The missus has gone off to Europe, to work and to do some shopping along the way. Like the supportive husband that I am, I sent her on her merry way with a wave and a smile, and encouraged my daughter to do the same. Trust me when I say that it is much easier said than done. I look back upon that little episode with much pride in my accomplishment.
However, this short trip of hers has left me holding the fort. One besieged by whiny questions and a preponderance towards mischief. Diapers I have grown accustomed to. Indeed, I was the first one to change my daughter when she was born, and that duty has somehow been associated with me ever since. Food has been the perennial problem with her; she prefers play to eating, and it has been driving everyone to distraction. My wife and I had devised a tag-team/ good cop - bad cop routine to overcome the daughter's obstinacy, but now in her absence, I am forced to seek out alternate strategies. After three days, I can honestly declare that I have enjoyed limited success. Sigh.
Then there is the whole matter of cleaning up after the daughter, coaxing her to bed, getting her out of bed, and getting her to communicate in Mandarin. Yes, the last is not exactly a chore reserved for one parent, but those who know my wife will agree that I am the only one who can take on this particular burden.
The cumulative time taken for all the tasks I've listed comes up to a hefty four hours. Yes, I counted. Then there is the father-daughter bonding things that I am determined to carry out, and the time taken to transport her back and forth from her grandmother's every morning and evening. Everything adds up to approximately six hours daily. Given that I am the run-of-the-mill Singaporean who puts in 11-12 hour workdays, that leaves me with 6 hours for sleep and whatnot. As some of my friends put it, it is not exactly healthy.
Besides, I find that I have to push her bedtime past 10.30 pm to get everything in. Sigh. Looks like something has to give somewhere, and I am inclined to make the cut before someone else does it to me. Looks like it is going to be laundry.
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
Friday, 4 April 2008
Swords and Secrecy
I find myself speaking to my swords again, as the sun ends its descent. Too long have I neglected them, I fear. When I hear their voices, they are usually raised in complaint:
Wherefore hast thou abandoned us? Knowst not thou that the air is damp with the rains, and that rust cometh but a short step behind? Thou hast no excuse for this appalling neglect!
There is truth in what they say. So I have taken out my polishing cloths and oils, and set down to do that which I have put off for so long. It fortunate that I had coated the blades with a layer of wax ere I set them aside. That has kept rust from touching the steel. While not pristine, the weapons are in good shape.
The first one to receive my ministrations was one that I have aligned with the sun. It has been with me the longest, and has taken the most abuse. Next was the sword that I have associated with the moon, with its white hilt-wrappings and its lighter, fullered blade. Like the first, it has seen some use, though I have managed to prevent it from tasting blood, particularly my own. It is also the youngest blade amongst the trio, and it needs little work to keep it clean.
Last, I come to the warrior sword. Unlike the other two, I have never wielded it, against foes dead or alive, mobile or inanimate. Its blade is layered, folded steel, and a real pain to keep free of oxidation. Unlike the other two, I feel a certain resistance each time I practice with it. Those whom I have trusted to handle it have all assured me that the weapon is well-balanced and the weight is well within acceptable norms. Perhaps this resistance is only in my mind. Perhaps it is in my sinews, for I have not practiced with my blades as often as I used to. Perhaps my heart is to distracted to give in wholly to the song of the sword. Perhaps.
* * *
I could cite work as the reason for my neglect. It has been difficult of late, as my friends are aware. The demands on my time have left me short of sleep and patience with fools. The situation at home can hardly be called restful either, adding to the load.
But I will push those excuses aside. There is another reason, the true reason, why I have avoided my swords. It is a reason that I shall not put down here. I have merely mentioned it, so that one day, when this hiraedd is done, I shall read this and remember this darker part of my life.
Wherefore hast thou abandoned us? Knowst not thou that the air is damp with the rains, and that rust cometh but a short step behind? Thou hast no excuse for this appalling neglect!
There is truth in what they say. So I have taken out my polishing cloths and oils, and set down to do that which I have put off for so long. It fortunate that I had coated the blades with a layer of wax ere I set them aside. That has kept rust from touching the steel. While not pristine, the weapons are in good shape.
The first one to receive my ministrations was one that I have aligned with the sun. It has been with me the longest, and has taken the most abuse. Next was the sword that I have associated with the moon, with its white hilt-wrappings and its lighter, fullered blade. Like the first, it has seen some use, though I have managed to prevent it from tasting blood, particularly my own. It is also the youngest blade amongst the trio, and it needs little work to keep it clean.
Last, I come to the warrior sword. Unlike the other two, I have never wielded it, against foes dead or alive, mobile or inanimate. Its blade is layered, folded steel, and a real pain to keep free of oxidation. Unlike the other two, I feel a certain resistance each time I practice with it. Those whom I have trusted to handle it have all assured me that the weapon is well-balanced and the weight is well within acceptable norms. Perhaps this resistance is only in my mind. Perhaps it is in my sinews, for I have not practiced with my blades as often as I used to. Perhaps my heart is to distracted to give in wholly to the song of the sword. Perhaps.
* * *
I could cite work as the reason for my neglect. It has been difficult of late, as my friends are aware. The demands on my time have left me short of sleep and patience with fools. The situation at home can hardly be called restful either, adding to the load.
But I will push those excuses aside. There is another reason, the true reason, why I have avoided my swords. It is a reason that I shall not put down here. I have merely mentioned it, so that one day, when this hiraedd is done, I shall read this and remember this darker part of my life.
Monday, 17 March 2008
February
I have just come to the realization that I have missed February altogether. Well, things have been rather hectic, so I hardly had the leisure to post. Just for the record....
Well, the daughter had an early Chinese New Year celebration at her Nursery, in ethnic dress no less. I couldn't find a single Chinese outfit that I liked, so I got her a Chinese-Vietnamese one instead: a red and gold brocade (with dragons, of course) ao dai with white trousers. Only thing was, she didn't want to wear white. So we ended up matching the top with her favourite pair of jeans. Hmmm. Still, I was mighty proud of how she looked. Another girl in the school came in Korean dress. Guess there are some of us who prefer our children to stand out.
After that came the Chinese New Year proper, with the usual visiting, eating-too-much, and driving around like a zombie. I'll not bore you with the details.
Of course, Feb is also the month for finalizing all the plans for the Fiscal Year. Loads of projects to be completed, budgets to be planned, and all that sort of thing. Work was hectic, but tolerable, I suppose.
Then came the last week, when everything fell apart:
My father-in-law collapsed in his living room and had to be sent to hospital. Since I lived in close proximity to my in-laws (as compared to their two sons), I rushed over and did what I could. As it proved, it wasn't that much: I brought my mum-in-law to the hospital and did the call-all-other-family-members thing. That brought the missus' second brother down in a hurry, to keep his mum company.
The Doctor said it was a stroke, and not a mild one. By the time I turned myself around and fetched my wife to the scene, the old fellow had lost the use of his right arm and leg. Talking was difficult for him, and frustrating for everyone else. But it was my mother-in-law who worried me most. She was clearly in shock and not quite in control. But her sons and daughters were at hand, so I suppose she bore up well enough. Still, the smell of fear was heavy in the air: everyone was wondering if he would pull through.
Long story short, he didn't. The old fellow lasted a week, passing away on the Leap Day.
Needless to say, it was a very emotional time for the missus. And for me.
So here I find myself in March, having lost a month.
Well, the daughter had an early Chinese New Year celebration at her Nursery, in ethnic dress no less. I couldn't find a single Chinese outfit that I liked, so I got her a Chinese-Vietnamese one instead: a red and gold brocade (with dragons, of course) ao dai with white trousers. Only thing was, she didn't want to wear white. So we ended up matching the top with her favourite pair of jeans. Hmmm. Still, I was mighty proud of how she looked. Another girl in the school came in Korean dress. Guess there are some of us who prefer our children to stand out.
After that came the Chinese New Year proper, with the usual visiting, eating-too-much, and driving around like a zombie. I'll not bore you with the details.
Of course, Feb is also the month for finalizing all the plans for the Fiscal Year. Loads of projects to be completed, budgets to be planned, and all that sort of thing. Work was hectic, but tolerable, I suppose.
Then came the last week, when everything fell apart:
My father-in-law collapsed in his living room and had to be sent to hospital. Since I lived in close proximity to my in-laws (as compared to their two sons), I rushed over and did what I could. As it proved, it wasn't that much: I brought my mum-in-law to the hospital and did the call-all-other-family-members thing. That brought the missus' second brother down in a hurry, to keep his mum company.
The Doctor said it was a stroke, and not a mild one. By the time I turned myself around and fetched my wife to the scene, the old fellow had lost the use of his right arm and leg. Talking was difficult for him, and frustrating for everyone else. But it was my mother-in-law who worried me most. She was clearly in shock and not quite in control. But her sons and daughters were at hand, so I suppose she bore up well enough. Still, the smell of fear was heavy in the air: everyone was wondering if he would pull through.
Long story short, he didn't. The old fellow lasted a week, passing away on the Leap Day.
Needless to say, it was a very emotional time for the missus. And for me.
So here I find myself in March, having lost a month.
Wednesday, 23 January 2008
Ugly People
It was on the night of Thursday last, just after dinner, that I went out to a store close by to purchase bread and beverages. Therein, an episode unfolded that was oddly disturbing:
The store manager was clearly busy, since he was also the cashier and there was a small queue of customers waiting to be served. Despite this, he tasked his assistant to mop up some condensate that had accumulated near the refrigerators, thereby removing the latter from another counter, which might have helped to thin the crowd. This was the point at which I found myself paying a bit more attention at the pair than I usually would. To be brutally honest, I was thinking "What a dumb ass!" at the manager. The condensate was not hurting anyone, and like the others in line, I was beginning to get impatient.
At this time, a deliveryman entered, laden with a box of perishables. They were clearly for the renewal of stock for the store, and he promptly replaced the old stock on the refrigerator shelves with them. He then turned to the assistant and asked the latter to acknowledge the move. The assistant demurred, as it was the manager's duty, and beyond his salary-grade. The deliveryman then approached the counter and asked the manager to append his signature. The manager, being bogged down with customers, simply told the man to wait. Which he did.
After serving two more customers, which took approximately ten minutes, the manager still showed no sign that he was going to attend to the deliveryman. The assistant, in the meantime, had completed his task and was putting away his mop. The deliveryman, clearly frustrated with the delay, turned to the assistant and asked if the manager was always this slow. The assistant merely smiled and replied that the manager liked to do some things on his own. Then he returned to his own counter.
The manager gave his assistant a rather significant look at this time, and handed over the work to him. He then went and dealt with the delivery in what I can only describe as a curt and reluctant manner. The deliveryman, his work done, hurried outside with nary a backward glance.
Now, it so happened that the manager and his assistant were from different ethnic groups, and the deliveryman had spoken to the assistant in a dialect that was unknown to the manager. What transpired thereafter only served to fix in my mind just how pathetic the manager was:
Ignoring the customers that were lining up in front of his assistant, the manager demanded that he tell him just what had been said by the deliveryman. The assistant, who was half-way through a customer, was taken aback and barely fumbled through the rest of his work. The manager appeared oblivious to the rest of queue, and continued to pester the assistant, instead of taking up his own post as I expected him to. It was only when the assistant waved a hand at the queue, that the manager took the hint and went back to his counter. Even then, he persisted in his interrogation of his assistant, across the distance between them, in a loud and irritating (to me) fashion. By this time, I had reached the head of the queue, so I concluded my business quickly and left. Even as I was walking out the door, the question was still going on.
Perhaps it is my job, that has shaped my thinking: the work is more important than one's feelings. The work is more important that one's need to demonstrate one's authority over another person. The quality of the work must not be compromised.
Perhaps it is the way that I have been educated: if you cannot take the criticism, you should make sure that your work is above criticism. If you make a decision, take the consequences that come with it.
Perhaps it is my oriental upbringing: smile, no matter how hard the going gets. If one must berate someone, do it in private; public displays of anger results in loss of 'face' for both the one doing the scolding as well as the one being scolded. And show no emotion in the face of adversity.
No matter how I look at it, that store manager was one ugly person.
The store manager was clearly busy, since he was also the cashier and there was a small queue of customers waiting to be served. Despite this, he tasked his assistant to mop up some condensate that had accumulated near the refrigerators, thereby removing the latter from another counter, which might have helped to thin the crowd. This was the point at which I found myself paying a bit more attention at the pair than I usually would. To be brutally honest, I was thinking "What a dumb ass!" at the manager. The condensate was not hurting anyone, and like the others in line, I was beginning to get impatient.
At this time, a deliveryman entered, laden with a box of perishables. They were clearly for the renewal of stock for the store, and he promptly replaced the old stock on the refrigerator shelves with them. He then turned to the assistant and asked the latter to acknowledge the move. The assistant demurred, as it was the manager's duty, and beyond his salary-grade. The deliveryman then approached the counter and asked the manager to append his signature. The manager, being bogged down with customers, simply told the man to wait. Which he did.
After serving two more customers, which took approximately ten minutes, the manager still showed no sign that he was going to attend to the deliveryman. The assistant, in the meantime, had completed his task and was putting away his mop. The deliveryman, clearly frustrated with the delay, turned to the assistant and asked if the manager was always this slow. The assistant merely smiled and replied that the manager liked to do some things on his own. Then he returned to his own counter.
The manager gave his assistant a rather significant look at this time, and handed over the work to him. He then went and dealt with the delivery in what I can only describe as a curt and reluctant manner. The deliveryman, his work done, hurried outside with nary a backward glance.
Now, it so happened that the manager and his assistant were from different ethnic groups, and the deliveryman had spoken to the assistant in a dialect that was unknown to the manager. What transpired thereafter only served to fix in my mind just how pathetic the manager was:
Ignoring the customers that were lining up in front of his assistant, the manager demanded that he tell him just what had been said by the deliveryman. The assistant, who was half-way through a customer, was taken aback and barely fumbled through the rest of his work. The manager appeared oblivious to the rest of queue, and continued to pester the assistant, instead of taking up his own post as I expected him to. It was only when the assistant waved a hand at the queue, that the manager took the hint and went back to his counter. Even then, he persisted in his interrogation of his assistant, across the distance between them, in a loud and irritating (to me) fashion. By this time, I had reached the head of the queue, so I concluded my business quickly and left. Even as I was walking out the door, the question was still going on.
Perhaps it is my job, that has shaped my thinking: the work is more important than one's feelings. The work is more important that one's need to demonstrate one's authority over another person. The quality of the work must not be compromised.
Perhaps it is the way that I have been educated: if you cannot take the criticism, you should make sure that your work is above criticism. If you make a decision, take the consequences that come with it.
Perhaps it is my oriental upbringing: smile, no matter how hard the going gets. If one must berate someone, do it in private; public displays of anger results in loss of 'face' for both the one doing the scolding as well as the one being scolded. And show no emotion in the face of adversity.
No matter how I look at it, that store manager was one ugly person.
Friday, 11 January 2008
Substitutes
Strangely, I am in a rather good mood today.
Strange, because I have a seriously heavy schedule today.
Lagi strange, since the weekend is around the corner and that's even more hectic than work-days.
What can possibly account for my jolly-jolly-happy buzz?
The rapidly-depleting bottle of gummi-bears on my desk? Have to eat them up now that I've exposed them to air. They'll get sticky (and icky) otherwise. Chew, chew, chew. Gulp.
The stockpile of 'back-up rations' chocolate in the second drawer of my desk, conveniently located close to my right hand? Oops, expiry date approaching. Better finish them up and get a new stash. Ah! The dark stuff! Munch, munch. Yum.
Lunch time? Yes, it's approaching. But I'm an adult; I'm entitled to ruin my appetite!
Sugar high? Maybe. But it won't stop me from enjoying it while it lasts.
Joy has a sweet tooth.
Joy is a sweet tooth.
Strange, because I have a seriously heavy schedule today.
Lagi strange, since the weekend is around the corner and that's even more hectic than work-days.
What can possibly account for my jolly-jolly-happy buzz?
The rapidly-depleting bottle of gummi-bears on my desk? Have to eat them up now that I've exposed them to air. They'll get sticky (and icky) otherwise. Chew, chew, chew. Gulp.
The stockpile of 'back-up rations' chocolate in the second drawer of my desk, conveniently located close to my right hand? Oops, expiry date approaching. Better finish them up and get a new stash. Ah! The dark stuff! Munch, munch. Yum.
Lunch time? Yes, it's approaching. But I'm an adult; I'm entitled to ruin my appetite!
Sugar high? Maybe. But it won't stop me from enjoying it while it lasts.
Joy has a sweet tooth.
Joy is a sweet tooth.
Thursday, 10 January 2008
Going Home
The strains of Suzanne Vega's Luka is playing in the background now, as I find myself suddenly gripped by an incomprehensible melancholy. It is just one of those periods of my life that can only be described as a black mood.
Is it the music that brings out the dark cloud, or does the shadow make me gravitate to these songs? I cannot answer, nor do I care to make the attempt.
Sigh.
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
Gatherings
It is strange how people believe that the year ahead is going to be better.
Of late, I have had the opportunity to meet with friends from three different periods of my life:
I had a small gathering at my home last weekend, an annual affair that has become somewhat of a tradition. Though this is only the second time that it has been held at my home. And, also becoming part of that tradition was that I prepared too much food again. Sigh. Fortunately, I am quite practised at dealing with leftovers. Those who came were from my University days, and were friend to both my wife and I.
After the meal, we sat down and engaged in the usual catching up. Whats, whens, hows and whos were tossed from one to another like a talking ball at a Organisation Learning Forum, as we sought to make sense of how our lives had diverged. As the conversation progressed, I was struck by how contented most of us were. And how we were looking forward to better things in the year ahead.
Some weeks before, I was at another gathering. This time, those present were from my Secondary school days, though many spouses were there too. Due to the last, there were some memories that could not be shared. Not that it mattered greatly, for we imbibed significant amounts of alcohol and were adequately pickled before we engaged in conversation. And a fine time was had by all. None of us, it appeared, had shared any troubles apart from the usual gripes against our neighbours. All seemed to have some inkling as to where their futures were going. And all appeared to be pleased with what they saw.
A little further back, before the mad rush to prepare for the Holy Day, the Corvidae gathered. And as custom dictated, we fed ourselves well, and made up for the lack of alcohol by consuming significant amounts of caffeinated beverages instead. The conversation was lively, and we dwelled not too much on what we had left behind us. Rather, we made plans to meet more frequently, and perhaps even resurrect an ancient game that we had laid to rest a good while ago.
Strange how all this optimism seemed to be contagious.
The year behind us has been a bit of a roller-coaster ride for me, truly. Work was hectic and oftimes, chaotic. Time was hardly on my side and the demands of raising a precocious daughter surprised me to no end. Oh, there were many pleasant memories made in running after my energetic scion, make no mistake. But there were times I wished I could just collapse.
I have been exhausted to varying degrees by the time I finally hit the sack, and there have been occasions when I questioned the purpose of my existence. Despite this, I must admit that I still feel a sense of hope, especially when I am surrounded by my friends. It is you who show me that work is not all there is, that sturm und drang shall pass, that talking about troubles eases the heart, that laughing about our children's antics keep us young, that the brainless idiots that cross our path deserve all the barbs we hurl at them, that it is worth our effort to be more gracious and that life itself is often its own reward.
So to everyone who has shared my days upon this earth, whether you know it or not, thank you. It has been an entertaining time indeed.
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