Little L going places

I never did like cycling. 

And my late-dad, the traditional man that he was, was never nurturing or patient enough to teach me how to cycle. 

The first time I rode a bicycle was during my first year at poly. I lost my balance when the bike hit a drain and ended up dislocating my wrist bone when I fell. 

It was around noon then, with the sun high at its peak. I left for home but was afraid to tell my parents of the incident. It was only at night when my dad urged me to shower that I had no choice but to tell him the truth. I couldn't move my wrist, much less manage in removing my sweat-dirt stained clothes for a shower. 

We promptly took a bus to a sinseh where the very painful treatment left me nauseous with black spots of dizziness. I recovered after a few weeks but I never touched a bike again until many years later. 

I suppose in part, that with such an unpleasant experience, I felt it a necessity for my children to learn cycling (and swimming). These were life skills that I wanted them to acquire. 

So when Little L displayed a willingness to stop piggy-backing on Papa's bike and to try learning cycling, I jumped at the opportunity to teach her. With Papa leading the rambunctious boys away for a ride, I stayed behind with her. 

She was a ball of nerves as she sat on the bike - hesitant and tense and fearful. The park was dark and with not too many people around, which was good for someone wibbling widely between both lanes. 

For the good part of the hour long rental, she was just trying to find her balance, cruising along by pushing the bike with her feet. Only in the last 20 minutes did she managed some semblance of balance and attempt to start pedalling. 

I at first held her seat and handlebar while running along sideways like a crab. Her fear was palpable as she pleaded repeatedly "don't let go, Mommy don't let go." 

I tripped over her feet several times and nearly fell, bike and all, for another few. When my stiff waist and back finally protested enough, I assured her that I would always be close behind her but she would have to continue trying without my assistance.

For her small frame, she was soon exhausted. Her legs hurt and her arms and back were strained, but she never wanted to give up. She just kept going and trying, wobbling around until suddenly, she could. 

As I was frantically snapping photos of the monumental moment, I realised that I could not stop smiling. Every time I caught myself grinning like an idiot, I made myself stop smiling only to have the corners of my lips lift automatically up again. So there I was, standing behind her with this big, goofy smile pasted on my face. I was so very proud of her and of the determination and grit she displayed that night. 

So here we have her, just succeeding in learning how to cycle. It was an achievement unlocked. A new milestone. A proud mama moment. A start to night cycles as a family; something that Papa had always wanted to do. 

Little L will be going places.

Fifty Shades of Bangkok

We were indeed smiling in the land of smiles.

The minute we left the comfort of Suvarnabhumi Airport, my lips were automatically stretched upwards into a smile-esq looking squint. The sun was hard at work welcoming our arrival with its usual, overly warm embrace.

While Bangkok was hot in general, the heat that was felt during the few days we spent there could be broadly categorised into three different levels. We had the shopping-centre-hot, the street-level-hot and lastly, right at the top of the scale was the sibey-tekong-chatuchak-hot.

Shopping-centre-hot was optimal temperature for me. Like Goldilocks with Baby Bear's porridge, I was most comfortable in this 'not warm; not too cold' category. This level of heat only afflicted hubby who would counter check with me if the a.c. was turned on low, or if his senses were slightly haywired. (He wasn't feeling well before and during the trip.) Of course it didn't help that we were having steamboat at Koka then. The steaming hot pot right in front of us that if I put my face nearer, it would have been just like a steaming session during those facials.

The Goldilocks syndrome also stuck with us as we methodically weaved our way through the many different (but same-same) stalls at Platinum Plaza. Meticulously combing the floors, we ended up at the food court as our last stop to refill our tummies and rest our feet.

We would later do the ultimate Singaporean thing by sweeping down the aisles of Big C supermarket for their cartons of assorted Pocky and Mama instant noodles. Shopping-centre-hot was perfect for fickle-minded shoppers like me, generally needing a longer time to come to a decision but spared from the heat of the sun.

Street-level-hot was the generic category used to describe the heat while we were traipsing along the dusty streets of Bangkok. This heat level was hot, but relatively bearable and usually felt when we were heading to and back from Erawan Shrine. During such walks, we would often escape the heat by hopping into Starbucks for a nice cup of mocha while we watched the world go by. As the afternoon melted into slightly cooler evenings, we would resume strolling down the streets onto our next destination.

Chatuchak-hot was when we visited the weekend market one very sunny afternoon. The heat at this level was intense, burning, relentless and ruthless. Beads of sweat formed persistently, constantly dripping down our faces and backs no matter how we wiped them off. Under the scorching sun, we trudged down the maze of stalls with sweat-soaked shirts. Chatuchak's renowned humidity and heat were a formidable combination zapping away our energy levels. For respite, we sought refuge at a random massage shop in exchange for one blissful hour of cool air. We napped as the masseuse attempted their skills to sooth our tired feet.

Exactly an hour later when the massage ended, we awoke slightly rejuvenated but with feet that continued protesting. That impulsive day, we trundled from noon until evening under the unrelenting hot sun, nearly killing our feet at the end of the day. We decided simultaneously then, that age was truly catching up with us and that we would be highly selective in our market jaunts for our next visit to Bangkok.

All too soon, the holiday finishes.
And now, as we sit in the comfort of our home, in the not-as-hot Singapore, the after effects of visiting Bangkok lingers.
Aching feet, check.
Pining for street food, check.
Hole in pocket, check.
Unpacked luggage, check.
Reluctance to return to daily duties, check, check, and check.

I miss mostly the street foods of Bangkok. The varieties of the morning snacks hawked freshly fried from the vendor's woks, the savory crunch of fried chicken paired with square blocks of glutinous rice, the sour spiciness of mama salads, and the very affordable freshly squeezed pomegranate juice. My mouth waters at the thought of these foods.

We had heartlessly left the kids behind for a short getaway, for the aroi mak mak food, and for prayers to the four faced Buddha. In spite of the blistering sun and its 50 other shades in between, it was a well-deserved reprieve for us and although not nearly enough, we have to go back to home, to the kids.

The many boxes of slightly squashed Pocky still sitting in my luggage is a harsh reminder that life has returned to normal and that I must now unpack.

As I kissed the kids goodnight and tucked them in to bed, I know Klab ban di mak.

It's good to be home.

From Planet A to the Land of Pau.

Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Start.

In Nintendo, 30 extra lives would have magically appeared on my next screen.

30 new lives.
30 re-starts.

In real life however, our closest restarts would be the brand new day that welcomes us every morning. And come tomorrow morning, I too will restart a new ‘game’ at a new department.

New beginnings are not always scary. But they often encompass unknown changes.

And changes are uncomfortable.
Changes are unnerving.
Changes are intimidating.

I may sound dramatic. Exaggerating even. After all, we do get posted around pretty often so it's hardly anything new. But still, it’s hard to remain stoic in the face of such a change, especially when this change will bring me away from the familiar circle of comrades that I have grown with since the beginning of my time.

With the coming posting, the current working culture so deeply embedded into my life must now be re-adjusted. Embarking onto this new phase will mean stepping into a totally different environment, with new roles and responsibilities, with unfamiliar faces and working systems. The change is vast and I am apprehensive, hesitant and nervous to say the least.

As I join a new team of colleagues, I will miss the comforting presence of the comrades that I have grown along with throughout all these years.

I will miss the boisterous atmospheres, the bawdy jokes and jibes exchanged, the constant chattering and bantering going on everyday.

I will miss the informal environments that I have gotten so used to. The many offices that I had been previously posted too were each different but similar in its own way. What they differed in, they made up with in similarities of offices filled everyday with noise and never a dull moment.

I will not miss the never-ending man hours we had to put in to do our job. But I will sorely miss the camaraderie and unity forged during those difficult times. Whether we were dealing with problematic ‘customer’s or achieving our KPIs, those days and nights were long and tough.

In place of these wistful memories, I welcome regularity, which will translate to better time with the kids, and a job scope that I had been initially interested in eons of years ago.

I may only be shifting to another wing in the building, but it certainly feels like I am moving galaxies away to another planet.

And so, although I will miss the many little things that I once took for granted, I must steel myself to face the many changes seemingly ahead, and move onwards in my journey.

Change is inevitable.
Change is coming.
In fact, change is tomorrow.

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※
 
Re-starting in progress.
※
※
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Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A
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.
(deep breath)

Start.

Newbie P1 Mommy (part 2)

3 years ago, we did the P1 newbie anxious mommy thingy. It was a big milestone for us and S. Watching S go through little things like orientating himself during recess, or making his hesitant way to the hall literally brought tears to our eyes.

3 years on, it is now Little L's turn. Although we are anxious parents no-more, we did have our worries. Indeed L is better at articulating herself. She makes friends easier too. But she is every inch a princess. Delicate (read small-sized), fragile (read thinned-skin), and demure at eating (she clocks 2 hours per meal seating), we were worried about how she would adapt to these aspects in school. But again, whether she was ready or not, school beckoned with its open arms.

The day started off with her all bright, chirpy, eager and excited to go to school. With her spanking new water bottle, bag, uniform and shoes, this Little Chatterbox seemed all set for this new phase of life. She was, in my own proud mama's bias point of view, the epitome of the most adorable P1 student I've ever seen.

Looking back, if the doors of the school bus closing in my face signified the letting-go moment with S, then Little L's moment was when the bag straps were placed onto her tiny shoulders. The added weight made her stagger backwards and she nearly lost her balance. It was literally a new load of responsibility added on to her tiny frame and life.

Once again, I had to struggle to quell my protective instincts from jumping into action to carry her bag. Instead, I let her to do it herself. She managed soon after.

And that was when I realised my 小不点 has grown up.

We did the same thing, trailing behind her bus and watching her make her way to the hall. We are thankful that she doesn't feel like a stranger to her school for when Big Brother had school functions, we often brought her along for the exposure. And now, carrying those experiences with her, she seems to acclimatise to Primary school life with relative ease.

As she sets foot onto this new phase of life, there is so much in store to uncover. I shall look forward to growing with her on this journey and watching how my little baby girl progresses.

~~~~~~  On a side note:

"I went to the toilet by myself today. My friend said I'll race you there, so I followed her."

The start of the female groupie toilet-going culture. I never hear S tell me about going to the toilet with his friends.

Nostalgia : Ah neh

A long, long time ago, my Ah ma lived at Holland Drive. My memories of the place there are dulled and there are only a few that I can recall.

Ah ma’s place was a simple 3-room flat, but it was where all my childhood memories began. It was also a place of refuge and safe haven whenever Mom had to work overtime and there was no-one around after I came home from school. I lived at the next block, so it was only a stone’s throw away.

Come weekends, the small flat would be abuzz with people and activities, and the crush of the crowd filled the house with warmth and familiarity. Us cousins would retreat into one of the two rooms to do our stuff and catch up like kids usually do.

I remember once when cousin R (he stayed with Ah ma then) pulled out a tank from under the bed with a snake inside. He told us that he had caught the snake on his way home from school. While all the cousins gathered around to ‘ooh’, ‘ahh’ and ‘eee’ over the snake, he warned us to keep quiet about it in case Ah ma found out. This was probably my first conspiracy involvement. Unfortunately, the conspiracy was short-lived as Ah ma found out about the snake the next day and promptly killed it.

Perhaps the most vivid memories I had of then was the mama shop at the void deck. I know now that some people called mama shops as ‘kek-I tiam’ or minimarts, but to us then, we all knew it as ‘ah neh’. And anyone who was tending the shop, male or female, young or old, would be fondly referred to as ‘ah neh’.

‘Ah neh’ sold everything from bars of soap to scrubbing brushes, from melted and re-frozen paddle pop ice cream to nail clippers.

I remember some weekend nights when an auntie would sponsor after dinner treats at ‘ah neh’. An impromptu leader within the cousin gang would wave the ten dollar note jubilantly in the air while shouting ‘who wants to go ah-neh with me?’ The result was a whole flock of kids following behind like mice to pied piper.

With our slippers slapping behind one after another, we would make our way down to 'ah-neh' to buy our choices of toys or treats. I would usually choose a pastel coloured paddle pop or a twin-stick chocolate ice cream. I always had fond memories of those short trips to ‘ah neh’ as it was a great cause of excitement and joy to me then.

After Ah ma moved and the cousinly trips to ‘ah-neh’ stopped, I still had ample opportunities to patronise ‘ah-neh’ after school. And sometimes, I would go downstairs with sister to buy stuffs. She liked to buy the packets of ‘bee bee’, while I especially liked the ‘ka ka’ or Hiro cakes. On occasions, I would buy the 50c tikam-tikam, only to realise upon ripping open the little black packets, that I got crappy stuff (again).

Mom would also send me down during her culinary emergencies to get condiments like a bottle of soya sauce or a few cloves of garlic.

‘Ah-neh’ was also a safety net to me. On days when I got home later from school and the void deck was quiet and devoid of human activities, I walked home surer knowing that if anything happened, ‘ah-neh’ was just around the corner.

As I grew up and progressed to more ‘atas’ supermarkets like NTUC and Fitzpatrick (later re-named as Cold Storage), my jaunts to ‘ah-neh’ halted altogether. (In part, also because the lure of the tikam packets no longer held for me). ‘Ah neh’ still remained a familiar sight even after I moved out after marriage.

Looking back, ‘ah-neh’ was a powerful word to me. It was a place, an event, a person, a safety net. It was a link to my childhood, the crowded visits to Ah ma’s house and carefree days with my cousins. Even though we did not personally know 'ah neh', the amalgamation of my many trips there gave it a familiar neighbourhood feel. It was only in recent times, when the shutters of ‘ah neh’ were pulled shut with no signs of re-opening that the need to write about this part of my childhood came about so strongly. These already distant memories seem to be pulled even further away with ‘ah neh’s closing.

While I am still holding out hope that ‘ah neh’ may re-open one day, I will also have to be prepared that this link to my childhood and the fond and nostalgic memories that come along with it will disappear soon. The presence of mama shops have already been dwindling as the years pass by. In meantime, I shall walk into those random remaining mama shops whenever that dose of nostalgia hits me. 

Well then, who wants to go ‘ah neh’ with me?

Door (Table) Tennis

'Tick, tack.. tick, tack..'

The haze was back.
The air was stifling and hot.
And there were no plans made for the day.

Amidst the dreariness of the hot Saturday morning, there was a constant yet erratic 'ticking tacking' that could be heard through the otherwise quiet morning.

S and me were playing 'Door Tennis'.
This was much like table tennis, except we didn't have the table or a net.

Lunging within the confined space in the living room behind the door, we would take turns hitting the ping pong ball against the door like we were playing a game of squash, but in slower motion. 

As we held our worn out racquets as professionally as we could, we moved back and forth hitting the ping pong as if we were really playing doubles in a game, and the wooden door was our formidable opponent.

We giggled when the ball hit an odd corner and rebounded onto the loaf of bread.
We snickered as it rolled between our feet while we were comically trying to pick it up.
We laughed whenever one of us lost our balance and sat onto the floor when our exhausted legs gave way between mid-squats.
Playing Door Tennis was hard work!

For a boy who is turning 9, S has been growing day by day in his own ways. During these growing up years, there have been many activities that he has gradually stopped enjoying with me.

He doesn't enjoy doing arts and crafts with me now. Unless I coerce him into doing it, he would very much prefer to indulge in his own activities.

He doesn't stick with me as much as he used to, preferring to stay at home if I were to go for a round of grocery shopping.

He doesn't readily surrender his hand when I reach out to hold him while crossing the road. 'I'm big already. I know how to cross by myself' he would tell me as he stubbornly held his hand by his side.

And so, it slowly begins. This turning of age and independence. The steadily increasing manifestation of his personality. In the not too distant future, the time will come when I have to let go of his hand totally, and let him make his travels alone.

In the meantime however, as we progress to more big-boy activities like Door Tennis, I will be thankful for small slices of time like these that he enjoys spending with me.

At the end of our unorthodox tennis session, we were both sweaty, drained and out of breath.
The haze was back.
The air was stifling and hot.
And there were no plans made for the day.

But it was a glorious, mother-son morning.

To: Father-in-law

It has been a difficult first few days without you.

You were such a homebody when you were around and your absence now is painfully amplified.

On our first dinner without you, we sat around the dining table with simple hawker fare. Rojak, trotters in sauce, popiah, chicken chop. These were the same stuff that we would usually buy when you were around. 

Everyone was present, except you.

No one was in the mood to eat, drink or talk. But the children needed to be fed. Tasks needed to be communicated. Chores needed to be done. 

And life had to go on.

So, in our attempts at normalcy, we chatted a little here and there, trying hard to ignore the fact that your favourite spot on the sofa would now be permanently empty.

That night and the few nights after, everyone stayed over and the house was always full of people and noise. We talked, cried, and though we didn't think it possible, even laughed. After a full week of inactivity, the tv was also gradually switched back on. 

But even amidst these chatters and activities, the silence from your absence was deafening.

As if the whole house was covered by a shroud, and rightfully so, the atmosphere was heavy, listless and gloomy. 

We were plagued by pain in our hearts and tears that sprang so easily to our eyes. 

We wanted to shut the world out and avoid all contact with people who would ask questions and pry for answers. 

We wanted to sit in a corner and wallow in grief. 

We wanted to cry our hearts out and wail in despair.

But instead, we got on with life as best as we could. We went marketing, brought the children out, attended parent-teacher meets, and had our dinner outside. We began cooking at home, resumed regular sleeping hours, and went back to work and school.

As we enter this new phase of life after your sudden departure, we will need to learn and re-adjust to several aspects in our life. Changes that are difficult, but that we have no choice but to learn to adapt.

Because, after the tentages and tables are cleared from the void deck, after the wreaths discarded and the flowers withered away, after the guests and relatives have left back to their own lives, we would be the ones returning home to everything that you had left behind.

As painful as it is, it doesn't matter that we are not yet ready to enter this new phase of life. Life has to carry on. Even if it is one that is without you.

As the family gather around to help each other climb our way out from this period of grief, I hope that you see the unity of the family that you had built, and the Hainanese legacy that you had left behind.

You were not my father by birth, but you became one through the years.

I will miss you and your ever present presence at home.

Rest in peace, Father.