It's that month of the year again.
February has always been a 'feverish' time for me, though not in the way that Trebuchet sees it. Three events usually take place in this month that are particularly significant to me, so I find myself swinging between excitment and exhaustion:
Firstly, there is that small matter of the New Year. While I am not the sort of fellow who plays on my ethnicity, I am proud to be Chinese, and I have a smattering of knowledge regarding the history, customs and traditions (good and bad) of my people. So when this time of the year comes around, I put in a bit of effort into the necessary preparations.
Indeed, during my recent trip to the Pearl River Delta, I actually took the trouble to take a short hop over to Hong Kong, to purchase goose liver sausages from Yung Kei, a old establishment (60+ years in the business) that specialises in such items. I have no doubt that my family shall enjoy them. With the exception of the missus, who thinks the stuff too fattening and the flavours too intense.
My daughter, of course, sees CNY as a time of ang paos and indiscriminate snacking. Not to mention, dressing in new clothes. Her kindergarten has been organizing ethnic dress days for the major holidays, and I have always taken pains to dress the little one in cute dresses. The ao dai episode two years ago was somewhat unusual, since she insisted on wearing jeans rather than the traditional trousers. The cheongsam last year was a success however, and her grandparents had cooed over how adorable she looked.
This year, I decided to dress the daughter in a kebaya sulam. That's the peranakan outfit with the translucent, laced blouse and the colourful sarong. Since my wife is nonya, her mother clearly approved of my choice. My own mother was also tickled by how my daughter looked. I shall have to take many photographs this year, it seems.
CNY this year coincides with Valentine's Day. Which may be good or bad, depending on how one regards that extremely commercialized event. I shall endeavour to do something for the missus, of course. Though I fear that it may well be overshadowed by the other celebration. Perhaps a good seafood dinner ...
Lastly, February is also the month of my birth. I shall be 44 this year. A little inauspicious, the number, so I am a trifle cautious of bad luck this coming year of the Tiger. But fortunetellers and horoscopes claim otherwise. I guess we shall see what we shall see.
Still, another year older. That is something to contemplate.
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Monday, 26 October 2009
Goodness / Gracious
I believe in causality. And paying for the consequences of one's actions.
I know it's a bit odd, to begin thus. But bear with me:
In Hong Kong International Airport a few days ago, I witnessed a waitress engaging a Japanese couple and their infant son at one of the many tim sum places therein. She played with the child and spent a good deal of time carrying him, while his parents enjoyed their meal. Despite the language barrier, her behaviour and the child's expression told me that they were both enjoying each other's attention. The couple, for their part, were relieved that their son was in good hands, and genuinely impressed by, and appreciative of, the waitress' efforts.
About 15 minutes into the episode, the manager of the restuarant appeared. And like his staff, he too spent some time speaking to the parents. Indeed, he was able to reassure them that their child was in good hands, in their own language. When called away to another table of Japanese tourists, he happily described the dishes that they were considering, telling them what went into which, and how the food was prepared, all in fluent nihongo.
Here in the City, we've been taught from our childhood that efficiency equals productivity, and that time is not meant to be 'wasted'.
How would a local manager view the antics of the waitress above, I wondered. And how would he have reacted? While I cannot predict the details, I am certain that it would not have been the same as that in Hong Kong. Good service here means quick, efficient and with a minimum of fuss. Too bad if the customer enjoys being fussed over.
Good versus Gracious.
The latter shall never begin to raise its head here, unless the definition of the first is changed.
Shall I be around to see it?
Do I really care?
No. I am a product of 'good' upbringing after all.
: )
I know it's a bit odd, to begin thus. But bear with me:
In Hong Kong International Airport a few days ago, I witnessed a waitress engaging a Japanese couple and their infant son at one of the many tim sum places therein. She played with the child and spent a good deal of time carrying him, while his parents enjoyed their meal. Despite the language barrier, her behaviour and the child's expression told me that they were both enjoying each other's attention. The couple, for their part, were relieved that their son was in good hands, and genuinely impressed by, and appreciative of, the waitress' efforts.
About 15 minutes into the episode, the manager of the restuarant appeared. And like his staff, he too spent some time speaking to the parents. Indeed, he was able to reassure them that their child was in good hands, in their own language. When called away to another table of Japanese tourists, he happily described the dishes that they were considering, telling them what went into which, and how the food was prepared, all in fluent nihongo.
Here in the City, we've been taught from our childhood that efficiency equals productivity, and that time is not meant to be 'wasted'.
How would a local manager view the antics of the waitress above, I wondered. And how would he have reacted? While I cannot predict the details, I am certain that it would not have been the same as that in Hong Kong. Good service here means quick, efficient and with a minimum of fuss. Too bad if the customer enjoys being fussed over.
Good versus Gracious.
The latter shall never begin to raise its head here, unless the definition of the first is changed.
Shall I be around to see it?
Do I really care?
No. I am a product of 'good' upbringing after all.
: )
Monday, 27 July 2009
The Weak End
It's monday.
That's usually the words that prelude an excuse about how blue one is feeling. Normally, I'm not overly affected about the days of the work-week. I mean, some Fridays are just sh*te, while an occasional Monday can be golden.
Today, however, was unusual. The sky was overcast as I was driving to work, and the usual radio station that I tune into was rambling on and on about one of its presenter's wedding over the week end. Much too cheery and lovey-dovey for me, especially given the weather at the time, so I switched over to my ipod. As luck would have it, the first song that played was this one:
The silicon chip inside her head gets switched to overload
And nobody's gonna go to school today
She's going to make them stay at home
And daddy doesn't understand it
He always said she was good as gold
And he can see no reasons, 'cause there are no reasons
What reason do you need to be shown?
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot the whole day down
The telex machine is kept so clean and it types to a waiting world
And mother feels so shocked
Father's world is rocked
And their thoughts turn to their own little girl
Sweet 16 ain't that peachy keen
No, it ain't so neat to admit defeat
They can see no reasons 'cause there are no reasons
What reasons do you need
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot the whole day down, down, down, shoot it all down
And all the playing has stopped in the playground now
She wants to play with the toys of war
And school's out early and soon we'll be learning
That the lesson today is how to die
And then the bullhorn crackles
And the captain cackles with the problems and the hows and whys
And he can see no reasons 'cause there are no reasons
What reason do you need to die, die?
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like, I don't like, (Tell me why?) I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like, I don't like, (Tell me why?) I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot the whole day down
Now the Boomtown Rats were really good, but the version that I had was the Tori Amos cover. You know, with her slightly creepy, nonchalantly depressive voice? Now that really brought me down.
My life outside the song didn't help either: work has been hectic of late. Those who know of my affiliations will understand; the broadsheets and the more volatile media has been proclaiming the recent changes of late. While that had consumed a good part of my time, more developments loom on the horizon, and I find myself at the oars, paddling furiously towards it. Oftimes, out of synch with the rest of those chained to the deck. Oh well....
Back on the home front, the missus is down with a cough and a sore throat. Which means that she has isolated herself from the daughter, leaving me to play the single father again. Not that I mind, mind. I have grown accustomed to such instances. However, I have myself, barely recovered from an upset stomach - with the attendant bells and whistles, as it were. Running on a less than full battery over the weekend with a hyper child is not the most restful of experiences, truly. Running on a guggling tummy is even worse. Needless to say, the title of this blog describes what else I had to contend with...
Fortunately, the daughter seemed to realize that neither of her parents were in a state to match her enthusiasm, and entertained herself for the most part. My mother's participation in the fun and games on Saturday also eased matters somewhat. Whew!
That's usually the words that prelude an excuse about how blue one is feeling. Normally, I'm not overly affected about the days of the work-week. I mean, some Fridays are just sh*te, while an occasional Monday can be golden.
Today, however, was unusual. The sky was overcast as I was driving to work, and the usual radio station that I tune into was rambling on and on about one of its presenter's wedding over the week end. Much too cheery and lovey-dovey for me, especially given the weather at the time, so I switched over to my ipod. As luck would have it, the first song that played was this one:
The silicon chip inside her head gets switched to overload
And nobody's gonna go to school today
She's going to make them stay at home
And daddy doesn't understand it
He always said she was good as gold
And he can see no reasons, 'cause there are no reasons
What reason do you need to be shown?
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot the whole day down
The telex machine is kept so clean and it types to a waiting world
And mother feels so shocked
Father's world is rocked
And their thoughts turn to their own little girl
Sweet 16 ain't that peachy keen
No, it ain't so neat to admit defeat
They can see no reasons 'cause there are no reasons
What reasons do you need
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot the whole day down, down, down, shoot it all down
And all the playing has stopped in the playground now
She wants to play with the toys of war
And school's out early and soon we'll be learning
That the lesson today is how to die
And then the bullhorn crackles
And the captain cackles with the problems and the hows and whys
And he can see no reasons 'cause there are no reasons
What reason do you need to die, die?
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like, I don't like, (Tell me why?) I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like, I don't like, (Tell me why?) I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot the whole day down
Now the Boomtown Rats were really good, but the version that I had was the Tori Amos cover. You know, with her slightly creepy, nonchalantly depressive voice? Now that really brought me down.
My life outside the song didn't help either: work has been hectic of late. Those who know of my affiliations will understand; the broadsheets and the more volatile media has been proclaiming the recent changes of late. While that had consumed a good part of my time, more developments loom on the horizon, and I find myself at the oars, paddling furiously towards it. Oftimes, out of synch with the rest of those chained to the deck. Oh well....
Back on the home front, the missus is down with a cough and a sore throat. Which means that she has isolated herself from the daughter, leaving me to play the single father again. Not that I mind, mind. I have grown accustomed to such instances. However, I have myself, barely recovered from an upset stomach - with the attendant bells and whistles, as it were. Running on a less than full battery over the weekend with a hyper child is not the most restful of experiences, truly. Running on a guggling tummy is even worse. Needless to say, the title of this blog describes what else I had to contend with...
Fortunately, the daughter seemed to realize that neither of her parents were in a state to match her enthusiasm, and entertained herself for the most part. My mother's participation in the fun and games on Saturday also eased matters somewhat. Whew!
As for the music, the next song was also a Tori Amos cover of a Depache Mode favourite (I must have been in a select by artist sequence) - Enjoy the Silence.
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
No Holidays
Given the situation at the moment, planning for a holiday overseas happens to be an extremely vexing matter. We had intended to visit the Azure Mountains in the Land of the Southern Cross originally, and were making preparations to do so sometime next month. The recent outbreak of disease, which appears to have spread through most of the world, has prevented us from making concrete plans.
Normally, the missus would be most put out by the circumstances. She is fond of travel and she is doubly eager to show our daughter the World. Given the way that our offspring had embraced her vacation last year, I was also loathed to deny her. However, there was naught to be done, and the wife appeared to be be resigned to this disappointing development. With more grace that I had expected, truth be told.
I have, however, begun enquiries as to a short rest in one of our many beach-side inns as a substitute. While it does not offer as many opportunities as a trip overseas, there might be sufficient excitement and distraction to keep both my wife and my daughter entertained.
We shall see how it goes.
Normally, the missus would be most put out by the circumstances. She is fond of travel and she is doubly eager to show our daughter the World. Given the way that our offspring had embraced her vacation last year, I was also loathed to deny her. However, there was naught to be done, and the wife appeared to be be resigned to this disappointing development. With more grace that I had expected, truth be told.
I have, however, begun enquiries as to a short rest in one of our many beach-side inns as a substitute. While it does not offer as many opportunities as a trip overseas, there might be sufficient excitement and distraction to keep both my wife and my daughter entertained.
We shall see how it goes.
Friday, 17 April 2009
Single Fatherhood 2
It has been nigh a year since my last post, I realized, somewhat aghast. Yet, despite all the time that has passed, I find myself at exactly where I had left off. Sigh.
The missus is off again; this time it is to Japan, on an assignment that she detests. The reason for her dislike of the place, according to her, is that there is too much pettiness amongst the people and a distinct lack of warm food for lunch. Those who have met my wife will agree with me when I speculate that it is the latter that appears more frequently in her complaints.
As for me, her absence has caused my health to suffer somewhat. I am short of sleep (as usual) and short of time (in particular). My daughter too, has begun to exhibit signs of separation anxiety. She has, on occasion, burst into tears for no apparent reason, especially when I drop her off at school. Needless to say, I have had to explain to her teachers that her mother is off somewhere, and that the daughter has latched onto me as a substitute. Worst of all was having to make apologetic sounds as the teachers (women, one and all) nodded in understanding and made sympathetic noises. Sigh.
To distract the daughter from her situation, I have implemented a two-pronged approach:
First, I have begun to bring her to her school a little earlier than she is accustomed to. This gives her opportunity to meet her friends at the entrance and so begin socialising (playing and generally making a nuisance of themselves) before classes start. Sufficient to stop her from dwelling on the goodbyes later on.
Second, there are places that she has visited with me and with me alone. Since her mother was never around when we visited the Botanic Gardens and such, these spots are, in her head, exclusive Father-and-Daughter bonding locales. Revisiting them -just the two of us- has reinforced that, I hope. This should prevent her from the constant reminder that she is one parent short. Thus far, it has been working.
Well, only two more weeks to go. Wish me luck!
The missus is off again; this time it is to Japan, on an assignment that she detests. The reason for her dislike of the place, according to her, is that there is too much pettiness amongst the people and a distinct lack of warm food for lunch. Those who have met my wife will agree with me when I speculate that it is the latter that appears more frequently in her complaints.
As for me, her absence has caused my health to suffer somewhat. I am short of sleep (as usual) and short of time (in particular). My daughter too, has begun to exhibit signs of separation anxiety. She has, on occasion, burst into tears for no apparent reason, especially when I drop her off at school. Needless to say, I have had to explain to her teachers that her mother is off somewhere, and that the daughter has latched onto me as a substitute. Worst of all was having to make apologetic sounds as the teachers (women, one and all) nodded in understanding and made sympathetic noises. Sigh.
To distract the daughter from her situation, I have implemented a two-pronged approach:
First, I have begun to bring her to her school a little earlier than she is accustomed to. This gives her opportunity to meet her friends at the entrance and so begin socialising (playing and generally making a nuisance of themselves) before classes start. Sufficient to stop her from dwelling on the goodbyes later on.
Second, there are places that she has visited with me and with me alone. Since her mother was never around when we visited the Botanic Gardens and such, these spots are, in her head, exclusive Father-and-Daughter bonding locales. Revisiting them -just the two of us- has reinforced that, I hope. This should prevent her from the constant reminder that she is one parent short. Thus far, it has been working.
Well, only two more weeks to go. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
Single Fatherhood
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.
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.
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.
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