Instant Noodles..... Instant Love

Long, silky strands curl around your fork effortlessly; glistening with a coat of golden sheen and fingers of rising steam loaded with indescribable promises. The nutty fragrance of toasted sesame oil reaches your nostrils even before the noodles touch your taste buds. Intoxicating. Comforting. Home.

My all-time favourite food - the humble instant noodles. What? I hear a few mumbles and can probably spot a few raised eyebrows. The ubiquitous packet of instant noodles that costs less than a dollar is your all-time favourite food? Yes. It is my comfort food; not caviar, not foie gras and certainly not Dom Perignon.

A 50-year-old invention, I say instant noodles is the best thing next to sliced bread. In fact, I would choose the inconspicuous packet over bread anytime. It perks me up when I'm down; it fills my stomach when I'm hungry and too lazy to buy takeout or too inconvenient to order delivery. It is also my travel companion. I have not heard of any Singaporean , Japanese or Korean frequent traveler who trots the world without the packet or cup of comfort strands stashed deep into their suitcases. Instant noodles is home.

Of course, it has often been criticised as unhealthy or junk food. A single serving of instant noodles is high in carbohydrates but low in fiber, minerals and vitamins. High saturated fat or trans fat is found on the noodles as they are fried during the manufacturing process. It also contains large amounts of sodium and monosodium glutamate in the soup base. Why then, is it so popular the world over from Argentina to Ukraine to Asia to the U.S.?

For whatever it's worth, it is a food source that's easy both on the palate and on the pocket. It has been touted as an economic indicator as the sale of instant noodles the world over rose steadily in 1997, following the Asian Financial Crisis and again in 2009, the global economic downturn. With rising inflation and the soar of food prices today, will we see a surge in instant noodle sale again? Likely, I think. Very likely.

Economic reasons aside, I believe people's love with instant noodles stems from its versatility.It is fast and tasty. It is also easy. It can be eaten on its own, with condiments or as a full-fledged meal with egg, meat, slices, vegetables....the works. It can be served soup, dry, semi or fried. I love it all.

Well then.....as a lover of convenient noodles, I must be mindful of all the lowdown and potential health hazards, right? Yes, I do. So here are some cooking tips to have our noodles and eat it:

1) Boil the noodles in a pot of water till they are cooked
2) Remove noodles & pour away the water which contains wax
3) Heat another pot of water till it boils
4) Place cooked noodles into the pot & shut the fire
5) Empty the packet of seasoning into the pot of hot water

Welcome home and Bon Appetit!!!!

How much do I love you? Let me *hug* the ways....

I hugged 4 people yesterday and each hug gave me a different feeling.

I hugged my son before he left for school. It was not the usual hug I would give him. This one was long and intense. Reassuring. Reaffirming. It had to be because we had a big fight the night before. With his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, he pinned his cheek against my chest. He needed to know that he was still loved despite everything he had said and done. He was. And that hug validated and reaffirmed it for the both of us.

At my school, I noticed a Nursery 2 girl sprawled on the floor sobbing her heart out. Her teacher was at the other end of the classroom telling a story to the class. I then found out that she had been crying for sometime, refusing to be comforted simply because she had wanted to make a point to her parents that she did not relish coming to school on her birthday.

I sat on the floor next to her, scooped her up onto my lap and just rocked her gently. I felt her body soften and the sobs subside. She burrowed her face into the crux of my neck and draped her arms around me in an embrace only a 4-year-old could muster. It was tight but childlike. We held onto to each other on the floor for a long time. I think the rhythmic rocking calmed her. I then combed her hair into place with my fingers, dried her tears and brought her to sit with the rest of her classmates. She was subversive and intent on the story-telling when I left the classroom.

In the late afternoon, I met a friend, my soulmate.......who understood all my anxieties, fears, frustrations and weaknesses. We hugged and held on for a long time. I needed the reassurance. I felt the love of friendship; the grace of God through this hug. I knew that I did not have to pretend to be composed or happy or strong then. I knew I was treasured for who I was; whether I was up or down. I felt loved.

At night, I visited my mum in the hospital. She started to tear when she spoke of her pains and mortality. I reached out and put my arms around her. It was not something I would do lightly because my mum seldom hugged me. We would hug maybe once or twice a year on occasion but never this spontaneous. As I held her, I could feel how frail and bony her body was. She has lost so much weight. Why didn't I notice it before? Has age ravaged her and I couldn't even tell? I couldn't reconcile the robust and loud woman she once was to the painfully frail image I saw before me. Am I going to wait till she's gone before I can tell her how much I love her?

Four different hugs in a day.............four different emotions. But all good. All made me reflect and take stock of my relationships with people and how I can give and receive freely just by reaching out.

It's all up to me to take this gift further.

The Finish Line

A conversation I had on Friday night has entrenched itself onto my thought recesses. It has sunk its sharp claws onto the cerebral cortex and is gnawing its way into the subliminal; reflecting, probing, investigating. I know it was a ruminative question and no concrete answer was expected. Somehow, I can't help but wonder about it too.

Do nice people finish last?

Anyone who has watched 'Survivor' or 'The Apprentice' will know that beneath the fancy trappings of teamwork and camaraderie, it takes a lot of grit, determination and sometimes pure cunning to emerge the winner. It can seem like getting ahead requires putting your interests above those of others and capitalizing on the misfortune of others.

Look around us and we can see that some of the nastiest folks end up successful while those who try to abide by the rules only live mediocre lives. It does seem that the nicer you are, the harder you fall. The meaner you are, the further you get. Where's the justice here?

I have no answer for that. I only know that the immensely successful folks invariably have a certain viciousness about them. It could be the edgy outlook in life, the cold glint they wear behind their Prada shades or the hard-as-steel emotional fortitude they have painstakingly cultivated. They might be warm and nurturing in their private lives but they would never let the corporate world see that vulnerable side of their psyches. I know of people like that.

The next question is whether these people are born that way or does environment have a part to play? It's now back to the 'nature versus nurture' tango many psychologists and theorists have mulled over, researched and tried to unravel through the decades. I believe it's both genetics and environment. Our personality develops from its original genetic component. People are predisposed to have certain personality traits from birth. The environment will either augment, enhance, or stifle those natural characteristics.

I have been in situations where I did not make the right decision because I was afraid of the repercussions. Or made difficult albeit rational decisions but was later seen as unyielding. Where do we draw the line?

Whether we are predisposed to be tough or nice or whether the environment has shaped us in either direction, I believe everyone of us have our own crosses to carry......even the toughest person sometimes grapples with priorities and life-changing decisions. It is then down to a matter of prerogatives and convictions how we want to live our lives. To me, being at peace with myself is more important than how successful I become.

I also do not think that nice people finish last. They only seem to be lagging behind because they stop to reflect and help others along the way. They are in touch with their inner consciousness and they know that they will leave a legacy. They will be remembered for the lives they touched rather than the million-dollar deals they have closed.

Out, You Offensive Heels!!!!!

My 11-year-old son had been threatening to throw all my high heels away and finally did so yesterday. He read it on some newspaper that prolonged use of high heels can cause problems from hammer toes, bunions to irreversible damage to leg tendons.

But every woman should have a basic pair of high heels, right? These heels (killer heels, no doubt) that make us look oh-so-glamorous, first became popular in the 30s although they were more suited for special occasions. Today, a pair of heels is practically de rigueur for any woman worth her salt.

Yes, I know. Research has shown that a third of women who wear high heels injure themselves while falling in their heels. The posture is also compromised when the whole body is thrown out of alignment as the heels are forced to be higher than the toes. Many women suffer a shortening of the tendon because the upward tilt of the heel tightens the tendons and they become stretched and painful.

With such strong medical reasons, can I blame him for exercising tough love on me? He'd been at my back the past month but did I listen? No, I just brushed him aside and continued wearing my heels everyday. All because I was used to the high-heeled look and woe to me if I had to walk down Raffles Place with flats!

Despite his month-long nagging, I was shocked to see that my shoe rack was swept clean of heels this morning. Did he really throw away my Nine West, Charles & Keith and some other cute heels with equally cute sounding names? I made a lot of noise and complained that I had to spend money on new shoes now. He just shrugged and said it was better to spend money on new flats (key word: flats) then go for medical treatment in later years.

I couldn't believe it but I was touched. Okay, a compromise was then made. He admitted he did not throw them away after all (PHEW!) but would safe-keep them for now. I would be given a week to sort myself out and get decent walking shoes although I would still be allowed to wear those heels once in a while.

Now, who's the parent and who's the child here?

Add and Subtract (I mean......Delete)

I just deleted someone from my mobile phone. With a few tabs of the keypad, the person is gone from my contact list.....possibly forever if I don't ever reinstate her number. It had seemed so easy. But was it really?

In today's digital world, adding and deleting friends on Facebook, MySpace and other social websites are as routine as breathing and eating. Many relationships are reduced to a profile picture or a string of numbers. Gone are the days where friends would talk on the phone for hours, meet up over coffee or just generally hang out to build that relationship.

It was harder to 'un-friend' someone too. For closer friends, we had to physically and responsibly iron out the differences or risk the end of a relationship. Doing so sometimes turned the table around and the relationship became stronger. Today, a click of the mouse and the contact is gone. Some people won't even realise they've been deleted because they have hundreds and thousands of 'friends' anyway.

While the actual act of deleting this friend's contact seemed easy enough, the decision behind it wasn't. For a long time, I had agonised over whether she was a friend worth keeping. We had a good friendship and fantastic chemistry but things have happened to make me believe she was just a good-weather friend.

I hold no grudge against her because she has technically not done anything to hurt me. I just want to stay clear of people who inflate their egos at the expense of others. I guess I don't appreciate being on an emotional roller-coaster ride. I know I will not shun her if she calls or messages me but I will not be the one to initiate any communication henceforth.

Not one to forget friendships I've forged, I know I will always remember her. I guess I just needed a little reprieve from the feeling of not being appreciated. I'm not sure if I will ever 'add' her again .....but I know for now, she is deleted and shall remain in oblivion as far as my mobile phone contact list is concerned.

I Forgive

I started out this Lent with great human aspirations. I had an objective. I wanted to be selfless; I claimed to want to focus more on Christ and less on a person..... I had wanted to overcome a particularly tiresome situation through my own strength but in the end, I failed. I found myself doing exactly the things I set out NOT wanting to do.

But all is not lost. While I wallowed in my own faithlessness and despondency, I realised that in His own time, God made me see that through this situation, walls surrounding me were breaking away. I can finally tell myself that a deep disappointment I held against someone else at another time; in another place has been broken away. I can finally say I forgive.

How these 2 incidents and people involved in them are connected escapes me but I know this is God's way of saying He works in amazing ways. I feel free. Eight years is a long time to nurse a disappointment but the ability to forgive is extremely liberating!

This Lent, I learned that I can only do so much through my own efforts but with God's grace, nothing is impossible.

*A-CHOOZ!!*

I hate to be down with flu and cough. It's one of those things that make you so ineffective and a natural germ-carrier to be avoided at all costs.

I can recall with vivid clarity when the virus struck. It was the morning of 21st December (Monday) as I sat in my freezer-like office, I felt the nose getting clogged up and then it started to drip. I bought some over-the-counter cold tablets and thought self-medication would work. It didn't. The runny nose came on full force and I had to see a doctor a week later on 28th December (Monday). The medicines included cold tablets, cough mixture, phlegm-dissolving solution and antibiotics.

Although not completely well, I managed to usher in the new year with some clarity but lost my voice on 6th January (Wednesday). This time, I had to take a day off work to see the doctor and rest. The medicines now included anti-inflammatory tablets, cold tablets and cough mixture, Dhaseyl. However, the cough got worse over the next 2 days and I went back to the clinic on 8th January (Friday). The doctor changed the cough medicine to Fedac. He assured me I would get better before the weekend was over.

Again, I did not. I went back to the same clinic on 11th January (Monday) after work. This time, another course of antibiotics was introduced with a stronger cough mixture. But the cough became worse, particularly at night. I was getting desperate because my lungs seemed to be on the verge of explosion every I coughed.

Finally, I took some time off work today to see another doctor in a remote part of the island. He is reputed to be very good at curing coughs. Okay, let me try it out. I have just taken my 2nd dose of medicine and the cough seems to be letting up somewhat but the nose is still runny.

With excellent bedside manners, the doctor had insisted that I take 2 days of medical leave although I had tried to bargain for just one day as there was really too much work to clear. He was adamant and said that since I had been coughing for 3 weeks, it might lapse into pneumonia if I did not rest well to recover completely.

In a way, I'm glad I'm 'forced' to rest at home. Work never ends and if I continue to push myself despite being sick, I will never recover well. I guess I will now just learn to just snooze the next 2 days away!

Twenty Ten - New Year, New Hope

I had wanted to attend New Year's Day mass at IHM but I couldn't find any indication of mass time from its website last night. What if I went there and there was no mass? Or perhaps I could go to St Anne's 8am mass but I prefer the worship environment at IHM. A little tarry here; little indecision there......... I ended up over-sleeping well into the new year. Another "spirit is willing but flesh is weak" scenario? I can't start the new year on such frivolous resolve, can I? No, I must make it a point to attend tomorrow's morning mass.

2009 has been a challenging year for me. Plucked from comfort zone and being thrown into new territory at work has zapped me of my energy, time and spirit. In addition to unrealistic targets and KPI, I have to unravel the backlog from the past year. Staff management is already challenging on its own but couple it with 25 ladies of different age groups (from 20 to 64), mindsets and educational levels; I feel like walking out the door on some days and never come back. Someone else can have the hot seat. Thank you very much.

I know why I was picked for the job. I do not think I am better than my peers but I have been known to be resilient. In the macro scheme of things, that's great for the company. But privately, who knows how I struggle with time management for my family and on a personal level? But I must count my blessings too. I have a good superior who listens to my gripes and woes on some days. I have generally good support from the staff although there are some black sheep to keep me on my toes and not get too complacent.

In 2010, I resolve to be positive and treasure my relationships more, whether spiritual, personal or official. There might be organisational changes within the year but whatever it is, I shall stay focused on finishing my course by March and doing the best I can. However, before I can embark on the aforementioned resolution, it is often said that we can't seriously seek God from the comfort of the armchair but on the knees. I shall start by rousing myself from lazy slumber tomorrow morning and attend the 6am mass!

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?