To Capture Happiness

I'm not sure it's a Wednesday afternoon, but most likely it was. Because usually that's the day I would have a lighter workload and get off early to wait for you after school. Although, being self-employed, lighter workload means less income - but that's not what this post is about.

As usual the school entrance was crowded with parents when I arrived. Most were huddled in groups of two or three chatting away; some preferred to wait at the opposite hawker stalls having a drink; some, like me, who didn't meet any acquaintances would stand alone in the crowd and look pensive, while trying to eavesdrop on some interesting conversations. We were all under the shade away from the evening sun, of course. Was it overcast that day? I'm not sure - but that's not what this post is about.

The school bell rang. A bunch of schoolboys in white shirts and dark blue shorts started to trickle out through the gate. Almost everyone came out like they went into the school earlier - neat and tidy, NOT! - especially you and your other 7-years old friends at Primary One. If there's not a stain on your face, it'll be on your hands; if it's not on your hands, it'll be on your white shirt. For some reason your knees were always dirty. You told me that was because you have to kneel when you couldn't find a seat during recess (or was it school assembly?) - but that's not what this post is about.

I have always enjoyed spotting your dirty face and uncombed hair amongst all the happy faces streaming out from the school. It's a happy feeling to watch your wondering face blossoming into a smile when our eyes meet - it's the kind of happiness when we stumble upon a long lost love after a hundred years apart, even though I had just bid goodbye to you in the morning. I hope, you're just as happy to spot my face amongst the neck-stretched, head swinging and eyes scanning adults - but that's not what this post is about.

As usual, the first thing we did was to enlighten your load. Heavy school bags were always a complaint amongst the parents. I hope those weight would not hinder your growth, although, looking at your other 7-years old friends, you weren't exactly short or small for your age. When we crossed the road, I stretched out my hand. You held it. I felt happy - a fuzzy-warm kind of happy. I had started to cherish these special moments. Lately, as you grow older, at times, I have to resort to commanding to hold your hand. When you were younger, no matter what the situation, you automatically holding onto my out-stretched hand was as natural as our heartbeats - but that's not ... well, you know.

As we walked towards the car, I asked you to walk in front of me. You had always liked to walk behind me. With news about children being kidnapped never stop circulating, I could never be too careful with you. Although, you following my footsteps was something that once made me very happy - a being-idolised kind of happy. For the record, when you were younger, you adored me (Yes, adore! To a certain degree, at 7-years-old, you still do). You had said that when you grow up, you wanted to do what I do as a career. Of course, not long after that, your ambition changed to a teacher, and then a scientist - but that's not what this post is about.

This post is about an image of you that was imprinted onto my mind a few minutes later that day. That image has been bringing happy, very happy smiles onto my face until today, several weeks after. And hopefully when I revisit this post in the future, I can conjure up the same image and bring back the same smile.

I think you were especially happy that day because some companies had sponsored soft drinks and snacks to the school for Children's Day, even though the school had celebrated it in the week before. There were extra bounces in your steps that day. As we approached the car walking on the corridor of an old two storey shop, your gait changed.

Instead of putting your right foot down after you had stepped on your left, you hopped once on your left foot. You then put down your right foot. Left foot out, hopped once on your left, and right foot out. Yes, you were skipping on your left foot. And your hair bobbed freely with every bounce. I'm very sure it was your left foot. I'm not sure why you didn't skip on both legs. I'm also not very sure whether that was the first time I saw you skip, one leg or two. But watching you skipped in your slightly over-sized school uniform of not-so-white shirt and dark blue short, pulled slightly above your waistline, I was suddenly overwhelmed. Unexpectedly.

I think I was almost in tears.

Perhaps it was the way you embrace life at that moment, or perhaps it was simply the cuteness of your skipping, my heart suddenly flooded with happiness by what I saw. I'm not sure I can put my feeling of happiness then into words. I'm not sure words can describe something so inexplicably wonderful. But if I was to pinpoint that happiness in its extensive spectrum, I think it was contentment.

And - because of the old man who sold chee-cheong-fun on a mobile stall - pride too.

The old man had been peddling his food by that road for the past few weeks. He noticed you skipping. I noticed him smiling while watching your skipping. Although with those skips, you didn't achieve anything to any degree in academic terms, or artistic terms, or physical terms, at that moment, when I saw you skipping, I was happy, very happy to proclaim -

"My boy! Yeah, that's my boy!"

Simply because I'm your father.



.

Would You?

He turned the ignition key. The engine spluttered. After a few more coughs, the engine reliably revved into a familiar drone. He looked at his watch and gave two quick hoots to hurry up his passenger in the house. The reminder broke the silence of the seven o'clock morning in the single storey terrace housing area.

A teenage girl rushed out from the house in a blue and white school uniform. "Morning, Mrs Lim," she gestured to the lady next door as she got into the car.

"Aren't you a bit late this morning?" the father asked as he reversed the car out of the house.

"Sorry, Ba. Lots of homework last night, " the girl replied while munching on her bread.

He had always enjoyed the drive taking his daughter to school. It took roughly half an hour to weave out from their residential area, through the small town and to her school not far outside the town. He didn't mind the traffic going through the town. It gave him extra times to chat with his daughter.

"What happened to your bag?" he noticed a tear at the side of her bag.

"Oh, this? Got caught against the rail of the stair at school yesterday," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant about the damage.

"Oh..."

He remembered the bag. It was her birthday present two years ago. She was never one who would be rough with her belongings. She had been brought up knowing the value of cents and the time and effort that make it go round.

"How's your preparation for the coming exam?" he changed the subject.

As they chatted, the car stopped in front of the school.

"Sweetie," he beckoned as she got out of the car, "we'll go shopping tonight for a new bag."

The girl hesitated for a while. "It's Okay, Ba. It's still usable."

"We'll go. I got extra from work this past two months. Anyway, it's been two years with the bag," he insisted.

With that, the face of the girl blossomed into a smile and beamed with joy. "Okay then," she waved goodbye and closed the door.

He smiled as he watched his daughter walked towards the school gate. The sense of satisfaction and accomplishment from raising this girl for twelve years overwhelmed his heart. All other successes in his business or career paled miserably in comparison. He knew, as he had always known, he made the right choice.

He was still wearing the smile, and savouring the overwhelming sense of satisfaction when he stopped his car in front of a gated factory.

The guard gave him a salute before raising the bar and let his car in. He drove past a myriad of shinny BMW and Merc before shoving his old timer into a vacant slot amongst them.

As he got out from the car, he found himself whistling.

"Morning, Mr Lu," the lady walking ahead of him looked back as she heard the happy tune.

"Morning, Mrs Lee," he gave the lady a playful salute.

She waited for him before continuing their walk towards the office.

"I've booked the hotel at the beach resort as requested. It'll be a five hours drive before you'd reach the resort. But ...," she hesitated.

"But what, Mrs Lee," he inquired, in the happy tone of his, blending his words into the tune he's whistling.

"You sure you don't want a trip to the Disney in Japan, or even Hong Kong for this holiday?"

He paused for a little while, pondering on the question. "Not yet, Mrs Lee. Not yet," he replied. "But soon," he added with a knowing smile.

As they walked towards the office, the lady couldn't hide her admiration for her boss. An admiration reserved for a father who owned a multi-million dollars business, with more than one hundred workers, branch offices in six countries over three continents, and yet, would live a lifestyle of moderation befitting not one, but many notches below his income level. A sacrifice he and his wife would willingly make for ten odd years without any complaints, for nothing but the sake of their daughter and her upbringing. In her opinion, they were probably the greatest, most unselfish parents ever walked on the surface of this earth. Ever.

~

If you are a parent, would you?

As a parent, would you?



.

Of Courage And A Nine-Year-Old

"It's okay to fail. Everybody fails once in a while. The important thing is how you react to the failure. I would rather be someone who is able to bounce back after a failure than someone who has never failed."

"Look at the positives. It's a good chance to learn how to rebound from a setback. Try to think about what went wrong, figure a way to improve your shortcomings, make this failure worthwhile, make it a seed for future success."

Try driving these pep talks to a nine-year old little girl who had just brought back a poor exam result and were feeling down after a session with her mother, and you'd realise how difficult parenting can be, effective parenting, that is.

My little girl has always been up and down with her grades. My wife and I practise a good-cop-bad-cop routine on her with her academic progress. My wife, being the bad cop, would exert pressure when required, and I would come in to release the pressure from her when I think fit. In this particular instance, it's especially bad for my little girl.

She's a bit over-confident prior to the exam and was slightly slack in her preparation, despite numerous reminders from her mom. Therefore, when she brought home a poor mark that barely extended beyond the passing mark, she was in for a storm.

Lesson learnt? I guess so. I hope so.

Did my subsequent pep talks work? Well, she seemed blur on the message "Look at the positives from the failure", but she could totally accept and understand "It's OK to fail" - loud and clear.

But her worries were not over yet. She was to receive the results for a few other subjects the next day. Her confidence being on the lows, her eyebrows were locked the whole night fearing another round of bad marks comes tomorrow.

Another opportunity to practise my parenting skill? - Definitely.

"Be brave. Own up to your work", "Have courage to face the consequences of your own doing", "Be brave, be courageous", "With bravery and courage, nothing needs to be feared", "Be brave, be courageous" - "Baba, you said that already."

After another round of ineffective pep talks on a blank and frowning face, I finally accepted the wisdom of "It's OK to fail", and went to sleep with the "Look at the positives from the failure" at the back of my mind. It's a good thing I don't have to present my marks from effective parenting to any cops.

So, how do you instil bravery and courage into a nine-year-old?

The next day, I think I did it. I hope I did it.

When I got home that day after work, I was a bit anxious about how my little girl went through her day. To my relief, my little girl ran to me and gave me a big hug with a big smile. I think my "trick" worked. I hope my "trick" worked.

Right before I left for work that morning, inspiration struck me. I tore out a piece of paper, and on it I wrote the word Yong Qi (Courage in Chinese). That's it? No. I felt something was missing, it lacked punches - there is nothing there to back it up.

"Jie Jie, Baba's going to give you Courage to bring to school today, OK?" I told my just-awaken daughter, with a cheeky, but encouraging smile.

"Huh?" My little girl put on a puzzled and skeptical look. None the less, she accepted the piece of paper. The piece of paper with the word Yong Qi and signed with "From Baba who loves you very much!".

I'm not really sure the trick worked for you that day, Jie Jie, but I hope soon, you'll be able to draw bravery and courage from within you and face any problem with your head held high, and a smile on your face. But I guess that piece of paper is a good start. Love, Baba.



.

Quiet Time

There's nothing more important than a cosy Sunday to cap off a working week, to prove life could still be enjoyable. It's the best time to do some much-needed soul searching, enjoying some quiet time, relaxing and recharging unless ... you have a seven-years old boy with you.

On the only day when you can sleep until the sun slides its butts westward, my little boy would invariably wake up earlier than usual. That would be fine if he keeps his Sunday to himself. But probably due to my endearing fatherly love, he would insist on sharing his Sunday with me as fully as possible.

But he doesn't send the invitation by gently waking me up. He would bang my bedroom door going in and out doing his "chores" - clearing up the messes he left behind in the room, on his table, on my table, or in the living room from last night.

Ok, Ok! Sunday morning nap is gone - I'm awake.

"Morning, son. So, what do you want to do today?"

"Baba, I want to watch TV."

“.…..”

That's partly my fault; but mainly my wife is to be blamed. Sunday mornings are the only mornings when my children can switch on the TV before breakfast and enjoy their cartoons, as long as they've kept their places neat and tidy, on insistence from my wife, and on apathy from me.

Ok, TV then. I can probably go back to my morning nap.

But, after spending three minutes picking up pieces left scattering by the tornado of my fury and frustration by breathing-in-breathing-out, and another ten minutes of the same even-if-you-don't-try-you-would-do-it-anyway trick to get back to sleep, I would realise that the only way to get back to total unconsciousness would be banging my head against the wall.

So, I'm up.

Well, might as well start enjoying a beautiful Sunday - with a shouting match of the children over the TV remote control.

Fine, I don't get my Sunday sleep-in, the kids don’t get their Sunday cartoon either. Breakfast.

After herding the children into the car, off to Sunday breakfast.

Being the only day I get to eat my breakfast leisurely without being hurried to work, Sunday breakfast is like wearing my favourite underpants - if I don't wear it right, I feel out of sort. So it's important to start my day with an enjoyable breakfast.

"What do you want for breakfast, kids?"

"Kopitiam!" - their favourite.

"OK, we're having wonton mee!" - my favourite.

That's democracy being practiced by a dictator. Take it or leave it, kiddos.

With that, my seven-year old throws another fit (before you go pointing finger at me, the kids do get to go to their favourite place once in a while). It's hard to imagine how I would think he's the greatest gift to me with that sulky face.

With satisfied taste buds, a full stomach and a newspaper in hand, I finally get to my quiet time. The kids? They're enjoying themselves with the second most important modern invention to keep kids away from parents after the TV - computer games.

Quiet time? Only if I live in a separate house.

I think my son plays computer games like no other kids play computer games. At least for other parents’ sake, I would like to think so.

"Die, you ugly monster!", "No, you don't!", "Take that!", "Hahaha, I told you I'll beat you!", "I'm gonna get you!", "Yes! I told you so!", "Muahahaha, you can't beat the master!"

As if the music from the games is not already noisy enough, my son would actually interact with the game verbally too. Hats off to the game programmers - Bravo, I hope your kids do the same to you too.

It's cute for a while. After half an hour of the verbal abuses, it gets annoying and I would start to wonder who’s this replica of the sweet little boy whom I hold so dear to.

After dinner, homework time. Quite time?

Not my son.

My son is slow in this area. Not that he's not bright. Just that he would keep alternating between doing his homework and other mindless drivels, like sharpening his pencil, playing with his erasers, practicing his kungfu, singing a song, or doing a dance. Eventually the carnival will draw complaints from his older sister. He'll then defend himself with a "No" and attack with a "You". Then his sister will defend with her "No" and attack with her "You" and Voila! - a shouting match.

When all else fails – cane.

With some cracking sound effect from the cane on the sofa, order would be finally restored. That's when my son is at his most efficient with his homework. Ten minutes, the record to date, and the devil within him will rise again.

But, after all that, it's still easy to get past the devil in the boy.

The devil can wreak havoc all he likes, but the angel within him will prevail eventually - when I pull the blanket over his chest, run my fingers through his soft hair and caress that angelic face of his on his bed.

Finally, at long, long last, some quiet time ...

"Baba ...will you read me a bedtime story?""


Gladly.


.

Hold Tight

I love my two little children more than my own life. Whenever they sleep with me, I would cover all of us under the same blanket and hold onto them lest they would disappear into the deep of nights.

There's nothing more content than immersing myself in the children's body warmth and falling into sleep surrounded by the coolness of the night. Although, waking up to a brand new day with them sleeping soundly by my side would probably better that.

~

It was a hot night - nothing unusual considering the hot spell we've been having lately; I was tired - as usual after a hard day at work; and I don't usually switch on the air-conditioning unit in my room until I've decided to call it a day.

But it was a tad hotter that night; and I was a speck more tired; so I switch on the air-cond a bit earlier than usual and clicked into my nightly online escapade. Barely 10 minute spent online, my mind was already getting blurry white and my eyelids were feeling heavy. I laid myself into the soft comfort of my bed and pillows amid the cooling air for a brief nap.

As I was wandering in the foggy edge of total unconsciousness, I was pulled back into the bright light by the rustling sound when my 7-years-old little boy climbed into bed beside me.

"Baba's too tired to read tonight ..." I murmured.

When they were younger, my children used to insist on having their bedtime stories read by the mersmerising voice (ahem...) of mine despite my tired plea. As they grow older, they started to be more understanding - either that or they are just fed up with the futility of their insistence. Also, as they grow into the bedtime reading habit, they're more willing to read themselves to sleep.

As the air was getting cooler in the room, I was shaken to consciousness again, this time coming all the way back from the darkness of deep slumber.

"I'm still tired, boy," I murmured again, in a slightly agitated tone.

"Baba, Baba, come sleep under the blanket with me," my son whispered.

I had the sweetest dream that night ...

Or, was that the dream I had?

~

I cherish all the tender moments I have with my children. When it happens, I'm sure my heart couldn't contain another ounce of contentment. But when the children tug my hand and yearn for my companionship in such manner during such time, the contentment in my heart will melt, overflowing in smooth heavenly bliss.

~

I'm going to miss them, very, very, very much when they grow up and no longer yearn for my presence by their side as such.

Don't grow up too quickly ...


.

My Wonderful World of Surprises

"That's not. No, you yours gave it yesterday. Well to me, that's, today yesterday I back. You want it can't do Yes, I like that can. Mother! also no use. Tell mother Give it now. No! to me I'll take Don't you your ruler. dare, I'll take pencil. I'll back your. I'll find hide it it anyway ..."

That's my two kids, 9 and 7 years old, performing their daily ritual. I've come to believe that it must be some sorts of chants they learned during pregnancy to get revenge on us for bringing them into this world. And we thought we'd done them a favour and bragged smugly about it. If you're lucky, you would get to enjoy an ensuing Coyote and Road Runner Show (all chasing and no physical contacts). If the warfare escalated to a DEFCON 1, you'd have a Tom and Jerry Show. Oh, how they would fight. But I've learnt not to be agitated by it, until a certain limit, and accept it - much like I accept that however close a couple is, there are still secrets best left untold; as friendly as your parents are, there'll be moments when you wish they would just shut up; as tightly held as you think your brotherhood or sisterhood is, there are still things not meant to be shared. So, brothers and sisters at their ages tend to fight - that's human, that's growing up, that's life, no problem.

So, kids' bickering I can withstand, with a smile too. Sometimes, it's the object of contention that bemused me. In the above jumbled up arguments, it's a sweet, a 5 cents sweet. I understand we should not always use an adult's value judgment to assess things in the kid's world. But, a fight that nearly turned into a Jet Li's Invisible Kicks vs Michelle Yeoh's Weng-Choon Fists over a 5 cents sweet, which they get to enjoy often whenever their parents is in a good mood?

But it is exactly this kind of absurdly-out-of-proportion-to-us-adults-basis that prompted our primary-3 daughter to jump with joy when we finally decided to give her a weekly allowance - 50 cents, to go with her snack box. By my calculation, if I got 20 cents as allowance back in my primary school years, which allowed me to buy a bowl of noodle and a glass of drink, and taking in the inflation rates over the 30-odd years, her joy was way overrated. But then again, she's measuring it against the yardstick of kid's world. Still, her overjoyed outburst caught me a little bit by surprise.

I was thrown into more surprises the other day, not long after we started giving her allowances, when she secretly told me ... well, this is another kid's wonder ...

When one of the kids comes to you and says, "Baba, Baba, come here, I want to tell you something, but you cannot tell Di-di (little brother), (or Jie-jie (elder sister), whichever case applies) hor ...", you're sure to find the other sibling right within a earshot away. Kids ...

I digressed.

Anyway, in the kid's most secretive way of telling a secret, my daughter pulled my ear towards her and whispered to me that she would use her weekly allowance of 50 cents to buy a 30 cents snack for her younger brother on the coming Wednesday. Sure enough, the boy didn't hear about the secret, but, as usual, knew that a secret was being told, and was hopping mad for not being told the secret. The kind of surprise brought by the learned secret put a smile on my face the whole day. I was so pleased I thought I couldn't have smiled any wider.

But I was wrong.

On Wednesday, my daughter kept her promise. She gave the snack to her younger brother, bundled in a self-made gift wrapper. I was again surprised by her thoughtfulness. And, of course, I was caught by another surprise (this just shows how presumptuous I was regarding kids' value judgment) when the little boy couldn't stop giggling and yelling with joy over the kind of present that takes him less than 30 seconds to gobble up.

The biggest surprise of all?

After my full-of-surprises daughter had given my full-of-surprises son her gift, she gave him a hug and said, "Happy Birthday!"

Kids ...


Moments later, after the gift was unwrapped, and the jumping and yelling of joy came to a halt, another surprise - "This is the bestest birthday ever!" my little boy trumpeted with a big smile.


Ahh ... kids. What would you do without them, when you're not spanking them for their hair-pulling maddening mischief.


.

Hole In My Heart

I put down the phone; looked at the clock; called out to my wife; rushed through shower; dashed to the car, not forgetting to put on my clothes; hurried my wife into the car; started the engine; switched on the light; reversed the car out of the garage; and drove towards my destination, wishing the car could fly.

Not wanting to be late, I stepped on the pedals a little bit harder; railed round a few corners a little bit faster; overtook a few cruising cars at frustratingly slow speed with a bit more recklessness; and risked a few more summons by dashing through a few maybe-yellow-maybe-red traffic lights.

Relieved that the bus was not there when we arrived, I stopped the engine. Rolling down the window, I let out the air that’d been trapped ebbing and flowing in the car, and let the night cool air fill the car. We waited. The darkness and quietness of the night were broken only by the sparse traffic.

At last, the bus arrived. My wife and I alighted the car, already smiling with the thought of the impending reunion.

Waves of hands greeted the two people who brought me to this world, and big hugs, big big hugs, welcomed the other two who brought the world to me.

Finally, the hole that emerged in my heart when my parents took my two kids to Singapore to visit my brother and their cousins, the hole that had been draining all colours from my soul for 6 days, 10 hours, 23 minutes, and ... 18 seconds, was plugged.

.

Perhaps ...

“Shut up! And sit still!” I shouted at the bickering kids sitting at the back.

I just couldn’t understand why my six-year-old boy likes to annoy his elder sister to no end. He’ll stop when you ask him to. But he did so only to figure out some other way to do it again, right before the echo of your request has died down.

“Ok, we’re not getting your ice cream,” I said.

“No fair!” he protested.

“I’ve already told you. One more time, and we’re not getting yours,” I said.

We’d promised to get the kids’ desserts on the way to the supermarket that night, each with his/her own favourite flavour.

I don’t usually use threats as parenting tools. Because when I do, I would have to make sure my words do not lose their weight by carrying them out. Those words usually build up to what I would not do for the kids, rather than what I would do to them. That’s why I only use it on minor things like not getting them candy, not going to the playground, no TV, and in this case, not getting my little boy his dessert. At their ages, denying them these minor things is as catastrophic as taking away iPods or handphone from teenagers, or cutting off internet access to us.

While doing our round in the supermarket, my little boy was surprisingly subdued, none of his non-stop whining about the unfairness like I expected. But he did put on a wooden face and protective arms across his chest to guard against the world (that would be us, the parents) that he felt was against him, whenever the world cast an eye on him.

Yet, he didn’t make a sound when we put his sister’s ice cream into the cart. And he did chat with his sister on other subjects, without making a fuss about the unfairness, along the way.

His quietness and willingness to accept his punishment without grumbling about it was starting to make my heart mellow. Perhaps my point had driven across. However, I quickly and painfully halt the mellowing process to make sure I wasn’t going to get what he wanted, that night.

I had decided to get it for him on my way home from work the day after.

After we came out from the supermarket, at the car park, as he and his mom and sister got into the car, I stopped him. I told my wife and little girl to wait in the car, and walked towards the supermarket with him.

“For this time, I’ll get your ice cream. But remember what I said about teasing your sister, Ok?” I said.

“Ok, “ he nodded happily, smiling broadly. I believed him, like I believe pigs would fly.

I held his hand walking back towards the supermarket. I was smiling too, my heart totally softened, the wall around it crumbled under his once-again glowing innocent face.

Perhaps, I had spoilt him for turning back on my words; perhaps, by turning back on my words, my words would have less authority the next time round; perhaps, by having less authoritative words, I would have a harder time in parenting; perhaps, I had made a wrong decision.

But my thought at that moment was this: perhaps the unpredictability of life would see that I wouldn’t wake up, for good, the next morning, and then not getting his ice cream would be the last deed he remembered me by for the rest of his life. At my little boy’s tender age, I decided not to take the risk.

That night, I was sure he went to sleep feeling happy, as a child would be, knowing his favourite dessert would be in the fridge waiting for him after dinner the day after.

I wasn’t sure I did the right thing that night, but I didn’t regret doing it then.

But when I opened my eyes the morning after, I was awoken wondering whether I did over-indulge him the night before, or maybe I over-indulged my heart.

Of course, my little girl was crying when I reached home after work the day after, complaining about her annoying little brother. And pigs still have not taken off.


.

In My Eyes

Graceful, was their movement. Turning their heads, waving their hands, swaying their hips, and floating across the stage were all synchronized seamlessly to accentuate the swinging rhythm of the music echoing around the hall.

Twelve pairs of angelic children, wearing the sweetest smile, were dancing on stage to a catchy tune and to the happiness seemingly glowing on their faces; dancing to the delight of parents watching in the audience.

Their glamorous costumes added vivid colors to the already lively decorated backdrop on stage.

It was the graduation night of my 6-years-old son’s kindergarten.

I was sure about that.

But, I was actually not too sure what the stage looked like, or if it was decorated at all.

I was also not too sure how the other children were dancing on the stage, or if they were just moving their bodies dutifully to the music.

Neither was I sure about the number of children on stage, or the colors of their costumes, or whether they were wearing any costumes at all.

I was also not too sure whether they were smiling, frowning, or even grimacing on the stage.

But I was sure my son was on stage dancing with his classmates in their class presentation.

I was also sure my son was dancing as gracefully as a swan taking a morning sunshine bath on a mirror-surfaced lake.

I was sure he was enjoying himself tremendously.

Despite the distance between us, I was sure I sensed his joy and happiness from being part of the presentation.

Of course, I was also sure other parents did not notice how talented my son was. Perhaps they were even wondering why a rigidly moving boy was dancing with their children.

Happy, was the way my little boy felt that night; and thus, the way I felt.


.

Letting Go

A bit sad, upset even, I was feeling when I heard my wife telling my 8-years-old daughter she’s registered her for another weekly tuition in Chinese language. I was already not happy about the first tuition, which started last year and teaches most of the subjects in school except Chinese.

Being a democratic family, I don’t, and frankly, can’t always insist matters of our children to be decided solely by me. After all, it’s the child’s benefit that’s behind the decision, and there are bound to be more than one way to achieve it. Of course, avoiding a quarrel with the wife also stands prominently amongst the reasons in giving ways.

There were two reasons why I opposed to tuitions for our children at this stage. The first reason shattered when I realised that our daughter is enjoying the tuition and friends she meets in the class. The second reason is as valid and as strongly felt as before.

But, I’m probably being selfish.

One of the reasons, I think, I’m enjoying fatherhood so much nowadays is that I find great satisfaction and pleasure in being able to impart what’s within me to my children. It’s not always easy. At times it involves threats of taking out a cane, and the kids bursting into tears under my overly high expectation. I have to admit that there are truths in how parents may not be the most effective teachers.

But I do find joy and have always yearned for opportunities to share quality times with them during my “tuitions”. Perhaps it’s something to do with “legacy”?

So, if it’s for the good of the child, and I oppose because I feel that I was denied access to the pleasant experiences of fatherhood, I’m probably being selfish, right?

Perhaps this is part of the process of me letting go of my lovely children as they grow older.

If this is indicative of what it’s like letting go, I think I’ll have a hard time. In fact, I have always known that I will have a hard time.

But, hopefully, by the times they step into their teens, they might grow to be so annoying that I'll frown and sweep them aside whenever they're in sight.

At least, it's much easier to let go in this way.

Hahahahahaha

“Hahahahahaha …” my 6-years-old boy giggled.

I looked at him, caught surprised.

“Hahahahaha …” he giggled again. In an instant, I was infected by his laughter, “Hahahahaha … “ I giggled too.

“Hahahahaha …” my 8-years-old little girl, sitting at the back of the car, joined us.

After a short pause, I turned and looked at him again. Our eyes met and, “Hahahahaha …”. We all laughed, again, louder with each round.

The rounds of laughter were started by the simplest of remark on a most ordinary incident.

We were driving through heavy rain. As I overtook a slow truck on a two-lane road, the truck went over a puddle of water and caused a big wave of water splashing onto our car’s left side, where my boy was seated at the front. Casually, I said to my boy, “Wah! Lucky you had the window up, otherwise the water will make you wet.” My boy looked at me, thought for a short while and burst out giggling.

I was surprised by the outburst.

The remark was not meant to be a joke, an observation on what might have happened at best. But his laughter of pure and innocent happiness out of the simplest of happening caught me by surprise, not for the first time. And the subsequent laugh-pause-look-and-laugh-pause-look-and-laugh brought me great happiness.

Lately, my little boy and me are sharing more and more of this spontaneous instance, where reproduction in any form to anyone but us would fail to describe the feeling of the moment.

I truly enjoy and cherish these special moments with my children. Though, I can’t remember having many of this special moment with my little girl, for whatever reason. Though I must admit, I have a very short memory span. Probably, as my little girl is getting older, she is having more questions and uncertainties regarding everyday happenings, or probably pressure from school is getting heavier each day. She seems to be less carefree than my little boy during his age. Or probably my little boy is just more playful. It will bring me great joy and comfort if I can inject more carefree spirit into her being.

At that particular moment, laughter drowned out the sound of pattering rain. To me, heaven came upon us in that car, and worldly thoughts had not a single gap to fill.

Words would fail me in trying to describe my happy feeling from these moments that we share. But, assuming there’s no negative implication to my loved ones, I could have just died at that point in time, and have no regrets. Truly.

I am a simple man.

Now that I didn’t die at that moment, I will pray and hope and wish that for years to come, I will get to enjoy more of these spontaneous moments with my children, and that we’ll be laughing so heartily into their teenage years, or maybe even adulthood.

Snap!

I hated myself …

“Can we watch cartoon?” my two children asked. “Five more minutes, after I’ve finished,“ I replied. Most of the time, I would just let them take over the remote control and go read my newspaper. But I’d been trying to catch the ending of this show for quite some time, and it happened to be on after dinner that day. Obediently, they sat on the sofa, handling the remote control playfully. Just about when the show was to end, the channel changed.

“HEY!” I shouted, frustrated, stood up, went over to my six-years old boy, gave him a slap on the leg, stared at him angrily for two seconds and snatched the remote control from him.

My little boy was stunned. Not from the pain of my slap (it wasn’t the hardest slap that I’ve given him, neither was it painless), but from my sudden and unexpected violent outburst. As I sat there watching the rest of the show, my heartbeat started to hasten. Hatred grew within me. The boy sat quietly, and uncomfortably. He kept shifting his hands and stared blankly at the TV, not knowing how to react. Sensing his fear, uneasiness, helplessness and being at a loss, my hatred grew even stronger, and anger was starting to rise. Being a parent, I had a very strong urge to give him a hug and tell him it’s okay. But I did not. Frustration emerged.

After the show finished, I threw the remote control toward them. They yelled happily, and watched their cartoons, as though nothing had happened. I went into my room and read my newspaper. My heart was still beating fast.

My snapping at the moment the TV channel changed, was what gave rise to the hatred and anger within me, towards myself. So were the ease with which I let rage blind me, and the eruption that followed. Why did I snap? Was it the eagerness to finish the show? Was it their disobedience? Was it the disappointment that they fail to respect my simple request, yet again? Maybe there are better way to react under this circumstance?

As much as I’m vague about the reason behind the outburst, I’m also uncertain as to why I refrained myself from giving him a hug. Ego? Was it that I want him to learn the lesson? Was it this time round, it was me being agitated, better to be on the receiving end from me than others? Should I have comforted him then and explain things to him, again?

Not sure.

As rare as I would use violence, or show the violent side of me to the children, I doubt that will be the last time. And mind you, it’s not the first time either. For facts, I know they’ll always be playful, disobedient at times, and testing boundaries most of the times, and I’ll have things that I wanted to do which needed their understanding and following my instruction. These being facts of life, the occurrence of another agitation and another outburst are very probable indeed.

But, perhaps, at times I could be more than “just human” for my kids?

But at that point of time, I hated myself.

My Idols

“Another one?” I thought casually.

On my way to the office yesterday, I heard the radio DJ announcing that a certain TV station is trying to come up with a new “reality show”. I’m not a big fan of this genre of programming. And I regard the term as just a re-branding exercise of what TV has been offering for many years.

Probably, most people would have their own definition of “reality show”, if they ever give it another thought. But, “unscripted”, “non-professional actors”, “no pre-determined ending”, “entertaining” would be a few of them. Therefore, news, news analysis, documentaries probably don’t fall into this category. But sport event which can draw hopes and excitement, disappointment and anguish, pain and agony, nervousness and relief, and offer no pre-determined outcome should be one of them. But I found out that Wikipedia disagrees.

The reason I’m not a big fan of reality show is probably due to the lack of connection. So many times the program would put common people in uncommon situation (stranded on an island, eating spider, begging for money, …). Although on and off I will tune into the show, but I would rarely get hooked into it.

Although I’m not a big fan of these reality shows, I am participating in one, and submerge myself totally into it.

I am the star of the greatest “reality show” (to me): My Life. Can you get anymore connected? Is there any race that is more “amazing”? Is there anything that brings more “fear factors”? Is there any more life-threatening episode that you need to “survive”?

“LIFE”, as in the definition of “reality show”, means different things to different people, if they ever give it another thought. Exciting, dull, interesting, frustrating, satisfying, discontentment, hopeful, fearful, entertaining, … would be a few of them.

No matters what Life means, I always find that at times, transposing ourselves from being a participant to a spectator could give the “show” a whole different, fresh perspective, especially during one of Life more emotional episodes filled with negative feelings like fear, anger, anxiety, frustration, failure, etc. Take a deep breath, pause for a split second, and transform ourselves to be a spectator in the gallery, watching calmly onto ourselves standing in the middle of the situation, analyzing every aspect of the surrounding and its implication. Only then we’ll be able to make decisions with a mind clear of murkiness stirred up by negative thoughts. Much like how we sometimes question the decision of participants in a TV reality show, since we are shown scenes of other participants’ action and other happenings that they are not aware of.

And of course, being a “reality show”, the ending of Life could only be unscripted. But that’s a matter to be scripted by none other than ourselves.

Lastly, my Number ONE reality show for 8 years in running is ....

The Life of My Two Children!

They are my greatest Idols. I try to follow their path of adventure every single day at every stage of their competition in Life. I’ll laugh with them, cry with them, hope with them and struggle with them.

And hopefully, as their “reality shows” run into the many seasons that follow, I would turn out to be their greatest Idol. Actually, that’s not a hope, that’s my target in Life.

Waking up

Opening my eyes, my face could feel the welcoming warmth of the early morning sunshine. I turned in my blanket, my hand felt a soft tug from a warm little hand clinging to my arm. I rested my head on the other side, and felt the warm moisture oozing from a little angelic face. My little boy on my left, my little girl on my right, there’s nothing more fulfilling than waking up realising you are exactly where you know your heart desires.

I can still remember a time long ago, when I woke up feeling all excited, knowing that I finally got an entry into a university. That was the first step into a world where I started to live without my parents’ presence within my shouting distance. It’s a world where I did my own laundry, ate my own ‘delicious’ cuisine, washed my own dishes, and left as many piles in my room as I liked. I was going to live on my own.

And not long after that, there was a time when I woke up feeling energized, fists punching and feet kicking, knowing that I would be stepping into my new work place for the first time, and getting a paycheck one month after. Finally, my own financial ship set sail. It’s when I finally had the luxury to decide what I wanted to buy and where I wanted to dine, everything I couldn’t afford during my university life with my lean budget.

And not too long ago, there was a time when I woke up feeling my heart racing, realizing that that day would be the day that I finally got to spend the rest of my life with my girl. I would finally have a life-mate, standing side by side, facing every challenge life would throw at us, and fighting them head-on, with a smile.

And today, just like any day from the past seven or eight years, I woke up next to my children, my heart taking a stroll on the lane of fondness. I smiled, knowing that as much as these little kids expect to see me when they open their eyes, I want to wake up next to them. Unlike other times, instead of the eager impatience to get up and get the day started, I would snuggle in my blanket, eyes opened, greedily immersing myself within the warmth of my two kids. Gazing through the cool air and the window at the blue sky, white clouds and the soft sunshine, listening to the soft echoing rhythmic breathing, I would savour every drop of blissful serenity in the room, quietly hoping this moment will last as long as it could, if not forever. For six or seven years down the road, I will still have my independence from my parents, my financial ability, and my wife standing by my side. But, as the kids grow older and start stepping out into their own world, we know our hands would have to slowly let go, bits by bits, finger by finger, hearts souring with joy.

Until then, submerging myself in the cool morning freshness, I'll continue to wrap myself with the warmth of my children and go back to sleep.

The Widest Smile

I remember watching this video sometimes back. It went something like this: It’s about a mythical couple with two sons. The father had a candy in his hand. Both sons wanted it. So, the mother suggested giving the candy to the first boy who could fly around the universe once quickest. Immediately after the mother finished, the eldest son turned into an eagle and off he went flying. The younger son stood still and thought for a while. He then stretched out his hands like wings, and ran around his parents like a bird. Putting on the widest smile on their face, the parents happily gave the candy to the young boy.

Probably the biggest smile I’ve ever worn on my face was the smile when my wife called and told me she’s pregnant with our first child. Putting down the phone, I didn’t know how to react. After the numbness fade away, I started to smile.

Remember the happy feeling you had when you got the key to your first car? Driving around town, showing off to friends, blowing the horn. How happy. How proud. NAH!! After the first day driving it, the happiness would probably diminished with each day passing by. The car would remain the same to hardly bring any more joy for years to come, if you haven’t sold it off for a new car in 5 years time.

What about when you opened the newspaper the other day and found out that you had struck first prize with your lottery ticket. And the feeling you had holding the prize money in your hand. NAH!! That happiness would die down little by little with every cent you spent on your prize money. Eventually, the happiness would come to a naught.

Then, picture this - angels flying around my head, singing heavenly tune into my ears; flowers starting to blossom all around, nodding gently in delight; butterflies and birds gathering around me, playfully chasing each, sharing my joy; wind blowing gently onto my face, caressing me softly; the grass on the ground dancing in synchronization with the wind; far away, against the snow-capped mountain, deep blue lake lurking behind the lush pine tree forest, a beautiful lady with angelic face, running down the hill, going “rasa sayang, heh, rasa sayang …” NAH!! Get real!

Probably, the closest way to describe the moment was this: exactly in my heart, I felt something small, something very fulfilling. Like a seed, with every heartbeat, it slowly grew within to reach the rest of me. As soon as it reached my whole body, it exploded ever so gently into millions drops of happiness, injecting a blissful sense and contentment into my body.

How happy am I? After almost nine years, whenever I see my daughter running towards me, that same smile would still blossom on my face and that same blissful feeling would still grow within me.

Nowadays, if anybody asks me to fly around the universe once, I would stretch out my hands, run around my two children, and give them a big hug.