A Tale Of The Mysterious Bowl Of Noodles

There was a mystery that plagued us since my son, S, first started primary school. Initially having difficulties ordering his food for recess, his routine kicked in only after a few months and thereafter, whenever we asked what he had for recess, his answer would always be the same.

"Dry maggi noodles."

And I would go trawl through the school's website for the canteen menu, scrutinising the list for this item. There were wanton noodles, curry noodles, and chicken noodles amongst many others, but no 'dry maggi noodles' were listed.

For months, this mystery plagued us until it became a mystery unsolved. We tried several times probing further into what type of noodles he actually had, but S was unable to articulate his thoughts and describe it to us. We had also made a few attempts to visit the school, but unfortunately on all times the canteen was closed.

Weeks turned into months, and months into two years. And still, every single day, his reply would be the same.

'I had dry maggi noodles for recess.'

Although exasperated, we let the mystery slide until over the months, it became a long-standing tv series instead of a suspense drama. Until last week.

In support of his school's walkathon-cum-funfair, we had trooped down to find - lo and behold, the canteen open! It was a perfect opportunity to finally unravel the mystery of the noodles.

While watching S queueing patiently in line for his turn, I felt an unspoken surge of pride. Newbie no more, my boy had grown so much more independant and confident throughout these two years. When it was his turn, he made his order for one 'dry maggi' and that was it.

We were pleasantly surprised when the auntie recognised him and told us that he was her '老顾客!' (Regular customer) He had loyally patronised her stall for almost two years afterall. She also shared that he had on several times, shouted for his order even though he was far behind in the queue. My boy was that anxious to have his noodle fix.

As he carefully carried his noodles to the table, he surprised us again by eating with chopsticks. None of us at home had ever seen him eat with chopsticks. Although not a pro, he could drag his noodles up and with some manouvering, even pick up a fishball.

Sitting beside him and watching him slurping up his noodles, my eyes welled up with a sudden swell in emotions. Somehow, catching this rare glimpse of S in his school environment and how he was adapting, made me realise just how much he has grown, in so little a time. And he made us very proud with his little achievements! It was another mark added to his milestone.

And so, the long standing drama series has finally ended and the mystery solved. We have also come to learn that S, being a creature of habit, would not tire in having the same meal every day.

Through my eyes, these noodles in its signature plastic orange bowls do not mean much. But to him, I imagine it to be the most delicious meal in the whole canteen. The staple, familiar, comforting meal that he looks forward to at every recess.

And when he is all grown up, I have no doubt that these noodles will be remembered fondly in his nostalgic memories of school.

Sing You a Song

He was in his room playing when he suddenly ran out into the living room where his gong-gong and po-po were watching the tv. His ears had somehow picked up strains of the new national day song playing. 

Placing himself strategically in front of them and cutting off a portion of their view, he began to sing.

Warbling words that I couldn't quite make out, he belted out strings of lyrics, singing along to the new song that he had (presumably) learnt in school.

I observed him from the dining table as he stood there, gustily singing along to whatever lyrics he remembered from his music lesson. In between breadths, he would shout for us to look at him whenever he thought our attention strayed. 

"Look at me! I'm singing the song! Look at me!" He would exclaim proudly. 

His enthusiasm was infectious.

I watched as he sang his heart out, tone deaf in some parts and off-pitched in most. 

I watched as he took deep breadths whenever he thought he should, following each new breadth with a loud burst in volume. 

I watched as he sang loudly and softly, with high notes and low notes, pausing whenever there was a break within the choruses. 

I watched his hand gestures poised, I assumed, like his music teacher in school as he waited for the cue to start singing the next chorus.

I watched as he stood in front of the tv, proudly singing and performing what he had learnt in school.

Others might see a boy who was singing out of tune, and with over-enthusiastic gusto.

But as I watched him standing there, singing with the big wide smile on his lips and pure enjoyment radiating from his face, I saw a boy who sang beautifully. 

I saw my boy exuding confidence and happiness. 

And I realised that for all my exasperations - the narrow scrapes past each school term, the barely passed marks his term assesment papers scored, the dog-eared crummy worksheets he squished into his file every single day, the dirty pencil box smudged over with black stains, constantly filled with broken pencil leads and rubber shavings, and all my constant picking up after him. For all they were worth, my boy enjoyed his school. 

Basking in our applause after the song had ended, he executed a bow and grinned from ear to ear as he said '谢谢'. Then he ran back to the cars that he had so abruptly left awhile ago.

That night as I looked through his bag, flipping through his messily scribbled diary, straightening out the crumpled pieces of worksheets, and sharpening up his blunt, broken pencils, I felt heartened in all the mundane motions. 

Because, although clean pencil boxes mattered, neat worksheets mattered, and grades mattered, I almost forgot that him enjoying school was what mattered most.

As much as I wanted S to be able to overcome his difficulties and excel in school, he had to first enjoy learning and the journey along. 

So far, we seem to be on track.
And I am thankful for that.

To my neighbour, Rachael.

The news had been expected. But still, I clung on to a shred of hope in the quietness over the past twenty days. In a way, no news meant good news. Then yesterday, as I heard the doorbell ring at such odd hours, and the hushed whispers that followed outside my house, I knew instinctively that it was news of your departure. 

You and I have been neighbours for 10 years. And though we've seen each other's children grow from a baby to a child, we weren't especially close.

I didn't know what your surname was, or what hobbies you had. But I could easily recognise your voice from outside my door when you were rushing around trying to get your children ready for school or for going out.

We didn't know each other's birthdays. But you knew my children's as I knew yours. And come each birthday, we would buy for each child, a small gift. It would be nothing fanciful really, but it was a token of our neighbourly ties.

We didn't know the likes and dislikes of each other. But we knew the different sets of problems our children faced in school. The snatches of conversations that we had hurridly exchanged during those slivers of time when we had bumped into each other between me rushing for work, and you leaving for your marketing.

In the years recently, I haven't been seeing you around as often as I used to. Your family would be away for long blocks of hours everyday and it would be harder to bump into you. The last conversation that we had, had been many months ago when you were telling me about the family commitments that you faced. That too, had been hurried and rushed as I was getting home after work and you had to go prepare dinner.

We didn't chat often, but those regular exchanges of pleasantries and the catches of conversations that we had shared over the years, had been our ways of getting to know each other.

Yet, beyond our catchups outside our houses and around our estate, I didn't know you much.

I didn't know if you had any peculiar habits, or if you preferred to drink coffee or tea. I didn't know how bad your eyesight was or how well you could see without your spectacles. I didn't know your age or your dialect group, if you had any medical conditions, or that you had heart problems. 

I didn't know what happened that night when your kids came out rushing and shouting that you had fallen down.

I didn't know what to expect when I rushed over with my family and the other neighbours.

I didn't know what to do when I saw you lying there unconscious at your toilet floor.

I was shaken with shock, and between helping to calm down your kids who were crying for you to wake up, calling for the ambulance, and frantically digging through your possessions trying to locate your identity card and your medications, my mind drew a blank and I didn't know anything else.

After the ambulance had whisked you away to the hospital with your husband beside you, and your sister had arrived to look after your kids, everything quietened back down, and the neighbours and I slowly retreated back to our individual houses.

It was a sombre mood as I prepared myself and my kids for bed. I couldn't sleep that night. Everytime I closed my eyes, my mind flashed back to the scene of you lying there unmoving and broken.

Since that night, your quiet household became even quieter and emptier, devoid of any movements. Over the past weeks, all we heard of, were that you were in the icu with no change to your condition.

Until today.

I didn't know a lot about you, and I guess I never will anymore. What I do know, is that you were a kind, warm and helpful person, and a wonderful neighbour to have.

Life is unpredictable, and your sudden departure has left a raw absence and dull spot in our floor of neighbours. As your husband and children mourn for your loss, we grieve along too, missing your presence in our hearts.

Goodbye Rachael.
May you rest in peace.

Golden Anniversary

We stood behind the doors, waiting and anticipating.

My heart was beating fast in anticipation and nervousness of what was to come, and of what may c*ck up. One of my hands, fingers icy cold, was held warm and firm in yours, while my other was tucked between the folds of my gown.

We shared a nervous smile and moments later, as if on cue, the doors opened wide. We began our walk down the red carpet in slow steps, and amidst the applause and glittery confetti, walked towards a new beginning in life.

That was ten years ago.

A million steps later, we have arrived at a milestone. Our Golden anniversary.

Looking back, that first step that we had planted together on the red carpet ten years ago, signified the beginning of our journey as husband and wife. In the space of the last decade, we have evolved and grown in so many ways, moving forward together, one event and one grey hair at a time. 

We have witnessed the passing of several of our loved ones and mourned for the loss of them. We celebrated the births of our beatiful children, and watched as they stumble and fall, and made progress at their own pace.  

Our lives also changed. Over the past ten years, there were some changes that were big, and others that were small. Our progression from a couple to parenthood made the most drastic changes to our lifestyle. Nights out that lasted till the wee hours and glorious sleep ins till noon have become quiet nights in and early rises in the mornings laden with responsibilities. 

Eating out no longer meant a table for two at a cosy corner. Instead, we looked out for places that were big and child friendly, and had clean baby chairs. Every meal revolved around the presence of wet wipes, hand sanitisers and plastic forks and spoons. 

Some of our characteristics were also transferred onto each other. Initially polar opposites, the gradual rubbing off each other over the years have caused the differences to somehow, meld together. Some of my likes became yours, and some of your dislikes became mine. 

You lost your ability to detect the off putting smell of pork, while I gained your sense of sensitivity in meat products. You, the ‘chinaman’, could now tolerate more bread in your diet, while I a previous bread-lover, became a fan of rice. The differences were subtle, and yet huge considering how far we both started out initially at opposite ends of the spectrum.

After 10 years, we have become, in your words, 老夫老妻了. There is no more a need for showy displays of love and affection. In my personal dictionery, little thoughtful acts and sacrifices that you do for me, matter much more than flowers, presents and lavish dining. (Although I do enjoy a good gorge-out at buffets from time to time.) These simple, everyday acts are what love is to me.

Love is all these and more.

Love is being the one that gets up earlier on weekends to keep an eye on the kids, so that I can sleep in a little later.

Love is fetching me to and fro, even if it means forsaking sleep after coming home from work at 5 am.

Love is always letting me have the bathroom first, no matter how hot and tired you are.

Love is giving me that only piece of dumpling in your bowl of noodles.

Love is offering me the cheeks of your fishead - the tenderest part of all, and helping to de-shell the prawns and crabs.

Love is sharing everything on a plate, right down to that egg on the plate of mee rebus, and letting me have that last piece of potato chip.

Love is loving each others' parents, and showing appreciation and respect to them.

Love is buying me penang tau sar pia, (I love those!) even though you only went to KL.

Love is filling up the petrol tank when you see it getting low, even though I am the one that is using the car.

Love is your warm hand on mine, and our footsteps side by side.

Love is quiet, constant, steady.

Our milestone of ten years. Let's continue on our journey towards many more decades to come.

Happy Tenth Anniversary, my Darling.

I love you.

Imagine.

During one recent evening, L came to me holding onto two stones that she had randomly picked from downstairs. Two black stones rested in her little palms, as her eyes eager and bright, asked if I could 'turn these stones into diamonds' for her to put on her crown.

My little girl has asked some of the oddest questions before, but this one totally floored me. Although children often think the world of their parents and our ability to make wrong things right again, this was obviously beyond the parental 'superpowers' that I owned. 

I could kiss away the pain of cuts and bruises. 

I could soothe sadness and angry red rashes better.

I could dry tears and hug away fears.

I could fix broken toys and turn a frown into a smile. 

But there was no way I could turn rocks into diamonds.

I didn't know how to react. I wondered if I should chuckle at her silliness, or encourage her little mind of magic and fairytales. Should I explain the harsh fact of reality, or indulge in her sense of wonder? 

Her mannerisms reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago. A little girl that was me, when I was an eager believer in all things magical.

When I was a little girl, I adored Walt Disney's movies. I'd marvel in all the magic that each show contained, and secretly imagined that I was a princess. I remembered The Little Mermaid most vividly because it was the last movie that I caught in the string of Walt Disney shows. 

I'd cringed whenever Ursala came on, and loved all the songs sung by Ariel, specifically 'Part Of Your World'. I memorised all the lyrics and sang when I was in the shower or when I was alone. Whenever I went swimming, I would dive down to the bottom of the pool and imagined myself touching the ocean floor.

Somewhere in between, I also gravitated towards books. I read several titles here and there, some books by Roald Dahl, and coincidentally chanced upon books titled The Little Princess and The Little Prince to name a few. The contents of these books are recalled in varying degrees of vagueness. But all that I remembered reading were books of fiction and fantasy. 

Of all my books, I remembered most the books of Enid Blyton's Enchanted Wood and the Faraway Tree. I'd delight myself in their world and imagined what it would be like climbing up the tree to have tea with Moon-face and his friends, or visit whatever lands that swung by at the top.

As I grew a little older into secondary school, grades, school work and hanging out with friends took up a big part of my life. I read less until I didn't read anymore. And once I graduated into the world of adulthood, fiction and fantasy had totally lost its hold over me. Reality in all its glory and responsibilities had crowded into my life and stealthily elbowed away the ability to dream and to believe. 

In its place, performances and figures held importance. Issues like how I could get moving on in life held importance. Facing my father's impending passing, held importance. 

Time was constantly and ruthlessly moving onwards. There was none left to look back, and to stop and dream. I had lost myself in the world of reality, until I lost the ability to believe.

I should have encouraged her sense of magic and weaved a tale of how a fairy might come and turn those stones into diamonds if she was good. Instead, my trigger response then was to launch into an explaination on why it was impossible to turn stones into diamonds. I watched as she walked away disappointedly, instantly regretful to have killed off a portion of her sense of imagination with my grown-up response.

Growing up into a realistic adult is great. But she is barely only five years old and adulthood is far away still for her. I'm sure she could be indulged with more years of wondrous, magical imagination before growing older.

L's recent request was a reminder of the magical moments that I once believed in, and the imagination that I used to own. I had a lovely childhood and I'd want nothing less for her to own.

Now, how do I turn two stones into diamonds? 

Little L and her embarrassing Qs

At age 4 going on to 5, Little L is at that inquisitive stage where she is constantly observing and enquiring about the things she sees. Mature enough now to know how certain things are, she queries about the what-whys of things that seem out of the norm to her. Some of her questions and observations are fascinating. Others though, can kill. At least several times, I have found myself almost dying of embarrassment at the things she utters.

There was once, I found her standing outside a lingerie outlet in a shopping centre, admiring the video of triumph(-ant) ladies sashaying down the walkway in their underwear sets. When I asked her what she was doing, she replied me in her nonchalant chirpy voice, that she was 'just looking at the neh-neh-pok'.

And another time when we walked past a lingerie store (again), she promptly marched up to a row of bras that was on display and much to my chagrin, stopped in front of one pair and in a not too soft voice, exclaimed 'MOMMY LOOK! YOU HAVE THIS ONE TOO!"

She has also, on one occasion, ransacked through my grocery shopping and picking up a packet of sanitary napkin, demanded to know why I bought such a big packet of 'tissue'.

Another question that had previously piqued her curiousity was why she couldn't stand up and pee 'just like kor kor'. Her stubborn streak showed up here when she adamantly stood in the shower and peed standing up despite my explanations to her.

There was also another instance when she asked why the Indian lady in the sari wasn't wearing her clothes properly, and that she would 'catch a cold' because she didn't cover her tummy up.

Our latest 'incident' happened last week while we were having our lunch. L, who had recently mastered the art of making her eyes crossed, was laughing as she pointed to some one behind me. I turned around and to my horrer, realised that she was actually laughing at a lady seated a few tables away, who actually suffered from Strabismus. She had thought that the lady was being funny. I quickly shushed her up and explained that the lady wasn't being playful like her and that some people were born like that. She quickly sobered up after my explanation.

I've lost count of the number of embarrasing occasions Little L has unknowingly and naively put me in. But I am thankful and glad for these times because her observations and questions on the many occasions showed me that she wasn't just a little chatterbox. She was constantly observing about her surroundings, constantly learning, constantly understanding, and thus, constantly growing.

However, I must add that it is a challenge coming up with instant answers, and to moderate those answers accordingly to her age and maturity. I often struggle through her questions to come up with an appropriate answer, even more so since I grew up in a typically old fashioned asian way, where certain issues and topics were kept low in profile.

I am still not quite used to answering her awkward questions candidly but I force myself to open up, knowing that the way I react and the explanations I provide her now will form building blocks in how she understands and perceives things in time to come. It is a big responsibility moulding her perceptions and the way that she will learn to think.

As she grows, her questions grow with her, getting more difficult and complex to answer. And I have to admit that there have been many occasions when I had wished that I heard her wrongly, and even more times when I was tempted to conveniently 'pretend' that I didn't hear them at all.

Tempted as it may be though, I try to incorporate mini impromptu sessions, educating her with each 'topic' that she comes up with. From another perspective, each question that she asks is an opportunity to engage and guide her into learning and understanding life. I can't say that the answers I provided her were model answers, but I try my best. As I grow and learn along with her, I hope to be able to mould her into a person who will grow to be empathetic, open-minded and kind.

In time to come, when she gets older and becomes everything cool, hip and in, and when she understands more in the ways of the world, she will no longer come running to me to ask me things that she doesn't understand.

Perhaps it will be me then, the bumbling embarrassing mom, running to her for explanations that I don't understand.

Learning is a lifelong process, no?

So shoot away my darling. Try to embarrass me less. But ask me more, ask me many. And I will try to answer them as best as I can.

March Hols 2015: Journey to the west, to Kidstop Science Centre

Our day started out bright and early.
Well, not so early at 10 am actually, but early enough. 

We began our journey to the west by stopping midway to pick my MM. Since Hub was busy working, I had enlisted the help of my dear Magnificent Mom (MM for short la) to our trip to Kidstop.

After a hearty breakfast at a very warm Yakun (their aircon had broken down), we resumed our journey westwards and arrived at Science Centre 20 minutes later under the GPS's robotic directions.

The last time that I had set foot onto this place was over twenty years ago during a school excursion. Other than a vague recollection of the main building's structure and a McD outlet just outside, I was looking at everything else with brand new eyes. The proverbial tourist in my own country. 

Once there, we were greeted by this gigantic dinosaur display and Smiley S (SS) rushed forward eagerly and excitedly to have his photo taken. Little L (LL) on the otherhand was frightened of the dinosaur and was apprehensive in even walking up the main steps.

Glad to see that there was no queue at the ticketing counter, I purchased our 4 tickets and politely declined joining the Science Centre membership. $72 poorer and a short walkway later, we were finally begining our agenda for the day.
Kidstop at last. 

It was then that I realised the reason there wasn't any crowd at the ticketing counter was because we were late. Kidstop was split into two sessions. Morning sessions from 9.30am to 1.30pm, while afternoon sessions were from 2pm to 6pm. 

Arriving at 10.30am, we were greeted by swarms of children, some in a school group, others with their families, in a wild buzz of activities. Every where I looked, there were clusters of children engrossed with the various activities scattered around. 

As soon as they were cleared to enter, SS and LL dashed in different directions, into the mayhem of activities leaving MM and me frenzily trying to reel them back. After setting some ground rules (NO running ahead without the adults,) we spent quite some part of our initial period 'dipping our toes' in the first few activities nearest to the entrance. 

There were many kids milling around a control panel controlling a giant claw (much like the ufo catcher we see at arcades) that grabbed plastic balls from a big container and then shower it down onto children below it. SS was, among many other kids, vying to control the claw, and was reluctant to leave without having his uninterrupted turn at it.

A little further away, LL was fascinated with a set of binoculars, trying to spot the 'animals' hanging from the ceiling. Probably her first exposure to binoculars, she had to be guided towards the correct angle to look. There were three binoculars, each facing a different direction, and she busied herself moving from one to another, excitedly pointing out each animal that she had spotted.

Deciding that they had spent enough time on one activity, we moved them onwards into a large sandpit, where they attempted to dig/brush/scrape (depending on what tools they could find lying around in the sand) dinosaur bones like an archeologist. They emerged from the sandpit awhile later with their soles and butts dusted with sand.

As I was frantically brushing off the sand, I recalled this small bottle of talcum (NOT compact) powder lying somewhere in the deep recesses of my backpack. I remembered reading a mummy's useful tip that powder could help remove the sand from skin because the sand would slide right off and I tried it on the spot. It worked like a dream and we were (mostly) sand free in no time.

An hour later, we finally moved beyond the entrance and progressed further into Kidstop. SS spent quite another while at the indoor maze climbing up and down and up again, perspiring buckets in the process. I noticed that unlike some children who shout incessantly for their Mommies to look at them when they have climbed to the highest point, SS never called out to me to profess his achievement. I was half-disappointed in knowing that my boy didn't have this innate urge to want to share his achievements with me, but was also half-glad of the independent streak that he had. 

On the other corner, LL contented herself at the baby gym with super large lego blocks. Like me, she doesn't have much adventure in her soul nor is she a fan of heights. I'm still trying to encourage her sense of adventure and to try out new experiences, but it is evident that she needs more time.

Just beside the maze, there was this big intimidating slide that required the kids to don protective hats and overalls before being pulled up to a height with a pulley and sliding down whenever they felt ready to let go. I asked SS if he wanted to give it a try. He replied "No, I'm scared" before scampering off up his maze again. For some reason, I was relieved of his answer. Probably because it indicated that he possessed some sense of danger in him and that I didn't need to overly worry about him jumping headlong into doing something he didn't have confidence in. For a child who doesn't relate much, that meant a lot to me.

Lastly, we moved onto the last and quietest stretch of activities; its opening tucked neatly beyond the entrance to the omnimax theatre. Several small rooms with different themes for tinkering around lay along a walkway. 

There was a room with a stage in a corner complete with microphones and a camera like a production set and kids could perform and sing karaoke to nursery rhymes. However, neither of them seemed interested in the entertainment scene so that corner was promptly neglected. 

There was also a booth where kids could try their hand at stop-motion animation. I had thought that SS would be interested in this activity given the stop-motion tomica YouTubes that he had been surfing awhile back. But surprisingly, he paid fleeting attention to it before going off to sit in a car that simulated him driving on a busy street. 

As usual, LL could be found on the tamer activities and here, she was playing with a table full of red and green beans scattered all over, scooping and pouring them out with a container.

In another room, there was an assortment of animals that included a sleepy gerbil, a tree frog (which we couldn't spot), millipedes, chirping crickets and several yellow fluffy chicks. I wasn't surprised to see that the chicks were their favourite. 

Reaching the end of the exhibition, we began walking backwards towards the entrance for a final round at their favourite activities before we had to leave. SS immediately headed towards the giant claw while LL went back to her trio of binoculars.

Walking back, we managed to squeeze a session at the simulated typhoon booth where earlier on, had been either too crowded or the machine needed to cool down. Only SS was game to try it with me. We stepped into a small booth and hugged each other tightly as huge gusts of winds blew at us, twirling my already messy hair wildly into knots. SS might have exclaimed 'I'm scared' several times, but over the whirl of the wind I really couldn't hear anything. Ah well, we already 上了贼船 (were in a pirate boat) and I emerged seconds later looking like a mad lady.

They also entertained themselves at the wind tube that they had missed earlier on, watching as the ribbons get blown higher and higher before flying out from the top. Squealing as they tried catching the falling ribbons, they would put it back into the tube and watch the whole process again.

Before long, an announcement was made for visitors to leave Kidstop. It also signaled the time for our late lunch. MM and me were already famished from chasing them all around. 

After writing so much, it is easy to forget that we had only visited one small part of the Science Centre. But I was glad that SS and LL managed to participate in almost all the stations and I could tell that they really enjoyed their time at Kidstop.

This had been a really fruitful trip and clearly, we'd have to make another trip with papa soon.
Maybe we'd even join as members. Who knows?