Five things to eat before my time is up

Gee... I must be so out of touch with the young people of today. Evan tagged me for a "meme". What on earth was that? I googled and deduced that when someone "tags" you for a "meme" with a particular theme, you blog about the theme (and perhaps your are expected to tag others to continue the meme??) Thank God for the Internet - I could pretend to be young and keep up with the young. :P

So, what's the five "die-die-must-eat" food before I go? Though I'm a foodie, I have simple taste... and not very sophisticated one at that.

1. Hainanese Chicken Rice. Yes, like Evan, this is on the top of my list. For me, the secret in tasty Chicken Rice lies in the chillie. I don't have a particular favourite stall, but I do know the stalls to avoid. The one at Banquet in East Point serves pretty decent Hainanese Chicken Rice. So does a stall at Holland Village which I just patronised with Victor and a colleague last week. Can't remember the unit number, but if you'd buy me a plate, I could point out the stall to you :P

2. Pumpkin Noodle. One of my mum's specialty. It's cheap and simple to prepared - pumpkin, dried shrimps, fish cakes and lots of Chye-Sim. I like my pumpkin noodle with lots of cut chillie padi and fried shallots. It always makes me sweat and crave for more. I usually eat two bowls - BIG bowls that we usually use to serve soup.

3. The 合记五香贯肠 at Maxwell Road Food Centre 01-97. I practically grew up eating the ngor hiang and the guan chang from this stall which was originally located at China Street, a stone's throw away from Club Street where I grew up. I particularly like the crispy fried egg slices - tasty, crunchy and not too oily. And the sweet chilli sauce is simply fabulous! Don't quite fancy the egg-white sauce, though.

4. Char Kway Teow - The one at Hill Street used to be my favourite. But alas, it has shifted and I can't remember where. A close second is the stall at Ghim Moh Food Centre. At $3, it is served with a generous among of cockles, hmmmm... my favourite!

5. The "Buddha Jumps Over the Wall" at the Prima Tower Revolving Restaurant. At $10000 per pot (for a table of 8, I think), woa.... I've yet to try, but die die also must get the money - rob or steal or kill - to try before I go! And yes, the Peking duck in the same restaurant looks saliva-dripping good too. What? Oh... that's SIX food I want to try before I go hah? Hmmmm...

Category: Food

Two's company, but EIGHT ???

Give that man, and the woman behind the man, a medal. I'm referring to an article in today's ST about a couple with eight kids, of course. Incidentally, the blessed man, Joseph Kwok, happened to be the brother of a former colleague.

The Slim Lady and I decided to "close factory" and stop at two, after the arrival of Junior in 1992. We have a host of reasons for doing so. Financial is one; the fear of parenting and the responsibility that comes with it is another. And yes, admittedly, we took that decision for a selfish reason too, for having kids would surely take away a lot of our personal time.

But I do like a big family! Well, maybe not eight, but at least four. There would be challenges - bickering kids, complaints on unfairness and the danger of turning the house topsy-turvy. But they make for a family that's bustling with life, laughter and joy, not to mention headache, of course. But the headache pales in comparision with the family-togetherness brought about by the kids. I realise, through the years and as I mellow in age, that perhaps my perception has changed. Yes, I do long for a big family. I can't turn back the clock and this is something that I much regret.

Let's turn the focus on the Kwok's family. See how happy and contented Joseph's family is. Just look at their photos - the kids are all smile, the parents, too. They are happy kids, the youngest being four and the oldest 20. All appear to be well-adjusted and sensible. They may not have the latest toys or gadgets, nor do they dine out very often. But what is not lacking is the love that prevails in the family. The family of 10 survives on Joseph's monthly take-home pay of $3200, no mean feat considering today's standard of living. How I admire the couple.

The "hardware" in the factory may have become rusty and act a little quirky, but I've no doubt that the Slim Lady and I could still father a child or two. But being eight years shy of crossing the half-century mark (my wife's two years younger), I do worry about people mistaking us as grandparents. I guess it's too little too late for us, not that the Slim Lady is willing anyway. It's all wishful thinking on my part. And I may have to take her forcefully, if I have too :P

But I've done my maths. The youngest child, Antoine, is just four. And if Mrs Kwok was reported to be 45, that means she had the boy when she was 42. My wife is relative younger. Besides, it's not as if I'm 50, or 54 :P There's hope yet.

Years ago, another colleague of mine was also featured on TV with her day-to-day life as a mother of five. Again, it evoked that feeling in me, the feeling of joy in having a big and boisterous family.


Category: Family

My Army Daze. The day after .....

Long as it was, my enlistment day had to end somewhere. That was at about 2359H, when the instructors told us to "light-off". That was their way of telling us, "Recruits, now you can sleep!" I don't think it was just me; but as soon as our botak heads hit our beds, we were sleeping like babies. We had never been so shag and exhausted in our life! Of course, we had no idea then that life in the army would only get worse.

Then, as I lay asleep in the squeaky bed, deep in my dreamland, I heard, as did many of my platoon-mates, a voice that went "Golf company, wake up! Golf company, wake up!" It was only 5 am. Huh? Time to wake up? And I thought I only caught a wink! The voice went on for a good 5 minutes, between intervals. If I tried hard enough, I could still hear that deep and loud voice, which belonged to a fella recruit named Jeffrey Ong. I remember how on the ball (an army lingo - more on that in subsequent post) Jeffrey was. He was always the first to rise in the morning, the first to cross the finishing line during the IPPT, and if given a chance, I suspect he would be the first to be in the front line to fight for our country. Basically, he was all that I wasn't. But he also became the platoon's "human" alarm clock (self-appointed). LOL.

We were always sleep-deprived. And I missed the sun badly. The moon? It was shining when we light-off at 2359H, and shining still when we rose at 0500H, sometimes earlier at 0430H if we had a shooting range exercise. I hated the moon!

Many of us had never shared much personal time and space with others the way we did during the BMT. Imagine having to do so with recruits of different shapes and sizes, the fit and the weak, the meek and the garang, the bright and the sotong. This is communal living quite unlike those we have with our neighbors, friends and relatives. And like a husband and wife team, it's important that we get along, or life would have been one living hell.

Happily, got along we did. We had no choice. If someone blunders up, the whole platoon got punished. So we were forced to help one another, to complete a task in a specific time as instructed by the instructors.

My fellow recruits-in-suffering

I have vague memories of my fella recruits. Other than Jeffrey, there was lanky Gilbert Leong whom I had caught on TV once talking about, if my memories serve, some sort of investment in a TV programme. He was really tall, and was the one who was always humming songs like "Tie a yellow-ribbon round the old oak tree" in the bunk, especially during book-out time. He was also a bit of a drama king. Once we were told to go fight a bush fire (don't ask me why, but since when had recruits become firemen?), I lost my footing and fell on a rocky ground. Gilbert started shouting, "Casualty! Casualty! Someone fell! Casualty!" Damn drama, man!

There was the very courteous Wee Tee (can't recall his surname). I remembered him because he was scolded by the OC for his good-manners. You see, the instructors and the OC would tell us recruits to "drop down 20" at their every whim and fancy. This is the army lingo to tell us to do 20 push-ups as a form of punishment. Once we had done so, we must ask permission to stand up; so we went, "permission to recover, Sir?!". The instructors or the OC would usually respond, "carry on" unless they want to tekan (another lingo) us. So in this instance, when our OC said, "carry on", our friend Wee Tee quipped chirppily, "thank you, sir", to which our OC shouted, "Don't be a cartoon! When I say RECOVER, don't thank me! There's no Thank You in the army!!" How's that for friendly forces? Hee.

Within days in the BMT, one could also tell the sotongs or blur kings from the smart-alecks, the keng kings (one who malingers) from the hardworking. The blur kings are the one who fumble over things, and who couldn't seem to understand simple instructions. There was this chap Low Chin Fie, who asked his mum to sew up the opening of the pockets of his army pants, when the instructions from the instructors were to just sew up the hems of the pockets. It was funny, but the blur kings are usually the one who inadvertently sabo the whole platoon. There were also some who weren't blur but acted blur, very much like the keng kings. The latter are those who malinger to avoid work. I remember a chap called Anthony Liang, who feigned a sprained-ankle just to avoid going on exercise. I knew because I saw him in the toilet walking up-right instead of limping the way he did out in the open, especially in front of the instructors. But I didn't blow the whistle. Don't ask me why.

I remember Ng Fatt Keong, who became a photographer for Pioneer Magazine (I think he signed on as a regular).

Blur kings, keng kings or smarty-pants, we were forced to stick together come hell or high water. We trained together, suffered together, and I'd like to think that we came out of the BMT ordeal a fitter, a more disciplined, and overall, a better person.

Some wonderful friendships were formed out of the camaraderie we experienced during BMT. I've lost touch with my buddy Tan Kian Guan and often wonder the whereabout of him or what has become of him. I'm sorry I can't remember many of the rest of chaps, and even if I were to run into them on the street, I doubt I could even recognise them. Not even the platoon's photo may be of help.....

27th Intake Basic Military Training
Golf Coy Platoon 28
23rd March 83 - 17th June 83

Category: Yesteryear

My Army Daze (Part 2)

Amy talks

The first thing that we recruits have to get used to in the Army was the army lingo and especially the colourful expletives often uttered by the lau cheow on us recruits. It started almost as soon as we stepped onto Tekong. The word lau cheow, by the way, is the army lingo to mean a veteran in Hokkien. In this instance, a reference to the BMT instructors who are mostly NCO, or the CO, the officer in charge of the platoon, or the recurits who have since passed out and obtained their ikan-bilis stripe (a Lance Corporal) before you.

Other lingo:

• Fall in - to get into lines
  
• Double up - to run instead of walk
  
• Standby Bed - and inspection on the tidiness of your bed and cupboard by the NCO or officer
  
• Extra Duty - usually a form of punishment in the form of performing guard duty (to patrol around the came on foot) over the weekends while your lucky camp-mates book out.
  Talk cock
  Tekan
  
• Knock it down 20 - drop down and perform 20 push-ups
  
• Extra Drill - well, this is not really an extra drill, but rather a drill that you have to perform in double quick time, i.e., you kebelakang pusing in double quick time, you march in double quick time. This is really a torture and it requires a medic to standby just in case any of us recruit drop dead or pengsan (faint)
  

Then there are the many expletives uttered by the instructors and NCO alike which is enough to make a soldier, I mean a sailor brush. To a goody-two-shoe like me, it was a shock. And to be sworn at in this fashion, it was total humiliation, well, at least in the early stage. Eventually, everybody got sworn at, and I realised that everybody around me, except the gods in the form of the NCOs and the officer, was an a**hole, everybody was a blur f*ck, and you just don't feel the humiliation any more.

........ next "Let's Get Physical".....

My Army Daze. The enlistment day .....

Chun See's account on his NS days stirred up memories of my own.

I can't recall much of my emotions on the day I entered the army. But it must have been one of apprehension and fear. Unfortunately, this fear was perpetuated by none other than my mum. She was always telling me how skinny and physically weak I was and how I would definitely suffer when I eventually enlisted for my NS.

The Enlistment Day

Well, that day arrived on 23 March 1983. I remembered how long a day it was. We were told to report first to CMPB where my pal Victor, the downgraded soldier, served as a clerk several years prior to my enlistment. From there, we recruit-to-be were then brought, on a 3-tonner - the first time I was ever onboard an army vehicle, to the jetty at Changi to take an RPL to Pulau Tekong camp, our new home for the next 3 months.

When the RPL finally anchored at the jetty some 45 minutes later, some of us guys might be forgiven for thinking that we had landed in Hawaii. It just showed how much in self-denial many of us were. There were the sun, the sand and the sea, not to mention the abundant coconut trees. The only thing missing were the Hawaiian girls welcoming us with garlands and cooing "aloha". Realities were soon to hit us.

We were the 2nd batch of recruits to be trained at Tekong. The first batch had it easy - they only shifted equipment and stuff from SBMT to Tekong and do area-cleaning most of the time, so were we told.

Back then, Tekong was not very well developed. Instead of proper road, we had earth - red earth. The army bunks were like longhouses. From the Tekong jetty, it was another 20 minutes march to the bunk. And by the time we reached the bunk, most of us were literally covered in dust.

I remember lugging along the huge kit bag, commonly known as the Ali Baba bag, all the way to the bunk. The Ali Baba bag was used to store all the issued items like the army boots, No. 4 uniforms and SOP before we transferred these into our cupboards in our bunk.

On arrival at our bunk, we were told that we've been assigned to Golf company; a company we subsequently learned to be one of the most "on the ball" and siong.

To many of us, the BMT was a rude awakening. Life thus far had been sweet and comfy. We were free to do what we want, answerable only to our parents. And many of us had never left home, save for a couple of nights at chalets with friends or family members.

But once we stepped into Tekong, it was as if we were living on the other side of the globe. The moment we put our stuff in the bunk, and changed to our PT kit as instructed, everything moved in double quick time. We were sworn at by the instructors, told to double up (the military term to run) from one point to another. In the army, you don't walk. No you don't, soldier. You double up from the bunk to the training shed, and double up from the training shed to the cookhouse. There was hardly time for us to breathe. And that aweful and dreadful chin-up bar. Yes, we had to do chin-ups before every meal. If there was hell, then this must be it. I found it almost surreal in the beginning. More about the "physical torture" in subsequent post.

The BMT was also the first time we experienced living with people of other races and of different cultures. Gruelling training aside, it was also a lesson in racial-tolerance and harmonious-living. How often do you get 36 boys - Chinese, Malay, Indian and the Eurasian - all living under the same roof? There were two Sikhs in my group. Have you seen how a Sikh does his turban? Not to sound disrespectful, but it was exactly how my late granny did her ang ku kueh bun. They simply twirled their hair round and round, followed by the turban itself, which is really a piece of long, oblong cloth.

As I said, it was a long day. I remember the hair-cut, or should I say hair-shearing session. All of us were brought to the Hall where the Indian barbers were waiting with their scissors and shearers. It was a dreadful time for most of us, especially those metrosexuals (okay, so that word hadn't been coined yet) with shoulder-length hair. Indeed, it's been said that the inevitable hair-shear is like a rite of passage into NS. But to many, it's a time for them to mourn the loss of their precious locks. As for me, half way through my turn, there was an electricity blackout. I just sat there with my hair looking ridiculously half civy and half army for a good 15-minutes.


Signs of things to come, I remember thinking. And as days turn into nights, and nights turned into weeks, I experienced many aspects of the army I never thought I would. It's not all bad memories; many are bitter sweet.

.......to be continued

Category: Yesteryear

What makes me a Singaporean

Frannxis, a fellow blogger, seems to have problem understanding why people who profess to be proud of being Singaporean find it a bother to display the Singapore flags. He ponders and I quote: "Displaying the flag is just a small way to show our affection. Is it too troublesome? And if a lot of people think this way, then there will be only a few flags hanging out. It will look pathetic", unquote.

Yeah, why not indeed? And for that matter, to the truly patriotic Singaporeans, why not put up the flags the whole year round? Why does it have to be during National Day?

Oh... I almost forgot.... There are rules about displaying our flag here. Firstly, you can't make clothes out of our national flags, like the Americans or the British are prone to do. You have to be mindful to ensure that the stars and the crescent moon on our flags are displayed on the right side, which is, well, on the left side. And oh... you could only display the flag for a certain period after National Day. Displaying your patriotism longer then allowed and you'd get a courtesy call by men appointed by the Gahmen.

I find all these rather amusing. Stand up for Singapore, they said. But hey, you can't stand up indefinitely, even if you want to. Let's not forget how "fine" a city Singapore is.

The STPB is absolutely right when it adopted the slogan "Uniquely Singapore". We Singaporeans are truly unique in our own way. And on this National Day eve, I'd like to reflect on what it truly means to be a Singaporean, or rather, why I think I'm a Singaporean. Well, I call myself a Singaporean because:

• I'm kiasi, kiasu and very sometimes kiabor.
  
  
• My favorite pastime is to queue-up at the 4-D outlet every weekend.
  
  
• I don't know what you are queuing for here; but I'll join in anyway cos I know it will be something not to be missed.
  
  
• I speak Singlish. Cannot meh? My business wat.
  
  
• One of my passions is food and I like Hainanese Chicken Rice, Char Kway Teow and Or Luak - in that order.
  
  
• I "chop" the seat at the "1000-people restaurant" with my tissue paper and that seat belongs to me!
  
  
• I love the gahmen when they gave me my "progress package" but "scolded" (ya, I know it's too mild a word) them when cost of living goes up.
  
  
• I know it's crazy, but I paid big bucks for a small piece of paper we call the COE just to get my four wheels.
  
  
• I "drag" my wheels to avoid the ERP.
  
  
• My the other passion is shopping and I don't usually wait for the Singapore Great Sale to go on a shopping spree.
  

This is by no means an exhaustive list of what I think Singaporeans are. I'm sure Victor or Chun See would have their very own list... And considering how obsessed Victor is with Sex, the figure 69, rubber and all (his healthy hobby, so he says), I won't be the least surprised if Victor writes:

I'm a Singaporean because I'm so sex and porno deprived.

ROTFLVL.

Category: Musings

The American heroes

The Americans are great story-tellers. No, correction - they are great film-makers. And I don't mean that in a sarcastic sort of way.

I've just caught Pearl Harbor on DVD. I'm not into American history, but I enjoyed the show thoroughly, especially the battle and combat scenes. And I love the music score (the current soundtrack on the background of my blog). Pearl Harbor was foremost a movie about war. But like many movies churned out of Tinseltown based on true-life events, Pearl Harbor also tells a love story about two pilots who fell for a nurse. It's a moving love story that leaves me in tears. The Americans have a propensity to mix factual events with fiction, more often than not, love stories, and not everybody is comfortable with that. I can see where they're coming from. The love stories are necessary as subplots, or the movie would have been just another documentary, hardly box-office material that would appeal to the masses.



But let's come back to the American film-makers. These are the guys responsible for the creation of many American heroes, many of them brought back to life from comic strips - the superheroes such as Superman, Batman and Spiderman. Then there are the protagonists from movies such as Die Hard, Independence Day, and yes the hero pilots in Pearl Harbor. These movies are box-office hits, many of them featuring violent and explosive scenes. And when we look at the atrocities committed by the terrorists today, it makes you wonder where these terrorists got their ideas from, doesn't it?

Indeed, when America was attacked during 911, people were known to have quipped: Where have all the heroes gone?

Category: Movies

The Synergy Challenge

S.Y.N.E.R.G.Y.

Whatever it means. It's one of those buzzwords I often hear in my office, along with "INNOVATION".

I couldn't find the word in my pocket Oxford Dictionary. But a search on the on-line Merriam-Webster dictionary defines Synergy as follows:



And I thought it's the name for a brand of engine oil. How ignorant of me. Now I know it's really a name for TEAMWORK, something I've known since I started work more than 20 years ago.

But what exactly is Teamwork? Well, to create Teamwork awareness, my office devoted a week from 3 to 7 July to what it called the SYNERGY WEEK. It organised activities to promote teamwork and to make us workers understand what Synergy is all about. The bottom line? To increase productivity by "connecting" people, I guess.

Teamwork and Productivity. Cliche as these words may sound, I do think that these are two elements a successful office could not do without.

Well, it was SYNERGY galore alright. First, lunch times movies were screened at the auditorium, not just any movies, but movies such as 12 Angry Men and Antz that teach us the importance of working as a Team.

There was the Charity Relay Run, and it was heartening to see colleagues and bosses in every shape and size trying to raise money for the Handicaps Welfare Association (HWA).

Then there was the photography competition to showcase the talents of budding photographers in the office (shucks, I forgot to snap those photos!) The shots with the best depiction of teamwork win handsome prizes.

On top of this, new books related to the topic of Teamwork were made available in the office library, courtesy of the National Library Board.

All very exciting, I must add. So exciting, in fact, that there was no volunteer for the Synergy Challenge segment. The organisers of the Synergy Week had asked for volunteers and when it suddenly hit them that nobody was coming forward, they panic and started to arrow. It was two days before the Challenge. Much time had been wasted. I hate to say that I was one of those arrowed.

Back to the Synergy Challenge. You could say this is the climax of the Synergy Week. Teams from different sections were given an area space of 5x5 tiles at the office Glass Atrium. Our mission? To construct a structure that best depicted the sections' Teamwork Quotients or TQ (yet another fanciful buzzword). The structures should mostly be made of newspaper and magazine and the aim is to get as many people in various sections to participate in building their respective structures as possible. During the competition, a representative from each section would have to tell everyone the theme of their structure, why he thought his team's structure is the best interpretation of Team Spirit and why his team should win.

Many of us were duly impressed by the creative and thoughtful art structures conjured up by the various sections. Who said civil servants are all squares and lack creativity? We could give those sales executives in advertising a run for their money. Take a look at these art works:

The Stadium

Looking at the structure, this team was apparently influenced by the World Cup craze that has left many of his team members looking like zombies. But I must say the idea was brilliant and you could see a lot of hard work and teamwork involved.

A close-up of the Stadium

The footballers, made of handicraft straws

The Spectators

Another creation by another section:

The Rocket
Notice rings of staff holding hands depicting teamwork and unity? It was about the time when North Korea attracted the wrath of the world for having test-fired her missiles, hardly a source of inspiration. But that did not stop this team from creating what I think would appeal to my 8-year-old son.

The bikini girl beckons...
How ingenious? Did you see that? No, not the bikini-clad babe. The dish drainer on top of the rocket.

I like it that the rocket team even made their structure "interactive". Yes, they had prepared cut-outs clothes from magazines to allow participants to pin them onto any of the paper staff on the rocket that caught their fancy. To some, it was sweet revenge. I mean how often do we get to cross-dress our bosses? And with bikini at that. ROTFL.


Here is one called "Pyramid" by another team. If you look closely, you could see namecards, representing individual in unity pasted on the pyramid.


And another, with the handprints showing unity.

Here's the structure by my section. We called it "Our Fortress".



And we adopted the theme "TEAMwork". The boxes in different sizes represent each unique individual in my section. The fortress also bears the handprints of everyone in the section, signifying cohesiveness and unity. The four columns T,E,A,M represent the pillars of strength. Put them together, it's really an acronym for Togther Everyone Acieves More. Neat, huh?

More picture on "Our Fortress":

Together

Everyone

Achieves

More

But we didn't win the Challenge, though many agreed that we had the best structure with an equally good story on why we thought we should win, all eloquently put across by VT. VT is, after all, a man of charisma, with a booming voice and puckish sense of humour to match. Our hopes were high.

We were disappointed. But then winning is really secondary. What's more important is the team spirit that we've witnessed in the process of building the structure, and how we got everyone together to wrap the boxes with newspapers, and how we rally around everyone to get them to have the hand imprinted onto the boxes.

It's one event after another. Hot on the heel of the SYNERGY WEEK is the Inspiration Award event. We're looking for someone in the office who is an inspiration to all, a role model whom we could look up to, someone who is exemplary in everything that he or she does. Nomination is open. I think I have someone in mind. He sounds a lot like Victor. Hmmm.....

Category: Office

Our kids, our priorities

It was the Slim Lady's birthday. As I got up from bed, the first thing I did was to place her present on the breakfast table. I always leave for work before her, and I want to surprise her with the present when she walks into the kitchen.

Told myself I'd get her some roses on the way back in the evening. Had planned to visit Ikea with Victor for the succulent and tasty fried chicken wings for lunch. Then I received a call from my mum at noon, telling me that Junior has swallowed a fish bone. Junior, who was initially calm, told me over the phone that he could feel the bone lodged in his throat. A flurry of calls to my wife and several trips to the men in white later, first to a GP, then the specialist at KK who then referred my boy to CGH, my traumatized and crying baby was all spent and tired, but nevertheless still complaining about the fish bone and pain in his throat. The doctors couldn't see a thing, nor was there anything in the x-ray. I asked my wife if it could be "psychological". The doc said that it's possible what my junior was feeling was the "scarring", having already swallowed the bone.

At about 4pm, the Slim Lady text-messaged me to say that Junior was happily and hungrily chomping on plate of maggie noodle, all pain forgotten. When it was time to knock off, I drove home in double quick time to see my baby. And happily forgot about the flowers, as I did the chickens at Ikea. But guess what? The birthday girl wasn't mad one bit.

Isn't it awesome how our priorities change when it comes to kids?

Category: Family

From a distance ......

"Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace..." - John Lennon, Imagine


"From a disance you look like my friend,
Even though we are at war.
From a distance I just cannot comprehend
what all this fighting is for." - Cliff Richard, From A Distance


"If all the people around the world
They had a mind like yours
We'd have no fighting and no wars
There would be lasting peace on Earth." - MLTR, Sleeping Child

The world's greatest musicians could write moving music pertaining to world peace, and songs about harmony and goodwill among mankind. But alas, their talents are wasted on our world's leaders. We're living in a trying time. It's a world of chaos. A world fraught with suffering and pain.....

Category: Musings

Her Daddy, my Mummy

Everything was so lovey-dovey back then. And terms of endearments punctuated our every sentence.

"Honey, dinner is served."

"Darling, could you pass me the towel?"

"You're such a sweetie dear!"

Since the arrival of the first "stork" fourteen years ago, such endearments seem to have all but disappeared.

These days, if it's not "ooi, move aside you're blocking the TV!", than it's more often then not, "Daddy, please fetch your boy to the tournament tomorrow." By the way, if, for some reasons, you haven't got the drift, that's my wife speaking.

I admit it was kinda cute when it first started. But it was meant to be a joke, and supposed to be just a passing phase. We see it on TV all the time - spouses calling each other "Daddy" and "Mummy", more so if we were to use Mandarin - "老爸" (Daddy) and "老妈" (Mummy).

But the cuteness has since worn off many Christmases ago. In fact, I'm beginning to find it downright embarrassing when my wife uses the "D" word on me within the earshot of strangers in public. It's "sick", like the way some folks do when they address their pets as their "baby".

But never mind the pets. Though I've tried to refrain from calling my wife "mummy" and has met with some degree of success, the Slim Lady is finding it quite an uphill chore to stop using the "D" word. After all, old habits, as we know, die hard. What's gonna happen when our kids grow up and have kids of their own? Are we going to address each other as "Ah Kong" (Granddad) and "Ah Mah" (Grandma)? I shudder.

Category: Musings

A world in isolation

When SONY invented its first WALKMAN in 1979, it totally revolutionised the way we listen to music. But something else happened - the way we relate to each other. Almost overnight, you saw people, the young and the not so young, on the streets, on public buses and subways, with their ears hooked firmly onto their WALKMAN, most in total oblivion of their surrounding. Everyone is a stranger living in their own private world, and every stranger seemed to have a WALKMAN in their possession.

At home, you found kids hooking on their music, during mealtime, and study time, much to the consternation of most parents. Everyone was isolated. Accidents on the road went up because people cared more for their music than their lives. There was no hope for the human race.

Twenty-seven years on, the advancement in technology never seems to let up, and we mere mortals seem unable to keep up. There is no question that technology has improved the quality of our lives. We have more gadgets to keep us entertained, and the advancement in medical science has made us live longer.

While it's true that technology "connects" people (think mobile phone), it's also true that walls have been built isolating mankind (think the great "Digital Divide") because of technology. And if what I've read in the news is any indication, we'd better brace ourselves for more isolation.

I'm talking about Mobile-TV, which enable you to watch TV programmes on the go, of course. Already a hit in Japan and South Korea, it was reported recently that the three telcos here are looking into ways to offer their mobile-phone users Mobile-TV subscriptions. Soon, we would see our kids retreating into their room with their Mobile-TV, instead of interacting with family members in the living room. And skivers at work would be able to have a "sneak preview view" of their day time soup opera in the office.

When people get isolated, communications break down. I don't know if it's just me, but have you noticed how the behaviour of our kids degenerated through the years in Singapore? Youngsters of today don't seem to have much respect for the elderly. Yes, this is true even of my kids. And we read about how students, yes even the undergrads refusing to give up their seats to the elderly or the physically disabled. Everyone seems to have become selfish and self-centred. And that very invention - the WALKMAN - is the epitome of selfishness. You could even say that it's anti-social. No? Who else could you share the music with?

Welcome to the world in solitude. But what price technology?

Category: Musings

The One

Every once in a while, my mum would quip that one among her children would take after her passion for cooking. My elder sis is single and staying with mum. My kid brother waits to be served at the dining table. Though my younger sister is married and a housewife, she cooks simply - and horribly (pity my bro-in-law and my niece).

I must be The One :P

I guess it's a matter of personal interest. I've always loved cooking, just don't ask me to wash up. I'm the one who's always asking my mum how she cooks this and that, what ingredient to buy and how to cook it. Yes, you can say I'm the kid with the passion for cooking (and eating), unlike my siblings, whose passion is simply to eat.

Thanks to my mum, I've learned to whip out a mean pot of laksa, curry, pumpkin noodle, and yes simple dishes like sesame oil chicken and fried fish, and more elaborate ones like popiah and steamboat, just to name a few.

Just the other day, the Slim Lady told me that she's not tasted my glutinous for a long time. Yeah, the last I cooked this dish was years ago. And I remembered how my colleagues were raving and ranting about how good it tasted. No, I'm not blowing my trumpet. Just take a look a the pics.





Doesn't it look yummy? You salivating, yet? Hahaha...

Okay, so the pork was a little tough, but the dish really tasted as good as it looked. Generous amount of mushrooms and dried shrimps, topped with fried shallots and spring onion. You would never get this from the foodstalls.

The Slim Lady luurrrves it; but I ate just a little, with enough to spare for my colleagues on Monday (I hope). I can't explain this, but somehow, the cook always has no appetite for the food he/she whips out. Strange but true. My mum used to express the same sentiments...

Anyway, if you wanna try out the dish yourself, here are the ingredients:

Ingredients

• Half kilo of glutinous rice (soaked in water for half hour)
  
• Dried mushrooms (soaked in water for half hour, than cut into shredded size)
  
• Dried Shrimp (soaked in water for half hour)
  
• Pork
  
• Spring onion
  
• Shallot
  
• Dark sauce
  
• Salts
  
• MSG (optional)
  

Method

1. Drain dried shrimps and throw into the wok. Stir until fragrant. Then throw in the mushrooms and stir. Followed by the pork. Stir. Add 2 tablespoon dark sauce. Stir. Dish out and put aside.
   
2. Drain rice and throw into wok. Stir fry. Add 2 tablespoon dark sauce. Stir fry.
   
3. Add ingredients No 1 (not all of it; set aside 1/3 for later use). Stir fry. Add salts and MSG (optional). Stir fry. Remove the rice from the wok.
   
4. Divide the rice and place it into two big bowls. Microwave each bowl for 24 minutes (stirring the rice at every 12 minutes interval).
   
5. When cooked, sprinkle the glutinous rice with the 1/3 of ingredients that was placed aside earlier. Then sprinkle fried shallot and spring onion. Ready to serve.
   

Bon Appetite.

Category: Food

Language barrier. Are we barking up the wrong tree?

I once blogged about the language barrier between my mum and the medical staff of a hospital and opined that this barrier is the result of the "No Dialect" policy implemented by our gahmen in the 70s. If you have been following the news lately, you would have heard about the recent case of a doctor at the Polyclinic who caused the death of an elderly woman with a wrong dosage of medication. The doctor apparently speaks no dialect.

The case has open a floodgate of letters to the forum, with many ST readers complaining that their elderly parents and grandparents have had similar problem communicating with non-dialect speaking doctors at the Polyclinic. One of the two public health clusters, the National Healthcare Group (NHG), in its attempt at damage-control, revealed that it conducts regular courses on Mandarin and Malay (to their medical stuff). Mandarin and Malay? How is this addressing the issue, when many of the elders speak no mother-tongues but their own dialects? My mum, like many people her age, can't speak Mandarin. It seems to me that the NHG is barking up the wrong tree. But of course, providing dialect courses (which should be the obvious solution) to the medical staff would be going against the policy of the gahmen's "Speak Mandarin Campaign".

I have problem understanding the "Speaking Mandarin" policy. I'm not quite sure the rationale behind this policy (I was only a child back then). Was it to prepare us to take on the Dragon? Or was it to gel the Chinese of different dialect groups in Singapore. If it's the latter, then perhaps we should take a leaf from the Taiwanese on how they manage their language policy. Predominantly, they are Hokkien. They speak flawless Mandarin, and yet are conversant in their own dialects from kids to 92. And we do not see the various dialect clans breaking up and feuding. What did the Taiwanese do that we didn't?

We're so used to hearing foreign dignitaries and diplomats telling our leaders that "we want to learn from Singapore how you manage this or that". Perhaps it's time we return the compliment?

Category: Policies

Measure of a man

Okay, so I'm not the manliest of men. I cried watching "I Not Stupid, too"; I pants like a dog climbing up all eight floors of my flat; I cringe on my seat, eyes half-closing with fear while watching horror movies. I like to bitch complain about life. And I'm afraid of darkness. Can the Real Man please stand up?

How does one measures manliness? Or "womanliness"?

Does a man who dons pink any less manly then a man who dons black? Does a man who knits and bakes less of a man than one who hikes and mountain-climbs? For that matter, does a woman who wears pants and works at a shipyard any less lady than one who dons a mini-skirt, sitting pretty in the office, all dolled-up?

Is a man a "sissy" if he plays no sport? And during this World Cup season, do you consider a man who does not follow the matches less of a man than one who stays up all night to keep tab of the scores?

I'm a man. I enjoy cooking (but hate the washing up) and baking (though not as often as my blogofriend Evan). I collect Precious Moments figurines, some of which are displayed on my office desk. I don't drink, and I don't smoke. I'm not into sports. Now, am I considered a lesser man than the guy sitting in the next cubicle in the office? Absolutely not.

Stereotyping - we're all guilty of it, and, much as we hate to admit, have been victims of it at one time or the other.

I once went shopping for fighting fish (now, you'd agree that's quite a man thing to do, ya? heheh) and was looking for a container, available in either green or pink to house the fish. When I opted for the pink, my female colleague expressed surprise and equipped "only girls choose pink"! I always find such stereotyped statements exasperating!

Another incident. My former boss, upon seeing the Precious Moments figures on my desk, commented that my cubicle looked kinda "feminine". I joked that I'd better put up some posters of bulldozers and aircraft fighters to better reflect my "masculinity". That would make me a real man, wouldn't it?

This habit of typecasting is not just confined to the guys. Girls I know have also been victims of stereotyping. "For goodness sake! God made you a woman. Why must you cut your hair so short? Even shorter than the guys!" A colleague of mine suffered this humiliation when she arrived at the office one day.

Who decides girls should have long flowing hair and boys shouldn't wear pink anyway? Who says men should not shed tears (any wonder why we men bite the dust earlier then the girls)? And girls should act like princesses? Social norms? Or some unwritten rules by we mere mortals? Sometimes, I'd like to be like Victor, taking a contrarian stance, and be a non-conformist. This is not to say that Vic acts like a princess, nor keep long flowing hair, not that he could. At our age, it's lucky that we've got hair, even if some of us are suffering from a reclining receding hairline. Haha.

We're all God's creatures - big and small, beautiful and not so beautiful. And God made us to be DIFFERENT. People should recognise this fact, and the earlier they do and accept the way some people are, a happier place this earth would be. Period. (Now, that's a woman thing, I know :P)

Category: Musings

Once bitten, never shy

One would have fought shy of entering into any sort of partnership with a business partner who's not trustworthy. Despite the many hiccups we have with our neighbors up north, it seems that talks are underway for a fast train rail link that promises to take us from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur, and vice versa, in just over two hours. Though the venture makes business sense, considering the sheer volume of human traffic traveling between Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, we may well be giving ourselves more headaches if dispute arises. This is especially so when the venture involves land needed for the rail tracks. When we talk about land, it always has something to do with "sovereignty". Dr M has remarked, with reference to Singapore, that there are many ways to "skin a cat". Why give Dr M another opportunity to do so, even if a cat is said to have nine lives?

Category: Gahman

Mum rules, just ask Dad

Lucky the wives, the world is filled with good husbands. Just look around you.

You need not go very far. Take my colleagues for instance. Victor and I were at Leng Kee today, with our colleague Alex who was shopping around for a car. While checking out a particular model (the car, not the Sales Executive), the subject of our conversation inevitably fell on the choice of our cars and the colours.

Victor would have very likely bought a Toyota Wish if not for the "divine" intervention of his significant other who preferred the Renault Scenic. And what Victor's significant other wants, she always gets.

Alex was eyeing at the Mitsubishi Lancer. But his other half thinks the "roof" of the car is too low, and much prefers one with a higher "ceiling" like the Renault Megane. It seems almost certain that she'll get her wish (not the Toyota Wish that Victor so desires, though). Hahaha....

As for me, I much prefer the sporty black Lancer, as opposed to the chosen warm silver, the colour that I've often joked as "uncle colour". But the Slim Lady had made it known, loud and clear, that the colour black was a no go, having always considered black as bad luck. She was just being superstitious, and dumb. I wanted to ask her if she'd wish to dye her black hair blonde? Then I'll refer to her as the "Dumb Blonde" instead of the "Slim Lady" in my blog. (You're right, the Slim Lady has NEVER ever read my blog, nor does she know of its existence. My head will roll if she does...)

So, you see, we men always play the good husbands, while the women just rules. No questions about it. If this sounds sexist to you, I make no apologies for it. Me, an MCP? No, that's not true. If it's true, then pigs can fly, too :P

Category: Musings

The bowls that cracked ....

Well-meaning friends have told me that in-laws get along best if they are not living together. No, not the men and their mothers-in-law. Generally, it's more about women who marry into their husbands' and stay with their mothers-in-law. It's not enough that the wife and the mother have to share the same kitchen. They also share the same man - the husband and the son. And the same kids - the sons and the grandsons. And that poor man, the husband and the son, is often torn between the two women of his life.

A modern, educated working woman living under the same roof with a "wise" and elderly woman who has apparently consumed more salts then the former. Both with different sets of value, and different life perspectives. Any wonder that they clash? And do so they would, for they are like two china bowls, in close proximity to each other. A little bit of rocking, and both bowls develop deep cracks. And it becomes too late to mend....

But look how close they've become when they stay far from each other and the wife visits the mother-in-law every other week. The irony of it all ...

Category: Family

After all these years, men are still from Mars, and women are still from Venus

I couldn't agree more with Evan, a blogofriend of mine when she expressed surprise that my Junior has never been out in the rain. Evan wrote that "Singaporeans are so pampered". It's true - our kids today live very sheltered lives.

Alas, gone are our "kampung days", where bare-chested and bare-footed kids could be seen "catching spiders" in the deep forest; or having a splashing good time in the river just by their attap houses. Back then, kids needed very little supervision. Dads were usually the breadwinners; and the housewife mums try to make life a little more bearable by taking side-jobs such as dress-making or clothes-washing. Thankfully, many of those kids turned out none the worse.

Fastforward to this modern age. Many of our kids live in enclosed places like our HDB flats. Interaction amongst neighbors are scarce, if exists at all. Many parents are educated. Sometimes, we can't blame the parents for being over-protective towards their children. They only want what they think are the best for their kids. And they want to protect them from harm or bad influences. But in my opinion, I'm inclined to think that the mothers, more than the fathers, tend to over-protect the kids more. Trust me, take it from a Dad of two.

Take a cue from the instructions passed on to me by none other than my wife the Slim Lady on the day I brought the kids to East Coast Park:

Wife says: I'll pack a bottle of sun-block into the bag. Remember to apply the lotion on the kids while out cycling. I don't want them looking like lobsters.
Me thinks: (Aiyoh... just a bit of sun only what... u think we going for a swimming meet, is it?)

Wife says: And yes, get them to put on these jockey caps to protect their scalp against the sun, too.
Me thinks: (What, none for me? And I thought I'll need the hat more, considering my reclining hairline?)

Wife says: Pack one extra T-shirts in case they get a chill from the sweaty shirt.
Me thinks: (Woa, macam going camping hor? Wanna bring the "safari bed" or not?)

Wife says: And the raincoat, in case it rains.
Me thinks: (Then we just ditch the bicycles and head for the lagoon lor)

See? Women over-analyze, over-worry and over-protect. Men are usually cool and if anything, think that a little obstacles in life are fine to "toughen" the boys up.

My conclusion? It's very obvious that both genders are engineered differently. Men will forever be in Mars, and women in Venus. What more can I say?

Category: Musings

The calm before the storm

This is a picture I took of the East Coast Park beach today. Notice the sandy beach and the waves. I never knew our beach here in Singapore could be as pretty as this. I guess it's something that I've always taken for granted.

One more week before school term starts, I thought I'd bring the kids cycling at East Coast Park today. The morning started off bright and sunny. We were determined to cycle all the way to the "remote" end of the cycling track. Somewhere towards the end, we stopped and it was there that I took a photo of the beach. On the grass patch, just by the sandy beach, a group of kids were being supervised by their teachers, painting the breath-taking scenery before them, no doubt captivated like I was.

Then it started getting windy. Should have noticed the dark clouds... looking at the picture, the sky did look kind of threatening. Then we heard thunder. The teachers realised the weather was about to turn foul and immediately instructed the kids to start packing. The kids started moaning, even as I told my kids we'd better cycled back. As we mounted our bicycles, the rain started to pour. Junior was almost on the verge of tears, for he's never been out in the rain. The nearest shelter were some kilometers away. "It's just a little rain, boy," I tried to reassure him, hurried him along, and making sure that I was always cycling behind him. When we finally reached the shelter, we were drenched.

While waiting for the rain to subside, Senior Junior told me that before he went to bed last night, he had prayed that God would give us sunny whether. He was happy that God had answered his prayer, but then wondered why God decided to abort our fun with the rain. I told him, well, maybe this is God's way of injecting some fun for us. Both boys told me that it was kinda fun cycling in the rain. So, yeah, I'd like to think that our God is a fun-loving God too. Junior had his fun. He told me he loves cycling in the rain. Bet he can't tell the difference between his tears and the raindrops now.

Category: Family