1/1/13

I started this blog when E was first born, hoping to keep a simple record of being a father. Along the way I gave up because as a full-time writer, I already do so much writing that writing after work just gets old very fast.

Still, it is the new day of a new year and one of the things I really want to do is to write more about my kids. My two wonderful lovely children, who have given me more meaning than life itself.

D arrived just about a year ago, on 11 Jan. Next week, we will be celebrating his 1st year with a small birthday party with friends and family. Now there is just so much to write about and reflect that I thought I would take another stab at this and see where it leads.

So there, one more thing to do in my already very busy life/

And so it is

It's been such a long time I attempted to even write on a blog. But staring at the my screen willing the paginators to turn the pages green, I might as well use my brain for something useful, instead of watching youtube videos over the next Arsenal transfer target and hoping he will make a difference to our team's dismal, horrifying start to the season.

E is quite fully a child now.
She talks (check)
She walks (double check)
She argues (triple check)

Yeap it all checks out. E is turning 3 this December and she is running and jumping and arguing and talking to us, with us. We love her to bits.

The great thing about having a child/toddler is that at this age, they start to form their imagination. They love play acting and absorb everything with so much efficiency.

Last night, I came home late after work. Wife was in E's room trying to put her to bed and I did the unfortunate thing of poking my head in to see if everything was ok. It was, until I poked my head in. Thereafter it was Daddy sleep with me! Which I did - tried. I laid down on her mattress and off she went. Not into slumberland but on a train of words and talking.

She told me about her boo-boo on her finger because she had apparently burnt her finger on the frying pan (she did not. She bumped her finger on the chair earlier in the afternoon and ran to tell grandma who was frying stuff in a pan about the painful finger) and she also told me about her Pooh Bear stuffed toy visiting a doctor.

I tried to tell her to lie quietly and promised to tell her a Daddy story. Daddy stories are usually filled with action and adventure. Like pirates searching for a golden Pooh Bear or about Goofy's missing bone (complete with CSI type investigations and twists. I was quite pleased with that one).

But instead of an adventure I told her about my time in army about how I made this gigantic booboo on my ankle cos I ran with my 20kg full pack on the field. But I was careless, I told her and jammed my right foot into a pothole, mauling my ankle muscles in the process. It grew into a huge purple bulb and I took two weeks to heal.

"Daddy had to put his leg up and ice the area to keep the swelling down," I told E.
"Like this?" E asked, before lifting both her legs and reaching out to pull her PJs up her ankles.
"I got booboo here also. Smallll one. Daddy see, got ice?"

oh dear.

So I spent the next half hour trying to explain why ice helped to keep swelling down and no, she did not need a booboo.

"I kiss your ankle ok? Kiss will make booboo go away," I said kissing her ankles.
"Kiss? But booboo still painful."

After 1 hr, I gave up, sent her to my wife who was sleeping in her bed and fiddling with her iPhone. E, was by now 100% awake, and wanted my wife to wake up and play with her. My wife said no, I said no. E screamed. For a bit. Ok, 30 mins.

She finally settled down when I threatened to put her in her own room with no Daddy nor Mummy.

Oh did I say that number 2 is coming?

Halp

Potential and circumstance

Yesterday I had lunch with a colleague who is based in a third world country in the region. Apart from complaining about the dirt, grime and the constant feeling of being sick because of the polluted environment, she said something which struck me very deeply about fate, circumstance and justice.

Another colleague of mine, who was present at the lunch, asked her: "Do you think this country will progress? Do you feel optimistic?"

My third-world based colleague said yes. She believes that this country could only progress. After 10 years of democracy, they seem to get their act together. Peace has been achieved. While economic progress has been bumpy, the general consensus among businessmen has been that it is a good place to do business. Costs are low, labour is plentiful and people are hungry. They just want a better lives for themselves.

In the same breath however, she also said that she was glad she wasn't a resident of this country. That's because there is simply no social mobility there. If you are a farmer, you stay a farmer. Even if you are a genius. Relating the example of her language teacher, she said her teacher was a brilliant woman, very sharp, very smart, probably more able than my friend herself. But she could only look forward to being a language teacher for the rest of her life. She didn't have a degree, no opportunities to develop her talent.

"I love to interact with the people there. Do business with them, get involved and learn about their culture. But you know what, I'm glad I hold the red passport. Because once things turn sour there, I can run back here. And I will run very fast because things turn shitty very quickly, once the crap hits the fan," she said.

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I am in a good job that pays pretty well. I don't think I'm particularly very bright. I'm not a world beater but I'm not daft either. But I've had enough opportunities in my life, which I've taken advantage, to bring me to where I am. I am sure that there are many brighter smarter people in countries poorer than here. But they will probably never see nor enjoy the creature comforts that I do, simply because they were born there, and I here.

Many people have said that the yoke of the peasant was thrown off when the Dark Ages ended. Enlightenment, they said, brought the individual into focus, and placed him on a pedestal. No longer are you bound by your status in life when you were born. If you had brains and ability as well as a pinch of hard work, you could make something of yourself.

This rings hollow in countries, especially poorer countries. Even in poorer countries where democracy has taken root. You may have the vote but not the dollar.

Wealth and not liberty is what frees people from their bonds.

Last 11 days of work

Actually it's more like last 6 days of work. Next week I will be clearing all my days' off and just returning on the last day to return my laptop and security passes.

So it's happened and is finally happening. I'm leaving the company I've called my own for the past four years of my life and moving onto something completely new.

I guess this is what change means: Stepping into the unknown. Well it's known but not known at the same time. I know what the job entails but there are so many unfamiliar things in the new job, so many risks to take with my career, making new friends and colleagues and applying myself in a completely new environment.

But I digress.

EL has been growing so fast recently it has been completely a joy just watching her develop.

At five months, she was trying to sit up but without success. She could sit herself up only by holding out her hands and waiting to be pulled up. Once up, she could sit but shakily.

At six months, she could sit by herself quite comfortably.

THen at seven months, she suddenly discovered how to sit up without using her abdominals. So instead of sitting straight up as adults do, she'd go into a crawling position and tuck her legs underneath before propping herslf up with her hands.

Smart, right.

I thought it was pretty cool. Firstly because no adults in our family does that. I mean, maybe sometimes I lie sprawled with my ass in the air but I'm too clumsy to tuck my legs in to sit up. Too much work.

Secondly because it shows that she's aware of her own abilities and is doing something that affects her whole being.

She is also learning, very quickly, how to eat on her own. She's great at picking stuff up and stuffing her mouth with it. All kinds of things. Now she knows how to eat it as well.

So EL is moving into her eighth month and I'm moving into my new job. I hope it will be a risk worth taking.

Lame but true

There are many people who do this. And whenever I read these types of posts, I often scoff at them, wondering what on earth would possess them to write something as lame as this.

Well now I know.

I passed my IPPT.

There. What a lame-ass declaration.

But a caveat.

I passed my test despite running a temperature earlier that day.

Now, that makes the lameness less lame.

Prior to having my fever, though, I was actually not quite worried about two stations. SBJ which is a real biatch and chin-ups.

See ever since uni days, I've been piling on the fats. I've stopped going to gym 3 times a week, running twice a week and swimming like I-dunno-how-many-times a week. Plus the football on Saturday mornings.

Result: Pek pek and rather flabby around the wrong parts.

Nontheless I've been training some in the past month or so. I was fairly confident of my pull-ups save the sweaty palms which equals a weak grip. And SBJ is seriously just heng suay. Sometimes I'd hit the passing mark, sometimes I'd get silver, sometimes I'd fail.

Well I started off with my weakest link - chin-ups. Queued up, stepped up and pulled up. 7 times. Not bad I thought, as I dismounted.

Next SBJ. Again I queued up. Nervous as hell. Failing this meant I would have to endure another 4 weeks of RT, three times a week.

Took a deep breath, stood on my toes, jumped. Landed, line fault. KNNNNNNNNNN
Repeated, jumped, 207. Failed. OMG 5 cms off the mark!
Repeatd, jumped, remembered to tuck my legs in. 212.....Passed!

The other 2 stations were a breeze.
But my less than 100% physical state was starting to wear on me. After my shuttle run, I was sweating and breathing really hard. I felt bit light-headed, which was not natural.

As I walked over to the 2.4km starting point, doubts started to pour in. What if my body gave way, what if I had a heart attack. I was still considered to be sick and I've read countless stories of people dying after they ran. I know of course that this is all wrong. The right thing to do would have been to stay home and wait for the next test, after I'm fully recovered.

But there was too much at stake. I simply could not afford to take more leave to go for RT, my weekends are extremely precious with EL around so I rolled the dice.

First lap: 1min 37s . Holy crap! That's like a 8:30 minute 2.4km timing, I thought to myself. My goal was to hit the halfway mark below 6mins. That would give me ample time to finish the rest of the run comfortably within passing time. (I was hoping to get a silver timing but...)

By the start of the third round, I was clearly running out of steam. Up till then, I was leading the pack, being the first group of runners to set off. But man was I breathing hard. Two other fitter runners had caught up and were pulling away. My legs started to feel like lead and my breathing laboured.

End of third round: 5m 38s. I made it. But barely and my fuel tank was running very low. I slowed down even more.

Fourth round: 7m 45s. That was more than the 2m 7s I allowed myself. But my mind was clearly not focusing. I was dead tired and struggling.

Fifth round 10sm15s: Crap crap crap. I needed to make 12m40s or everything would be in vain. By then, I was shaking and my mind was in a blurr. Exhaustion and temptation to stop became easier and easier to contemplate. Just walk for 10s, my other weaker half pleaded. Run the rest of the way.

I ignored that and ran. Ran and ran. I finished in 12m 15s, with breathing so laboured and legs so shaking, I nearly died. But I didn't.

In the end, driving back with my body numb and my mind blank, I realised why people would want to blog about somethng as insignificant as passing a lowly IPPT.

Decisions

IN life, there are many decisions we make. Often we have to decide, for instance, whether going into the first cubicle or the second cubicle would lead to a cleaner backside. Occasionally, we may also have to ponder whether at 6pm on the roads at a traffic light, whether people can actually see if one’s digging of the gold in a place where there is little sunshine. (The answer is yes, owner of the blue Mazda 3 SFG 9xx0L at Alexandra Road junction 715pm. I saw you ok. Seriously)

And sometimes, very few sometimes, you get the privilege of trying to make a decision on what your next child will be called.

Me: Hey wife, if we get a son, I think Patrick will be nice. Patrick L.
Wife: When we get a son, which will be our next, I like the name Augustine. Patrick L sounds like a car salesman.
Me: Huh. Why
Wife: Cos salemanish lor
Me: Huh. How many Patrick L car salesmen do you know?
Wife: None.
Me: WTF. And you come from which planet again?
Wife: Aiyah, it just sounds like it ok. Don’t act innocent. You said Aloysius sounds wussy
Me: Yeah, because I actually know two Aloysiuses who ARE wussy.
Wife: That’s as bad as your mum, who hates Francis because she knew a Francis who is her arch-enemy, her nemesis from 10 years ago.
Me: Yeah. Siao. Why does my mum always think so illogically.
Wife: Yah.