Love Our Children

I'm attending the NAEYC convention in Washington D.C. It has been very enriching so far besides the shopping and sight-seeing!

We had the privilege of visiting some renowned preschools in the D.C. area earlier this week and learned how early childhood education is regarded here in the US. During our network lunch sessions, we understood from the locals that President Obama has a clear focus on early education quality and has given a prominent position in the President's education agenda. In fact, he's the only president who has given early childhood education any focus.

Wow, that sounds like giant steps for an industry that has always taken a backseat next to the formal schooling. It is wonderful to be in the forefront of such dynamic changes in the lives of millions of children around the world.

But as I sat at the conference hall this morning, I felt a tug at my heart strings and my mind started to wander off. The emotions just welled up as the speaker expounded on the importance of building a loving, nurturing environment for children in their early years. With so much focus on the early years' education in this country, it makes me sad to watch news of children being shot; raped and strangled in the one week we've been here. It is rather ironical to confront images of such shenanigans on TV each morning as we get ready for a conference that celebrates children.

To say this is a conflicted world is an understatement. How can people; parents in fact, do such things to their own offspring? In the case of a 5-year-old girl who was raped and strangled, it was her mother who offered her up for prostitution. What?? I hear you say. There are so many parents in this world who can't love their children enough yet there are those who are depraved at so many levels that I don't even have an adjective for them. Sigh.

Emotions aside, I still believe in the greater good of people who put their hearts and souls into working with children. People who come to school each day to make a difference to these little ones. People who nurse a scraped knee, hug a bruised soul and assure a child it's OK to make mistakes. People who do not mind the long hours, the pay or the hard work. These people are the a child's whole world and these are the people who will make a difference in this world.

NAEYC should not just celebrate children. It should celebrate teachers and everyone who loves children.

Technology, how much do I love thee?

I just experienced the woes of technology in a most amusing manner. Some people might have come undone and screamed their heads off; possibly never speaking to the 'betrayal' of their innermost confidences again but I just shrugged it off as another shenanigan of life.

I've been rather bothered by office politics at the work place.....something's definitely rotten in the state of Denmark. I sent an email to a senior colleague whom I've come to respect over the years. It was a heart-felt sharing about our corporate culture and how it's affecting people at every level.

Her reply was just as heart-felt and very edifying. I felt encouraged because I know she had gone through the same grind and has emerged stronger. She also cared enough to put aside 30 minutes of her precious time to craft an uplifting email to me, notwithstanding that it was almost the end of a busy workday.

That was where the good feeling ended. The moment I finished reading her email, another one came to my inbox bearing her sender's details. She had erroneously forwarded my original email back to me with a message to the presumed recipient that it was a confidential sharing and that I should never know that my message was shared.

Talk about a Judas moment.

I stared at my own email for a long time. Should I be upset that my confidences was just betrayed? Should I forward her the forwarded message to let her know that I knew? In the end, I did nothing except turned off the computer and left for the day.

I might have been upset if it had been someone else. But I believed she was trying to share my thoughts with someone in the organisation who could make a difference in how things worked. She could have just patronised me with a reply email and ignored the issues but she chose to take them up higher. I believe it because I trust her. Even now.

This situation could have swung both ways. Technology can make you see things in a clearer light. I choose to see mine in a positive one.

My chilli crab

I have a penchant for crabs. Chilli crabs, in particular. So you can imagine how my interest was piqued when I read in the papers that my beloved crab dish - spicy, tangy and succulent is now touted to have originated from Malaysia. They are thus calling it Malaysia’s dish, along with Hainanese chicken rice, laksa, bak kut teh and nasi lemak, all my favourites. Alamak, I say, how can like that??

After the initial knee-jerk reaction, I actually found this piece of claim rather cute and entertaining. True enough, The Sunday Times (20 Sept 09) reiterated with a list of 'Uniquely Singaporean' dishes like Hokkien mee, yu shen, minced meat noodles , etc. Where does it end then? My Malaysian friends also shake their heads in wonder.

In my humble opinion, food should bring people together regardless where it originates from. Wherever it goes, a little more is added to the dish depending on culture, lifestyle and availability of ingredients. Some cultures prefer their dishes spicy, some tweak the ingredients for a milder flavour while others develop new twists and snazzy versions to the dish.

My girlfriend who lives in New York has a well-thumbed and colourfully-tagged Singapore cook book I got her when I visited in 1993. She calls it her 'culinary bible' and swears by it to whip up Asian fare to the amazement and delight of her family and friends. I don't think they care whether the fragrant chicken rice or the mouthwatering rich satay peanut sauce she makes is truly Malaysian, uniquely Singaporean or even enchantingly Indonesian. All that matters is she makes the dishes with her heart and how good they taste pipping hot from the stove.

Incidentally, I also had the most memorable meatball spaghetti...... not in a cozy restaurant at a small Italian town but at Pier 39 of Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco. The world is so well connected that no one culture can claim total monopoly or patent rights to a dish anymore. There is hardly anything no one can replicate or even improve upon these days. So I think we should just let the dishes be as long as they bring people together. After all, being able to sit down and enjoy a meal together in these tumultuous times is already a blessing in itself.

Now, if you'd excuse me...... I need to go whip up some French Fries for my mid-afternoon snack!

A lesson in people management

I had a moment of enlightenment last Friday evening.

I was at class and feeling restless. Firstly, it had been an extremely long day at work. Secondly, it WAS a Friday evening. Thirdly and most importantly, my lecturer was droning about mean, median, mode and asking us to compute the mean for the sample of scores shown in the frequency distribution table he had drawn up on the board.

He might as well have been speaking Greek as far as I was concerned. Looking at the clock, it was barely 8pm...... could I last till 10pm in my exhausted state? It also didn't help that my buddy sitting next to me was equally fidgety. We contemplated leaving the class during break for we knew our attention span was maxed out that evening. We rehearsed several plausible excuses and how to say them convincingly without violating the rules or offending our lecturer.

During break, I approached him about my research paper topic and asked for his opinions. I then sheepishly asked if we (my course mate & I) could leave earlier? Before I could say anything further, Dr Woo smiled his usual benevolent smile and said "Sure, go ahead. If you need to go, it's OK with me."

Huh, really? I was stumped as all the excuses died in my throat. He was so understanding and magnanimous that I almost regretted my decision to cut his class. I was tempted to stay on. Although he is as typical a lecturer as you could find..... a distinguished gentleman in his 60s who is unfortunately not very animated during lectures, he has taught me a lesson in management style that night.

I learned that we do not always have to probe for reasons and justifications in people's decisions or actions. I learned that a quiet steadfastness sometimes works better that a full-on power struggle when managing people. I learned that Dr Woo's magnanimity has hit me with a stronger impact than if he had insisted on a reason for us leaving his class. I also learned that I have resolved to pay even greater attention henceforth!

This would be the first and last time I cut his class.

A treasured bookmark

A beautiful bookmark from a friend has set me thinking.

It makes me think about emotional memory and how we are affected by it, possibly for a life time because emotions and memories are intricately and inexorably connected. Emotional memory is the memory for events that evoke strong feelings or emotions stored in our long term memory which may or may not fade with time. We are more likely to remember emotionally charged images than neutral ones, particularly if they personally traumatic memories.

Imagine this scenario. Back in the 70s when Boat Quay was still a bustling hub for cargo and warehouses, a young child would visit her father's shipping office everyday after school. Situated just along the waterfront where a hip bistro-pub now stands, his office was like a creche where she spent a good part of the afternoon doodling, playing five-stones or paper dolls. She also loved to sit by the busy river banks listening to the whir and drone of Singapore's busiest waterways brimming with buzz and activity. She relished the sight of her father's Chinese tongkongs and sampans dotting the river with their merchandise for import and export dealings with the rest of the world.

In evening, they would be driven by the family driver back to their Chinatown home. The short journey home was usually a non-event because the little girl would be too engrossed in her paper dolls to pay particular attention to anything else..........until one day when their routine was grossly disrupted on the way home.

Three burly men accosted their car at a small lane along Upper Cross Street and forced the girl's father out. They pushed him against the wall and roughed him up while shouting in jargon only adults understood. It was only years later that she realised her father had been accused of winning over the aggressors' business. He had been a diligent and astute businessman but was often blamed for monopolizing a big slice of the industry's pie.

The little girl might have travelled along that small land a hundred times before but nothing about it struck her until that fateful day. Although she was not physically hurt, the incident has forever altered her feelings about venturing into that Upper Cross Street lane.

At the tender age of six, she would not have understood the implications of emotional memory but she knew that the small lane elicited an unconscious but powerful physiological reaction every time she had to go near it. She would begin to shudder involuntarily and experience an overwhelming sense of fear and helplessness especially at the spot where her father was attacked.

Permanently etched onto her memory, she can recall in vivid detail every expression and nuance uttered by the aggressors, the way her father was pushed around and the fear spreading across his face when he realised what was happening. Now, some decades later she can still recall the patch of fungi growth on the wall where he was left crouching against.

Emotional memory also refers to how an object, event or person can make us feel by triggering an existing memory that has emotional significance. I have a particular fondness for iced-coffee because it signifies my 'coming-of-age'. Due to its high caffeine content, my mother had always forbidden us from drinking coffee. However, she relented somewhat when I was in junior college as I was clocking in eight to nine hours at school and needed the extra boost particularly for afternoon lectures. The first time I bought a packet of iced-coffee from the vending machine, I felt so grown up. Since then, iced-coffee has become my 'comfort beverage' when I am down or in need of a spritz of energy!

So what are our emotional memories? Are they happy ones, 'spritzy' ones or are there past hurts, disappointments and shame locked deep within the recesses of our subconsciousness? The little girl is not me but I have my fair share of strong emotional memories and the harrowing experiences of being trapped by things that happened in the past. Should we leave them to ferment and dredge up all kinds of psychological reactions or should we scrub the decks of our emotional memory and leave them in God's good hands?

I don't think my friend knows the impact a simple bookmark she picked up from church has on my reflections but this is just the way God works.......... through trivial everyday matters. While the bookmark has an aesthetic drawing of Christ's profile, the beauty I could see is not only in its illustration but in a precious prayer it bears:

Lord, through the power of the Holy Spirit, guide me to go back into my memory as I sleep. I ask you to heal every hurt that has ever been done to me. I ask you to heal every hurt that I have caused to another person. For all the relationships that have been damaged in my whole life that I am not aware of, I ask you to heal those relationships. Lord, if there is anything I need to do or I need to go to a person because they are still suffering from my hand, bring to my awareness that person. I choose to forgive and I ask to be forgiven. Remove whatever bitterness may be in my heart, Lord and fill the empty spaces with your love. Amen.

With faith and confidence, we should have the courage to walk through the small lane again.

What national day parade means to me...

We celebrated our 44th national day today. I should be feeling patriotic or at least excited by the parade on TV , a yearly display of our nation's most dramatic showmanship and fireworks; not to mention a trip down memory lane on how far we've come as a nation.

But because I had to crank out an assignment due on Tuesday, I only caught the remaining half of the show by the time I managed to tear myself from my laptop to turn on the TV. Somehow, the spirit was different. As I sat there toggling between the impact of parental involvement on a child's literacy and the visual feast unraveling on the screen, it dawned on me that all those drama, singing and special effects had er...... no effect on me.

The cameras zoomed back and forth on our leaders and captured them singing our national songs and waving their hand-held hearts in unison with the people. Looking at these familiar faces who have done so much for this island-state, a single thought flashed through my mind. Were they impressed by the show or did they think it the same year after year save for brighter lights, louder music and better effects? Being leaders of such a progressive country, they must have seen it all. Can they see beyond the pyrotechnics and colourful displays into the core of our nation?

I'm sure a lot of effort and logistics had gone into putting the parade together. As Singapore progressed over the years, our celebrations also evolved with the focus on high-tech entertainment put together by theatrically trained parade directors and awesome military spectacles. Almost Mardi Gras, if I may say so. Now, I'm no parade-detractor but I feel that as a nation, we've become the way our parades are turning out.....showmanship, bright effects, festivities and complacence.

Where is the quiet strength and fortitude? Although much more intelligent than we ever were as kids, our children today complain when they have to walk under the sun, they prefer to hop onto a cab wherever they go, they refuse to eat at hawker centres but choose instead, restaurants or bistros. And why is there such a debate on giving up seats to those who need it on public transport? Isn't it inherently our duty to do so, to take care of the young, old and weak in our society?

Perhaps I'm old-fashioned. I prefer to keep solemn things solemn and the Hollywood effects to the theatrics. Growing up in the 70s, national day parades were always a high point for us kids because the focus then was on the march-pass and on things that really mattered, our flag, our national anthem and our pledge. Our country.

However, something in this year's parade touched me. In an excerpt of PM Lee's speech, he made mention of the national day parade held in 1968. There was no fanfare; just marching of contingents and a couple of lion dances. When it started to rain, nobody ran for cover. Soaked to their skins and shivering in the cold, the participants stood their ground because they were proud of their parade. These were the people who were determined to make it, not just at the parade but for their country.

This is the spirit of NDP we need. And this is the spirit Singapore needs.

Rickshaw Noodles (拉车面)

Rickshaw noodles..... the thought of those soft, succulent yellow strands stewed for hours in an anchovies, dried shrimp, full-bodied pork stock can send many a rickshaw noodle fan into a tizzy!

Believed to have originated from Henghua (Fujian province in China), it is a humble dish that found its way into the hearts of rickshaw riders in the 60s, hence its name. These men would squat on the wooden benches and hurriedly slurp their noodles before getting back on the road. Over the years, it has garnered an ardent following in many who grew up in the Chinatown area and beyond. It cost 2 cents per bowl back then.

As a child growing up in the late 70s, each bowl of this "feel-good" concoction would render me 40 cents poorer. I loved how the collagen-rich broth absorbed the flavours of all its ingredients, particularly the unique taste of yellow noodles. Definitely comfort food for the soul.

It is also a family tradition at my grandma's house where she would whip up a huge pot of these luscious strands to be savoured with freshly-made chilli padi sauce and lots of crispy shallots.....a piquant affair that leaves us with fire at the pit of our stomachs but otherwise very gastronomically satisfied.

During the school holidays, my kiddo & I attempted to recreate the rickshaw noodles and ended up having a fantastic time. Travelling back to my childhood and tasting a slice of the Hokkien culture, my son now enjoys and appreciates what his mum does!

My Dad.......My Dad-in-Law

From a very young age, I already had a very close bond with my dad. I remember how we would do stuff together and chuckle endlessly. How he loved to hoist me in the air and sit me on his shoulders. I would feel so safe and happy to see the world from such height in the knowledge that I was secure in my father's grip.

I also remember how he disciplined me when I, seated at the back of the car, stealthily ate the sausages but left the bun intact while my parents watched their movie at the then Jurong Drive-In theater. What they say about the bond between a father and his daughter is true. At least for me and my dad.

Fathers and daughters have a natural bond. How about fathers-in-law? My dad-in-law is a man of strong character and few words. He is quite similar to my grandfather, a typical Asian dad whose love is not articulated but felt through his providence for the family in the order of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. I have never been close to him although I know he cares for me and is wonderful with my boy.

But I got to know him better through a family trip to Malaysia last December. It had not been planned that way but when our earlier plans for another trip went awry, we decided to still head to Seremban to visit his hometown and relatives. To me, it was a very special trip. It was more than a holiday; it was a journey of discovery and kinship. I got to know my dad-in-law better in these 4 days than in the 10 years I've lived with them.

I never knew that as a young man, he travelled to Singapore on the roof of the old rickety train braving the elements so many decades ago. I never knew he was slapped around by a Japanese soldier when he did not bow to the sentry guard during Japanese occupation. We had passed by the building where the incident took place and he pointed it out to me as a father would to his daughter. I was touched.

This Father's Day, I'm thinking of my dad who has gone home to the Lord. I know no one can replace him in my heart but a father's love is a father's love; whether they are in-laws or biological fathers, love has no boundaries. I understand that now.

Retail Therapy

Retail therapy! A comfort word for many, I'm sure.

I indulged in some today. Well, I needed some new clothes but surely I didn't need to buy 3 colours of the same design? Or 2 black skirts with different pleats; albeit only marginally different? Or another crisp white blouse when there are already 3 nice ones hanging in the closet?

Why do women spend money on something that gets stashed to the bottom of their wardrobe? I believe it's psychological because when we horde inanimate objects, we feel in control. We choose them, we buy them; whether we eventually wear them or not is our own prerogative.

Actually, I hadn't shopped in a long while. It has been work and home the past few months that today's shopping experience was an immense pleasure bordering on relief. I consoled myself that I wasn't buying high-end stuff that costs a cool 4-figure a piece. No, not even in the 3-figure. region. I wasn't going into a frenzy over shoes and bags like most of my friends would. I was just sprucing up my pretty-dated wardrobe. Besides, I was contributing to the country's economy.

Yeah right.

Whatever excuses I managed to dredge up, I certainly felt happy re-organising my wardrobe this afternoon.....into colours, lengths , occasions and frequency. If only everything else in life were so easy to categorise and compartmentalise.

Angel or Demon?

While I had no remote interest in either the book or the movie version of 'The Da Vinci Code'; I found myself drawn to 'Angels and Demons' because of the rave reviews on its awesome photography and studio reconstructions of the Vatican, Sistine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basilica and churches with beautiful works of art.

For someone who's not been to Rome and will not likely have a chance in the near future (sob..sob), paying $10 for such a visual feast is considered a steal. Now I definitely want to make a trip there! To top it off, I've always enjoyed Tom Hanks' acting skills and was not disappointed this time although of course, Ewan McGregor as the misguided Camerlengo had my attention from the beginning to the twist at the end of the movie.

Earlier on, there had been rife talks that this was an anti-Church production but I beg to differ because I believe movie-goers today are intelligent and discerning. 'Angels and Demons' comes across as an engaging mystery thriller with impressive sets, heart-thumping pace and perhaps if you will, many inaccuracies about dates and historical figures. But then again, the movie has never claimed to be a documentary. It simply presents itself as Hollywood entertainment albeit some flawed script and lame dialogue.

It does set one thinking though. With the 'bad guy' turning out to be the handsome and soft-spoken Camerlengo who firmly believed that the Church alone, not science, should dictate the moral creed of the Christian faithful, how far will one go to protect his opinions and position?

There is but a thin line between being an angel and being a demon.

Mary, mother of God....mother of mine

Mother's Day came and went last Sunday.

I was not feeling well and did not attend the dinner at my sister's place. I spoke with my mum on the phone though and cried afterwards. Through the airwaves, I could feel her love and concern. She knows I'm facing challenges at work. She knows how tough it is to 'inherit' a messy workplace and attempt to turn it around. She knows that a prophet is not welcome in his own land. She knows she can't do much except pray for me despite her own impending surgical operation.

But my mum and I are not close the way a lot of mothers and daughters are.

Born with a silver spoon, my mother had been a pampered child with 'ah mas' to look after her every need and pander to every whim. Studying at St Theresa’s Convent, my mother was the epitome of post-Japanese occupation baby boomer from a rich family who was ferried to and from school. Even her shoe laces were tied by the maids. This patricianism and dependence soon transcended into adulthood, marriage and eventually to motherhood.

My dad was from the police force, 12 years older than her and more comfortable speaking Malay than any Chinese dialects. It was not a match made in heaven or on earth as my grandparents objected vehemently to the union. Amidst tears, threats and disrupted studies in the UK, my mother got married and moved into her matrimonial home – into a house and a lifestyle a far cry from her own.

The marriage did not work. By the time he left, my mother was saddled with 3 young children and a battered spirit. She was barely 30. Pride prevented my grandparents from reaching out to their eldest errant daughter. An immigrant from China who made good by the sweat of his brow, my grandfather was a typical Chinese father who did not know how to show affection to his children. My mother was left with a little more than the stigma of shaming the family name.

My growing up years were largely fraught with blame and conflict because I was the eldest and had worshipped the ground my dad walked on. Alternating between bitterness and my own teenage angst, my mother and I never stood a chance to build a loving relationship. But in an uncanny way, I never doubted she loved me.

When I gave birth to my son, I began to understand her better. Being a mother is already tough, but being a single mother to 3 children? I can also see the changes in her the last decade. She has grown older, mellowed and softer around the edges. The glint in her eyes has been replaced by a twinkle whenever she plays with her grandchildren; the sharp words replaced by coddling and affirmations of praises for the kids. She is a great grandma. A better grandma that she ever was a mum.

I only realised how much lost time there was between my mum and I while planning for a Mother's Day dinner last year. It was a Monday night and I was trying to say my rosary. However, I was extremely distracted and could not focus. My brother was calling me to confirm our plans for our Mother’s Day celebration. Although on silent mode, the illumination from the phone seemed to beckon me away from my prayer. I was getting irritated and decided to ignore it.

But the Holy Spirit would not let me ignore a greater distraction of my heart. As I struggled with my beads, a silent but powerful prompting radiated from within the pit of my being. I must set things right with my earthly mother before I can come before my heavenly one. If Jesus accorded so much respect and reverence to his mother; how much more I should emulate him.

Without warning, I broke down and cried. It was the emptying of hurt and pain from the deepest recesses of my heart, of missed opportunities to love my mother. I felt an immense spiritual relief, as if the weight I had been carrying around for so many years was lifted. Yes, Mother Mary has made me realise that my relationship with her can only be good if my relationship with my own mother is!

Since then, I began to look at my mum as a person and not just a parent. While I am still not able to spontaneously hug her or express my feelings freely, we talk a lot more now. When I'm stressed with work or when faced with other challenges, I will share them with her. She might not have worked much in her life but she knows human nature and the only way to rise above challenges is through emotional fortitude and prayer.

As I penned in an earlier entry, I know my mum is praying for me everyday. A mother's love is unceasing, selfless and all-giving.... like Mother Mary's love.

The Lions' Den

This is my first entry for April. For a moment there, I'd forgotten about my blog or rather, could not find the time or energy to pen anything. As they say....the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak...

I've been transferred to manage another centre. This time, a flagship centre with great prominence located in the heart of town. A little over a year old, it is still a beautiful setup with classy wood panelling and state-of-the-art equipment. But I'm not exactly beside myself with joy. For want of a better word, my predecessor has left a lot of unshovelled snow for me.

I'm beginning to regret my decision for the transfer. But then again, do we really have any say when management deems it appropriate to deploy its human resources? 'Talent management' and 'grooming' are words used to describe the deployment but it sure feels like a dip into the lions' den.

Can I be like Daniel to emerge unscathed or even stronger?

Woman minister.....finally

The first time I met Mrs Lim Hwee Hua was at a food centre in Serangoon Gardens. The year was 2006. The event was Singapore's 15th General Election.

For us, it was a lazy Sunday brunch after church. For Mrs Lim and her entourage, it was a Pre-election walkabout to touch base with the people. While the all-white ensemble was an impressive sight to behold, I did not pay much attention to it because firstly, I did not live in that area; secondly, politics did not appeal to me much then. Besides, I was more interested tucking into my Char Kway Teow and Roti John.

But I almost fell off my stool when Mrs Lim approached to shake my hand. Unlike other casual-social types of handshake where a limp, lifeless hand meets yours and is withdrawn quickly, Mrs Lim extended a warm, firm, palm-to-palm handshake while maintaining eye contact throughout. Nothing communicated self confidence, sincerity and camaraderie more than this one gesture. She then smiled and said "Please support us."

I was bowled over. Totally.

That single encounter changed my views on politics and politicians. Of course, I had always been a fan of Dr Vivian Balakrishnan and Mr Teo Ser Luck after attending seminars where they graced the event as guests of honour or keynote speakers. But I only saw them as top government officials, albeit good looking ones :0)

Through Mrs Lim Hwee Hua, I began to see politicians as humans; not just policy-makers. Notwithstanding the odd black sheep in every political arena, I began to see that there are people who really wish to make a difference in the lives of others.

With her promotion to a Minister in the Prime Minister's Office, Mrs Lim has broken the so-called invisible glass ceiling to become the first full-fledged woman minister in Singapore. Her credentials and vast experience will see her contributing at the national level but I believe she will also be able to provide a woman's perspective on many policy issues.

I also believe that Mrs Lim, like her handshake, will continue to lead and serve in a warm, sincere and steadfast manner.

What the prawns??!!!

In a debacle involving 6 American tourists, an insidious seafood stall and a hard-nosed stall assistant, the ugliness of our local mentality stuck in the colonial era was played out on a busy Saturday night at one of our tourist hot spots, Newton Food Centre.

Hoping to impress upon his friends the "safe, clean and honest" city-state, Mr Rigby must have felt exceedingly abashed when presented with a bill of $491 for his dinner. Almost $500 for a party of 6 at a hawker centre? Did the diners feast on out-of-this-world delicacy drizzled in ginseng gravy or foie gras or perhaps caviar whipped up hawker centre style?

No, they merely ordered 8 tiger prawns, 4 crabs, baby squids, half a steamed chicken, 4 bottles of beer and fruit juices. The usual run-of-the-mill fare we can find at Lau Pat Saat, Chomp Chomp or East Coast Lagoon Food Centre.

It seems that the protagonists of this saga are from the crustacean family - tiger prawns. At the listed price of $8 per 100g, the 8 prawns would have to weigh an average of 375g each to cost $239. But are we splitting hair here?

Or is the colonial mentality that tourists, particularly those of Caucasian descent are wealthy and free with their money still alive and kicking in this day and age? If so, hawkers at Newton and other tourist attractions have to sit up and take note that the economic recession is felt more deeply in Europe and the Americas than in China and India. With the falling dollar, $491 Singapore Dollars would have meant much more in US Dollars exchange.

Current recession aside, it is also no longer true that 'gwai-louhs' have inexhaustible spending power and are thus easy to fleece. It has not been that way for a long time. Over the last few decades, the spending power of Asians has increased dramatically with profound economic, social, political, cultural and psychological transformations. Although Bill Gates and Warren Buffet still count as the richest men on earth, many Asians now wield tremendous spending power beyond what their forefathers ever dreamt possible.

In today's economic climate and with the integration of foreigners into our midst whether by employment or by marriage, an average Caucasian can be seen to be as dime-watching as the next guy. Indeed, I know of friends who would rather take the MRT than take a cab to get around the island. It is common to see a head or two of blond hair (not the chemically-dyed variety) bobbling in the sea of shoppers at Giant or NTUC Supermarket. Caucasians clad in our national costumes of T-shirts, shorts and flip flops milling about food courts and hawker centres is also an ubiquitous sight today.

In the Newton fiasco, NEA has officially ordered the suspension of the errant stall for 3 months while the staff in question is barred from working in the food centre for a year. Some people attribute the 'harsh' and prompt sentence to the fact that the complaint was lodged by Caucasians. There, you see? Colonial mentality again. Sigh.

I say it's because NEA is looking at the big picture. The Newton saga is the third negative exposure on our tourism in almost as many months. Last December, it was the Singapore Flyer. Last month, it was the Merlion. Now, tiger prawns are hogging the headlines.

It is high time someone stepped in to right our image a little. Right about now and rightly so, I surmise. Right.

It takes 3 days to learn a vice...

I was on duty at the Career & Education 2009 exhibition fair at Suntec yesterday evening. Being second day of the fair, the crowd was understandably thinner than the much publicised 120 000 visitors on its opening day on Thursday.

Interestingly, the booths that garnered the most responses were the Integrated Resorts - Marina Bay Sands and Resort World at Sentosa. Attractively decked out with casino gaming tables to boot, these booths did indeed command a second look. Even exhibitors like us could not keep our curiosity in rein.

At the gaming table, the dealer smoothly dealt the cards. Chips were offered to bystanders who wanted to have a go at the game. I do not know how I ended up with a place at the table and was astounded when dealer looked at me and asked if I wanted a card to follow.

Huh? I went all red and turned around to see if he was speaking to the person behind me. My colleague nudged me and whispered "You have 16 points. Want another card or stay this way?" Huh? Huh? What game is this? Twenty one? Oh, I see.

Actually, I did not see. I was confused because I'm no gambler. I didn't even know how 4D or Toto worked until they were explained to me. I guess I'm one of those who has to live by the sweat of my brow and not depend on windfalls or any other chance money-making opportunity.

However, it did not take me long to get the hang of the game. It was really fun because we were playing with mere chips, not real money. I won a few times but lost many more times over. The Chinese saying came to mind: It takes 3 years to learn to be good but only 3 days to learn vices. Well, it took me only 10 minutes to learn the game. But it was all for fun and experience. No money was used so I was not technically gambling and it is unlikely I will be found at that table again.

The game blackjack has been described as a game of chance with elements of skill and the thrill of playing your hand individually against the dealer while in group setting. To win, you need to beat the dealer without busting. You bust when your cards total to more than 21 and you lose automatically. The winner is whoever has closest to a total of 21. You reach 21 by adding up the values of the cards.

It can be very addictive as I had experienced. If one is on a roll, he might want to continue the winning streak. The appetite grows, the bets get bigger. If he is losing, he might want to recoup his losses because surely, the cards will get better? This is probably how compulsive gamblers lose everything they have, including their homes and families in the hope of a better card.

The IRs can be good for our economy judging by the tens of thousands of jobs created and the revenue each tourist dollar will bring. Our government has assured us on its thorough research into the project and how a slew of social safeguards and the National Council on Gambling will be set up. The control measures put in place will be self-righting and the damage, if any, will be minimal. Time will tell. Let's hope moral values and social order will not be largely eroded in time to come.

As for me, I will continue to be 'blur' in the gambling arena. Someone has asked me to learn mahjong as it has been said to prevent dementia in old age. Er, thanks but no thanks. I think I'd rather do cross-word puzzles or blog or even attempt primary school math problem sums. Now, that would really stave off idleness and inactivity!

Is Chivalry Dead?

Whenever someone mentions chivalry, the oft associated 3 words are: chivalry is dead along the lines of 'cash is best', 'dress for success' or 'service above self'. These 3 words are so well quoted that they seem to have infused the hearts and minds of everyone - particularly women. I am no exception. Gulp!

To thoroughly discuss 'chivalry', we will need to span many pages of this blog and engage in a great deal of debate in the variety of men vs women, Mars vs Venus, etc. You get what I mean. But I shan't expound on something that dates back to the middle ages because I finally believe chivalry is still alive and kicking as I speak, um, type.

I was at a bookstore last weekend. A harried-looking lady was at the payment counter trying to balance her armload of assessment books (presumably for the little girl next to her), some pens, pencils, correction tapes, rulers and "Bob the Builder" CD-Roms. Why she hadn't heard of a shopping basket I wouldn't know but there she was, trying to juggle all those items while trying to fish for her wallet. Precariously, I might add. Very precariously.

Murphy's law won. She dropped half her load with a loud thud and spilled the other half across the counter. Hassled and embarrassed but she didn't seem to know what to do next! To organise the disaster on the counter or the floor first? Just when I thought I should be a good Samaritan, I spied an old spindly hand reaching down to pick up each item from the floor.

Chivalry on 2 legs, albeit knob-kneed and laced with varicose veins. This man had to be in his 70s, I thought. He handed the wayward items to her reverentially and nodded when she mumbled her appreciation.

I don't need further examples of chivalry. That man is my knight in shining armour.

Mathematics and Me

I just found out an undeniable truth. It is sad but so totally indisputable because it has been proven beyond a shadow of doubt. My mathematical abilities are only of primary 3 standard. That realization would send a lot of adults into a tizzy and perhaps vehement denial but it just confirms what I'd known about myself all along.

Since my child started primary school, I've been the one guiding him in his homework and revisions. Primary 1 maths was easy enough. So was primary 2. Last year posed a little more challenge but hey, I managed to solve all the questions with a little aid from teaching resources and answer guides <(sneaky giggles)>.

Yesterday was a day of reckoning. There were at least 3 questions that befuddled me. Why do they set such mind-boggling questions?? I grumbled more than once as I gnawed the end of my pencil to a messy stump. Not a pretty sight. My boy just raised his left eyebrow at me and shrugged as if to say, "You tell me. You've been through the same education system."

Yes, I have. The whole nine yards, in fact. But I do not recall my primary 4 questions being so tough. That said, it's also true that I'd always been a typical 'Arts' student: more comfortable with the likes of Charles Dickens, Shakespeare and Robert Browning than anything with digits or formulas.

I was even advised by my Maths lecturer to drop the subject at A levels. He said I should just concentrate on my strong subjects and not 'waste time' trying to figure out Sine, Cosine, Tangent and Cosecant. So much for motivation and encouragement. But I forgive you, Mr Seah. You only meant well.

Okay, back to the mind-boggling questions. I managed to make sense of the other two but this one really takes the cake.

When Peter is 10 years old, his father is 4 times as old. How old will Peter be when his father is 3 times as old as he is? The answer should be 15 years old but for the life of me, I can't figure out why or how? Is there anything wrong with Peter's father? Or the question?

It's probably just me. Sigh!

Travel Bug...

I've been bitten by the travel bug again. This is not good. It is almost March and the wheels at work are now on full swing after the December holiday period. I will not be able to take leave from work to frolic on any beach or stake out at any shopping mall or pig out at any quaint roadside stall. And did anyone mention we're deep in recession? What's wrong with me?

Along with the rest of the nation, I must be in the "when stressed, take a holiday" mood. Tonight's news reports of long snaking queues sighted at the NATAS Travel Fair despite the bleak economy. Or rather, because of the bleak economy. Too much doom and gloom in our own backyard, we therefore have to transverse across oceans to experience the same doom and gloom albeit in a foreign land.

Speaking of holidays, I'm happiest travelling alone or with a like-minded partner although of course, travelling with the brood gives you a different kind of happiness. It's just that once in a while, you long for the footloose and fancy-free feeling of being on your own, doing your thing, sleeping when you want and eating what you like.

My most memorable holiday was a trip to New York with a girlfriend to visit another who had settled there after her marriage. Since it was New York, we had packed our suitcases to the gills but with lots of shopping room to spare too. Let it be known that flight attendants are great at maximising space and still turn out like a million dollars. Did you know that a top/skirt/pants ensemble can be worn 5 ways? More when you throw in accessories and other knick-knacks.

For want of a better word, that trip was an immeasurable experience. We roamed the city, chatted with the locals, took all the subways, ate all the hotdogs, checked out the museums and galleries, went to Wall Street for a memorable picture with the famous bull icon and almost froze to the bone on the ferry to Staten Island so we could say "I've been to the Stature of Liberty". And never once did we feel that New Yorkers were snobbish or brusque or uncouth. In fact, some of them went out of their way to help us with directions and whatever else that we wanted to know.

This is how I like my holidays. No agenda, no time limits, no rush. Doesn't matter where the destination is.....just me and a good friend on the same page with the same wavelength. But that was a decade ago, I must qualify. It's difficult to be so free and easy when you're responsible for your kiddo, his dad and the suitcases. Hmmm, why does mum always have to be the one to remember where the shampoo's kept and where the keys to the suitcases are?? When my kiddo's grown, I will continue with my adventures because you can never get to see enough of the world.

Yes, I will. In a New York minute.

Betrayal

In an obscure corner somewhere on this earth, a certain lady sits and stares unseeingly at the horizon. With no more tears to shed, she lets her mind float in the oasis of nothingness. Don't think, don't grieve, don't hurt.

I do not know her. In fact, I would not even have heard of her if not for the scandalous pictures splashed across the tabloids and on the Internet. She is Elizabeth Wong. Young, intelligent and beautiful with an upcoming and promising career in public service. But overnight, she fell from grace - just like that.

No, I am not about to delve into what happened and discuss the moral or political implications of this newsbit. I do not share her values but I have no right to exercise judgement either "let he who is without sin, cast the first stone". From the records, Ms Wong has vehemently defended her private life, her rights to privacy and maintained that she had broken no law. Perhaps so. The pictures were taken in the privacy of her home by someone she trusted then.

Working in an all-women environment, this topic is essentially very close to our hearts and has become the subject of our lunchtime discussions. While my colleagues have different opinions and moral convictions on how the exposure panned out, we all agreed that the saddest truth to emerge from this episode is that of betrayal.

Anyone who has been betrayed can vouch that it is one of the worst feelings in the world. To be betrayed, you must first trust. To trust, you must first share of yourself. To share of yourself, you must first have the courage and humility to put the other person above you so that he can be privy to your deepest thoughts and feelings.

To be eventually betrayed by that person, it is possibly a fate worse than death. The greater the trust, the deeper the hurt. I should know. I've been there. No, not the photo thingy but betrayal in the name of friendship.

With Lent so close, I can't help but think of how Jesus was betrayed by people whom he had served, healed and loved "Away with him, away with him, crucify him!' they chorused at Pilate. And how the ultimate feeling of betrayal sunk in as the cock crowed at Peter's third denial. Although our Lord already knew what was on his plate, did it make the betrayals easier to bear? No, not likely so. His humanity made him feel like we do and hurt like we do.

As long as human interactions abound, no one will be immune to hurt and betrayal. We should not let it stifle our friendships or belief in the essential goodness of mankind. I hope Ms Wong glimpses what's really important in life from this brouhaha and emerges stronger from it.

Sinalco

I will think positive. There are things in life worth savouring and going ga-ga over. They might be little events, things of no particular consequence, casual words, the twinkle in someone's eye, the tilt of the lips in breaking a smile, a chance encounter with a stranger or even an empty can of soft drink.....

Last Sunday was rather ordinary. We were at Holland Village for lunch because it had been ages since we set foot in this bohemian enclave. Amazed at the many changes since, we decided to eat at a former dilapidated structure renovated to the current spanking Holland Village Market & Food Centre. This eatery has been touted to give the ritzy wine bars and fine dining restaurants a run for their money.

I was the drink-taker that day because I just had to have my iced kopi-si fix, fast. The hubby ordered "Sinalco". Perhaps I had been living in Mars but for the life of me, I could not associate Sinalco with any soft drink I knew. It was also not displayed on the stall's shelves.

Skepticially, I asked the elderly drinks seller "Uncle, do you have Sinalco?" With a twinkle in his eye, he said "You're really lucky. This is my last can." With that, he went to the fridge at the back of his stall and took out that precious can of Sinalco. "It must be before your time. This is a very old drink, at least 40 to 50 years old." I remember Kickapoo and Green Spot but not Sinalco. That's strange.

As we were finishing our lunch, another elderly man approached us and asked if we could spare him our empty can of Sinalco. To say there was a stunned moment of confusion was an understatement. Two Sinalco encounters within 45 minutes? Was Candid Camera lurking around to make fun of innocent diners?

He was a distinguished-looking man in his 60s and came across as articulate and pleasant. He explained that he had wanted to order Sinalco but the drinks seller had sold his last can to me. He had been waiting for us to finish our lunch so he could collect the empty can.

With a sheepish smile, he confided that he has been a Sinalco lover since childhood and now collects all its memorabilia. He went on to share that Sinalco is one Germany’s oldest soft drinks brand and had surpassed Kickapoo and Green Spot in popularity during his time.

A little chance encounter but so much history to learn! I felt particularly put in my place (and rightly so, I mused) because all I knew growing up was McDonald's and Coke. There is this great big world out there with rich history of food and beverages from different eras and cultures. Sometimes it's not even about the food but rather, a fad of following, an identification, a reminiscence and a slice of history a person wishes to preserve forever.

Just like the elderly uncle and his Sinalco memorabilia. I can't help but smile whenever I think of our empty can taking its place in his home.

Humility and tolerance?

Some of the basest human behaviours emerge as our society continues its progress in science, technology and medicine. Ironical? Yes, but justifiably so.

Today's world leaves no time and place for graciousness and basic humanity. Incidentally, a blog I've been following has this to say about acquiring knowledge "If such acquired knowledge simply serves oneself and demanding the entire universe to circle around one's life, it creates a utilitarian attitude that will serve no one in general and eventually degenerate to a life that hints of arrogance, pride and self-love." Arrogance, pride and self-love. The world is full of them camouflaged as human beings walking, eating, breathing and working among us. In all likelihood, they might even be us.

Where is humility and tolerance? It is in the teacher forced to apologise to her student over a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding that occurred only because she was trying to do her job. A misunderstanding that occurred only because the girl had not liked being reprimanded for her misbehaviour and had gone home to exaggerate the drama.

As a professional, the teacher had called the girl's mother to make peace but was instead ordered to apologise to the daughter. Humility and tolerance is in the lone tear silently rolling down her face as she put down the phone. It is in the quiver of her lips as she bit back the bitter taste of this humble pie.

Humility and tolerance is in a domestic helper bearing the brunt of her employer's tirade....over a dish at dinner. It is in not having a voice to refute the employer's version of the story even though the story was flawed and lopsided. It is in putting up with indignity because of the mouths to feed at home.

Why are all these atrocities committed with nary a night's lost sleep? Why do bullies thrive whereas the weak just suffers in silent desolation? Matthew 7:12 is my one of my favourite verses but does it have a place in our lives today?

The visual of the lone tear snaking its way down the teacher's cheek and the echos of stifled sobs will forever be etched in my mind as a stark reminder of this arrogant, proud and narcissistic world we live in.

My Chinese New Year Musing

Okay, I'm so going to confess this even if it means getting rotten eggs and stale cabbage in my direction. I never did like Chinese New Year and all the festivities associated with it. There, it's finally out in the open!

While I go through the motions every year, the underlying emotions have always been the same. I cannot identify with all the ado about preparing for the festival because most of them are steeped in traditional Chinese culture dating back centuries.

A convent girl married to a Peranakan, my mother could not even speak Mandarin until recent years when she started mingling with church folks from the Chinese ministry. She now watches Channel 8 and spouts proverbs and idioms effortlessly. But decades ago, she was just another baby-boomer who wore James Dean on her sleeve and embraced the Twist more than anything her Fujian-immigrant father could impart to her.

So you can imagine the Chinese New Year scenario in my home as a kid. It was never a big thing with us except for going to grandma's place on the first day (年初一). When I was in the airline, I started to go overseas for the occasion and just chill out in a hotel somewhere. The low-occupancy rate and lull period meant I had more time at the pool and more privacy at the sauna. Truly, I could only withstand so much visual assault of everything-red and the clang of loud cymbals!

With a family of my own now, have I mellowed or should I say.......begun to accept in-your-face loud colours and equally deafening 'Dong Dong Chang' music as part and parcel of being a Chinese? I still cringe when these songs are blasted at the supermarkets but I do not hurriedly scamper away by the middle of 恭喜, 恭喜, 恭喜你! Well, the loaf of bread and carton of milk still have to be bought. Duty over preference now.

Chinese New Year has also taken on a deeper significance because my in-laws are a little more traditional. They would spring clean the house, deck it with beautiful red and gold ornaments and array potted plants along the porch. I especially treasure the reunion dinner on the eve, attending mass together on the first day and the sumptuous lunch at Ah Zuo's (grandma-in-law) house on the second day. This year, I even braved the hustle-bustle Chinatown crowd with my mother-in-law to pick out a cheongsam for myself!

I'm not sure if I can say I've come into my own. I guess I've grown and am less obstinate about a lot of things. Chinese New Year is here to stay. As a Chinese, I have a duty to pass on the tradition to the next generation.

Confession

I went for confession last Sunday. I had gone for Mass early just so as to do a proper confession in the tranquil stillness of the church.

With my trusty notebook in hand, I approached the confessional with much anxiety and trepidation. It is never easy examining one's conscience, let alone telling it to another. The priest was an elderly man who spoke slowly and gently. He reminded me so much of a dad listening to his wayward daughter; compassionate, guiding and accepting.

Of the seven sacraments, it had taken me a little longer to grasp the fullness of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Theoretically, I knew it as a sacrament that embodies God's unconditional forgiveness and mercy. In my finite thinking, I had also wondered if we could just confess our sins directly to God since He is our Father?

On the most basic level, yes we can. In fact, we should confess our sins to God personally and only He has the power to forgive us. But Confession has been instituted as a gift from God that allows us to not only confess our sins to an ordained priest, but to receive the assurance of God's forgiveness and spiritual guidance.....faith comes by hearing, and by hearing the word of God. ....faith comes by hearing, and by hearing the word of God.

Like the last piece of a puzzle clicking in, I finally saw the beauty of God's grace as He had intended when the priest told me kindly that he was the instrument of God, the voice of Christ speaking through him to comfort and strengthen me.

In that confessional booth, I met Christ and received absolution from Him.

Gobama!

I woke up at 5.30am today to the alarm on my mobile phone. As I tried to disable the beep, I noticed an unread message that had come in at 1.39am.

Instinctively, the sympathetic nervous system kicked in. The adrenaline and psychological mechanisms started to brace the body for a fight or flight response. The muscles tensed, the heart beat faster, the breathing and perspiration increased and the eyes dilated all because of an innocent-looking icon of a sealed envelope illuminated on my phone......waiting to be opened.

Not one to savour suspense, I immediately pressed the 'read' key and came upon a message that consisted only one word and ended with an exclamation mark. "Gobama!" Talk about anti-climax.... although I had a fleeting thought of grilling the sender at a more earthly hour later, I could hardly resist smiling into my phone.

The sender was none other than my long-time friend and good brother, Pat Palazzolo. An ex-colleague who has become a firm family friend and confidante, Pat is an airline captain based in San Francisco. He must have sent the message at 9.39am (SFO time) when President Obama was inaugurated as the next Commander-in-Chief.

I know how Pat feels about Obama. I know how my other American friends feel about Obama. I know how the world feels about Obama. His inaugural speech after being sworn in as the 44th US president, was a sobering assessment where America stands and a vision of what it can become.

"Today, I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time," President Obama told a crowd estimated at two million people, gathered on the National Mall in front of the Capitol. "But know this, America — they will be met."

What strong words of comfort from a charismatic leader in the face of uncertainties! Call it coincidence or divine orchestra, the recent US Airways crash into the frigid Hudson has given me a very powerful visual of America balancing precariously on the wings of a huge jet floating on the river.

It is a good visual because like Capt. Sullenberger, I believe President Obama will steer the country and in turn, the world safely onto dry land.

So help him, God. Indeed.

To cane or not to cane?

When I was a new mum still trying to make sense of diapering, feeding, burping and rocking my little infant, my aunt shared this edification with me. She said that children are a gift from God. We as parents never truly 'own' them; we are merely stewards of these little ones.

There are many definitions and areas of "stewardship" but the general one is of "the careful and responsible management of something entrusted to one's care". How do we ensure our children are brought up carefully and responsibly without spoiling them?

An article in Sunday Times (11 Jan 09) and AsiaOne.com (13 Jan 09) talks about caning children and whether it is "a good way to punish kids". It reports parents who resort to the cane and have reaped benefits from it. On the other end of the spectrum, there are many parents who do not believe in the cane.

A quote from the article:

"But the signs are that things are changing, as more parents shun caning for a more communicative way of disciplining. Nearly half of the parents polled by Sunday Times do not cane their children."

I have caned my child a sum total of 3 times. I remember them vividly because I do not favour the cane. I use it only when I really need to enforce a certain discipline after rationalisation, reinforcement, timeout and swatting his behind with my hand fail.

The first 2 times I caned him, I had prepared him for it and swatted his palm twice. Each time I caned him, I followed it up with a reconciliation and discussion on the issue of misbehaviour after the dust settled.

However, the third time happened two years ago when I lost my cool and gave him some huge red welts at his elbow area. That caning session left a deep impression on me. It made me realise how adults can lose control in the fit of fury and not be able to gauge the level of pain inflicted. At the risk of sounding like a wimp, it does hurt me to cane my child. My mother used to say that she felt the pain in her heart whenever she caned us but I never believed it. In my finite thinking as a child, I wondered how that was possible. Now I know better.

No parent wants to intentionally hurt his child. Some do it out of frustrations from life, some out of their own childhood experiences, some do it because they believe corporal punishment works and some do it at the spur of that heated moment.

But to whip out the cane for every misbehaviour can do more harm than good. The child ends up living in fear and thinking that violence is the way to go. What's worse is that he might grow immune to it and become more rebellious. I remember a secondary school mate who boasted that she could just stand there and withstand the cane until her mother collapsed in exhaustion.

Of course, there are parents on the other end who do not even reprimand their children. They adopt the "talk till you drop" method and basically give their children free reign in whatever they wish to do. We just have to flip the newspapers to find out how rambunctious and audacious some of our young are today.

My child attends an all-boy school. By all accounts, it is a great school. But we can't control whom he mixes with and the boys are really an assorted bunch - as varied as watercolours on a palette. My child now talks to me thus "When are we going swimming, sia?", "Mummy, my Chinese book's dog-eared, sia." or "This omelette's good, sia." Gosh! When did I become a "sia" and what on earth is a "sia"?? I later found out that it's a popular lingo among the boys these days.

I believe that when God makes you a steward, he will give you the grace to fulfil your duty. Discipline should be balanced and prayerful. Nothing works more than wonders than a parent praying continuously for his child.

I thank God my own mum is doing that for me everyday. She doesn't have to tell me. I know it in my heart.

Let Go....and Let God

God works in such mysterious and wonderful ways.

An old friend and I were just casually texting each other yesterday when I felt compelled to share a decade-old story that's been weighing on my shoulders the last few weeks. I did not expect any concrete advice or resolution except a listening ear......or rather, just some words of solace through my phone screen.

Instead, we kind of wandered into discussion about faith. From all likelihood, this friend of mine is the last person on earth I would expect a chat on spirituality. He's a great person and a good friend but he's still the last person on earth I would engage with in a spiritual tête-à-tête.

But God works in such mysterious and wonderful ways. In my down moments, He sent someone to remind me of His love and grace even if that someone is a little odd, given the circumstances!

Everyone has his own cross to bear but I believe the message for me here is to let go and let God.

Facebook

I've been busy with my Facebook account lately. Year end is a good time to catch up with ex-classmates, ex-colleagues and generally ex-whatever in life. This cool site has enabled me to find or be found by people whom I thought I'd lost touch with; even those who live in other continents now. The only people I've stubbornly refused to add are my current colleagues despite the fact that my whole organisation is in a frenzy with the Facebook fad. Why?

For starters, I find it a tad strange to be on a 'networking' portal with people whom I see everyday or interact with through email or phone on a daily, if not weekly basis. Secondly, what is it they say about not mixing business with pleasure? Some working relationships are better kept that way.......as a working relationship, that is. In other words, people who know what I have for lunch everyday will not be 'poked', 'hugged' or 'thrown gummy bears at' by me.

But this does not mean that I do not appreciate or treasure my colleagues. I do. I enjoy the teamwork and camaraderie at my workplace. Over the years, some of my colleagues have even become firm friends despite the differences in race and religion. It's just that I believe in keeping work and private lives separate.

I guess I'm a sentimental person. I want to fiercely guard my relationships and reminiscences with old friends and not dilute them with the present. It is amazing to be able to still connect people from 20 years ago and the ability to pick up from where we've left off is priceless.

Life is short and fraught with challenges. There are only 24 hours a day. Besides work, family and daily routines, how much time do we have left to touch base with people in our lives? There are some friends we keep in touch with regularly but to those whom we can't, there's always Facebook. And it's a great invention if used properly and wisely.