and continue pressing on, moving ahead however slow the pace might be. 

So, come on Term 3. Let's do it.

Road travels with little people - Malaysia

Sin - KL - Genting - Sin

Packing for a road trip was much easier then for a flight. Since the boot and empty front passenger seat were to be our store and pantry throughout the journey, that meant that I could pack almost everything I wanted and needed for the trip. While the rest of us were all cramped up together in the back seat, at least that meant more leg room - a relief in the limited confines of car space.

As this was our virgin road trip alone with the kids, we kept it fluid and short. I packed clothings for hot, cold and rainy weather, counted out diapers and formula feeds for Little L, picked out an array of snacks and buns and little packets of milk, filled up 1.5l bottles of extra drinking water, threw in a colouring set, and with a borrowed gps, we were good to go.

As with kids however, every one of the items that I had painstakingly thought to include, were of no importance to them. Afterall, anything that I had packed were of little significance once they had ipads clutched in their tiny arms. Our fault really. But it's become a 'tool' now, one that I am loath to do without. It can keep the kids happy and occupied, and is a great 'motivator' to get them to do what we want. Which usually only mean one thing - sit quietly, so that we can concentrate on getting something else done. Like, deciphering the gps directions when we keep having the words 'route recalculated' flashing on the screen, or becoming squinty-eyed while helping hub spot if the road sign with the really small font 200m away is indeed our correct turn.

There are only so many activities that I can plan and occupy in the many hours while sitting cramped up together in the car. And since my kids are especially sleep resilient, that left me with one less option.  Put me 2 hours in a moving vehicle and off to lala land I go. I don't know how they managed to keep awake 3/4 into the journey before finally nodding off for a total of 45 minutes max. Okay, I digressed. But as you can see, the ipad is really such a wonder. Back to the start of the journey.

We planned to leave our house at a gawd-awful-jam-avoiding time of 6.30 but we managed at 6.45 instead (very good efforts) and cleared the causeway by 8.15am (very, Very good efforts). Shooting down the north south highway at a pretty average speed of 130km/hr, we occupied the next few hours breakfasting in the car, having our buns and snacks, colouring, and of course, playing on the ipad. I was kept very busy opening up little packets of biscuits and crisps, unwrapping sweets, wiping up crumbs and dribbles, preventing drinks from spilling, fillings on the breads from falling, and many other little tasks my ocd could pick out and manage. I was like an octopus with all its eight arms occupied. Time pretty much flew as we were all probably still hyped up on enthusiasm of the trip.

Halfway through, we made a pitstop (can't remember which one) for some food and a much needed toilet break. As with all the stops along the north south highway, the food served was only passable at best and its purpose was to fill up hungry tummies under the bo pian act. Still, kids and adults alike were glad to stretch our legs and backs, and give our bladder some release.

As soon as we were seated at the foodcourt, we were 'attacked' by swarms of flies which insisted on descending relentlessly everywhere around us and scaring the kids (especially L) so much, that we were forced to retreat into Baskin Robbins (next door) after a few quick bites of our mee soto and mee siam. I would have snapped a picture of the avalanch of flies if my hands weren't so busy trying to shoo them away.

The kids, who were relatively happier now that we were away from the flies, somehow weren't able to muster up much appetite for the cold treat. Either the flies had killed off their appetite, or that the excitement of the trip had finally given way to weariness. As we continued on, the second leg of our journey was comparably much more tiring since both energy and enthusiasm had fizzled out.

The kids managed some more half-hearted colouring and snacking, and finally, after 2 hours and a thousand 'Are we there yets?', we arrived at our hotel (Parkroyal, and lucky us to have a free upgrade), checking in around 1pm. The kids did a quick initiation of the luxurious bed, rolling around and jumping on it, and then we headed out for a late lunch and some proper food. To our growling stomachs, we have finally arrived at KL.

Kidzania

The days at KL passed by quickly as we explored the malls around our hotel on Day 1 and Kidzania (the highlight of the trip) on Day 2. I was pretty excited about bringing the kids to Kidzania. Unfortunately, since they didn't know what to expect, they didn't share the same level of excitement as me.

We arrived at Kidzania after a lazy breakfast and by then, it was already packed with kids and adults. Several schools of children were spotted walking around everywhere, and some popular 'occupations' had a long queue snaking round. The fireman for example, had a wait time of about 40mins! It was pretty tricky trying to choose and prioritise which activity we wanted to queue for, as L was too young for most of the occupations and S was only open to a very limited choice. And since I had booked the a.m slot, that meant that we had only till 3pm before the session was over.

We let them have a go at being a police officer first as both ages qualified and they were keen to participate. Even though we were next in line, it was still a good 20mins of standing and waiting in the queue. When it was finally their turn, they were brought into the 'station' and given a 'briefing'. Then they had some fun patroling the 'city' in their oversized uniforms and hats, caught a 'burgler' and even received a warrant card at the end of the activity.

Realising that we were running on limited time after that, Hub and I decided to each bring one child around to save time. S adamantly wanted to have a go at being a car driver but unfortunately, didn't meet the height requirement. My little (would-be) racer was really disappointed at not being able to drive the mini car and rejected all other alternative activities after that. We had to half coax, half coerce him into trying out a few other occupations and after much encouragments, we managed to get him to participate in being a pump attendant, a supermarket shopper and a painter. I was glad to see him having fun and the smile back on his face. "Mommy look! I got money!" he would proudly show me his 'earnings' from each 'job'.

 

L on the otherhand, had her first makeover session at the beauty salon. Since she was too young to be the beautician, she could only participate as the customer instead. Then she went on to become a supermarket cashier, sporting a super cute look in her cashier uniform.

 

After a tiring activity-filled morning of queues and crowds, we left Kidzania close to 3pm for a spot of late lunch. The kids themselves were tired of all the queuing and were starting to ask to go. Looking back, perhaps S and L are too young still to understand the concept of having a job or an ambition. Or maybe they were just overwhelmed by the crowd and the whole place. But overall, I hope the kids had fun trying out the few occupations that hub and I guided them into, gained some knowledge and exposure of having a job, and also the experience of 'earning' their own money. 

Personally, I feel that this experience would better benefit S and L when they are slightly older (and taller), and when they would already have an idea of what they want to be when they grow up. Perhaps we'll plan the next visit in another 2 years.

Kidzania is linked to 'The Curve' - a huge shopping mall, and we spent some time exploring there for awhile before making a detour to Puchong for an errand, and finally heading back to KL for the comfort of our hotel room.

Genting Highlands

The next day we headed for Genting. It was a much awaited trip for me as I have not been there for close to ten years. Although I had been pre-warned over the renovation works going on, we decided to still go ahead with the drive up.

With the gps, it was really pretty easy driving up to Genting Highlands. From KL, the journey only took slightly more than an hour. The roads were wide and nice, and the air was super shiok, although I must admit that the reno works were a real scenery killer.

We spent some time circling the car park choosing a nice, big, not-too-ulu spot to park, and after some navigation at the very noisy, very messy, and very crowded lobby, we finally checked in to First World Hotel (couldn't manage to book the better hotels), for a um, mediocre room. Even though I had booked the second best tier of the rooms available, it was still a far cry from the poshness and comfort of one we stayed the night before. Just as well we were only going to stay one night.

The kids had loads of fun at the indoor playground and arcade. S had a go at the kiddy bumper car as (hopefully) compensation on missing out on the drive at Kidzania, and hub indulged him in the car races at the arcades. The big smile pasted on his face thereafter indicated the level of fun he was having.

On the otherhand, the look of wonder and pride that I caught on L's face on each ride that she dared to attempt alone, like knowing she was a big girl now, was simply heart lifting. My baby girl is growing up so fast. That night, we retired to bed close to midnight, sleepy and spent. It was afterall, the last night of our holiday.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast (included in the hotel coupon) at a very big and messy cafe, we checked out simply by dropping the keycard into a machine. Compared to the check-in process where we had to queue to register, get a queue number and then queue again to check-in, the differences were vastly, for lack of a better word, different.

Reflecting back on the trip as our car slowly wound its way down the highland slopes, I realised that Genting was exactly as I remembered from eons ago - loud, crowded, messy and overwhelming. The only saving grace was the weather, that like a breath of fresh air, rejuvenated and freshened us up.

From Genting, we drove back home non-stop (save for a 15min toilet break) and arrived in home's warm embrace in time for dinner. Perhaps it is really for the better to expand and renovate for a more pleasant experience in future. Till the next time, Genting. I will look forward to seeing you again after your renovation is complete.

It was a lovely road trip with Papa and kids.

Eagerly waiting till the next one.