Monday, December 29, 2008

Lethal Weapon

First of all let me start by wishing everyone a HAPPY HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Lots have happened since my last post.

Barely 2 months old my daughter Angel have already paraded Orchard Road with its long stretch of shimmering Christmas lights, gained an extra few hundred pounds and started babbling some sort of "swahalli" language which neither me nor my wife can comprehend.

She would go like "Muahhh huaaa Arrrhrrrahhh hmmph.."

Of which my wife would say. "She's saying Daddy is a stupid idiot. Smart girl Angel."

Feigning ignorance over my wife's comments (a pathetically weak attempt apparently), I usually just smiled back at my daughter with my mouth wide open, .. almost like a legitimate idiot.

"Huaaamuah Huaaaa Swuahhha..Hmmph" she would babble again.

"There she go again. She's clearly enjoying the slapstick comedy in front of her." I would say, and my wife would simply nod in absolute agreement.

Comedic or not, her laughter and babbling kept melting my heart, over and over again. I felt like an ice cream in Sahara desert.

My daughter is also a messenger. She's like an msn application, a bridge between conversations commuted by her parents and grandparents. I swear to you this is killing me. Whatever the adults are saying, they are not saying to each other anymore.

Below is simply a couple of the messagers among the list.

1) "Mummy is very tired, Mummy's arm is aching, swelling, itching and rotting.. Daddy will be feeding you." (my wife will snappily knock back into her sleep after talking straight into my daughter's face.)

or this one coming from my mother, her grandma.

2) "Angel is a very good girl hor. She will grow up to be obedient unlike her father, she doesn't buy branded or Armani like her dad. From now on her daddy is gonna have to save up for Angel for her education, medical fees, university fees, marriage dowry.. " (well, what can I say, grandma is reprimanding her extravagant son in front of his daughter, almost directly but indirectly)

How the world changes, they say having a kid changes everything. Suddenly you are an idiot when you smile, but your daughter is an angel even when she poops or drools. My daughter has become a deadly weapon, used against her sleep deprived father wearing a comedic smile. The future ahead suddenly look bleaker, as if the current economic climate isn't sombre enough.

But still, I continue to become a tub of melted Haagen Daz whenever the little one mew in front of me. I will definitely stop at nothing for her, even if I have to give up my favorite Emporio Armani.

Bring it on, you little (lethal) Weeper (Weapon).

Thursday, November 27, 2008

You Are My Angel

Its not often that you get a song tailored for you.

A song was tailored for my little Angel.

No, I did not made that piece of wonderful music, nor did I sing to the tunes of it (my best attempt at opening my vocals will render a KTV outlet an abattoir).

This special song was created by my good friend Paul, a very talented young man, and a wonderful colleague of mine. The chap walked into the office this morning humming like a chirpy bird, produced his PSP and plugged it to the stereo system.

"Ken, I made something new, care to give your comments?" chirped the poker face chap.

"Sure" I said.

...... I look into your eyes....
and see a life that shines......
without your smile...
the skies wouldn’t seem so bright.....

The music played on, and then the lovely chorus :

.... coz you are my angel,
and no one else can lift my spirits high..

How lovely. Its more obvious than my eye bags on a sleep deprived facial skin. Clearly a sweet little song written by inspiration for my newly born baby daughter. Her name is Angel.

I almost wanted to hug that poker face bugger, instead I happily told Paul this song will be a five star rating on my ipod, get me that mp3 file format and the lyrics please.

And thats what I did, and here's to share that great great song that my friend made, complete with lyrics.

Thank You Paul.

Songwriter : Paul Chen
Performed by : Paul Chen
Song Title: You Are My Angel

I look into your eyes
and see a life that shines
without your smile
the skies wouldn’t seem so bright
your’re always on my mind
even through the night
please let me hold you tight

coz you are my angel,
and no one else can lift my spirits high
coz you are my angel
in time you will soar high

I’ll fill your life with my
promises of my time
and eyes will shine
with love all the time
and you just can’t deny
how much we are alike
in time you will realise

Friday, November 21, 2008

Baby Martini

The weather on the beach is nothing short of sunny with a light warm breeze in the November air (weird, given the rainy season..). Flanked by a lychee martini on my left and and a big tub of haagen daz strawberry ice cream on my right, I lay peacefully on a safari bed at the beach front that somewhat seem like Nusa Dua in Bali. Hogging my retinas is a pair of big teary eyes glued to my nose, and then a thunderstorm pursued.. a loud wide howling...

I woke up to the amplified wail of my baby daughter, and the reality of fatherhood.

Alarm clock 5am checked, baby in my wife's arm checked, martini on my left... unchecked. (You get disillusioned when you need to wake up 3 times per night every fucking night)

I am not making this up. Its bloody feeding time, the third time in the night. This is considered charity compared to some nights and particularly one when I dreamed of my daughter barely 3 weeks into her life ballooned to a 10 year old girl in a snap and started screaming at me just before I was about to test drive a red Ferrari.

Yes, the beach, the ferrari, and some occasional thrills of beating people up in dreamland... Call me deprived, still unable to snap out of a life before now. But the fact is, she has arrived. And I know I have to get myself snappily adjusted before she suddenly towers above me with her 10 year old frame demanding her iphone 10th gen simply because her peers in school has got one.

Welcome to toddler land.

I was doing an msn exchange with my friend, a proud father who has 2 girls age two and five under his belt. (pathetic sobs like me don't get much social life nowadays)

"So how, change diaper eh sai boh?" came the question.

"Aiya no problem expert already, just shove toilet paper inside when it gets too wet. Why do you ask?"

"Now you know, no life after children." (replied my perverted friend who apparently wanted me to follow suit his no-life motto)

"You wait see lah, I won't become uncle wan lah. She two year old I bring her go sing KTV." (I said determined to prove the bastard wrong)

"You tok oni lah" (He said, mockingly.. Well.. I can feel it.)

"Three years old I bring her go Starbucks lim kopi" (I continued)


"Four years old I bring her to go Pub ar." (I carried on it a desperate attempt to emphasize how determined I can be)

"Four years old you bring her to Preschool.." (He delivered the final blow)

That was it.

That silent me up. That was crucification. That nailed me. That bastard was an evil parent on vengence seeking to justify his 5 pathetic years of parenthood and forcing it on me.

I once asked him when was the last time he fancied a dining escapade with his wife during a dinner which I pestered him to come out while his wife went on a working trip overseas.

"Orr.. have have, that time her birthday." he said chewing his baby back ribs away.

"Where did you go?"

"Thai food. The one at Yishun."

"Which one?" I asked trying hard to locate a fine dining Thai restaurant in my mind, one that is in Yishun.

"That one at the canteen in the Industrial Park. This ribs is really not bad, did they put black pepper sauce in it?"

Now, I didn't take Mr Parenthood very seriously during that conversation. I was not a father then. I thought how bad could it get. I mean surely I can get 2 days off in a month and reserved the remaining 28days for my kid to nanny care for her. But its almost a month and I haven't been in Orchard road since the day my wife's water bag broke. Not to mention my weird dreams of self-indulgence and double snapping back to reality during the nights. Its been a hellish surreal ride. I would have matched Salvatore Dali in his paintings have I transferred the images of my dream on a sheet of canvass. On the top left of the painting you see Mummy clearly unimpressed with an empty feeding bottle in her hand. On the right hand corner my daughter who is still in her 10 year old self hogging a test driven Ferrari, only to demand more milk from his dad. The clock is ticking away, melting as in a Dali's painting, only to suggest you have 2 seconds to go before she wails.

Ok, snap out of it already, I know. Its not that the world is only made up of one father, me, who is living a life of sleepless nights and a sore yearning for a glass of martini. Days before me, my dad has done it, and so did his dad. The world is made up of millions of father today, they survived. I am no different. After all, ours is nothing compared to the tedious nine months of pregnancy and the intense pain the mothers have to go through during delivery. Its just a few hours short of sleep for us.

So, I have made a few resolutions as we approach this Christmas. Accept the fact that life has changed. Embrace parenthood. Feed that hungry girl everyday without complain. Be good to my wife who gave birth to the prettiest thing in the world for us. (although i suspect that LV bag is coming on top of the be good to my wife list).

Lastly, get that lychee martini someday, shaken or stirred, either way.

Also to my beloved friend, thanks for all the advices rendered on baby care. I truly appreciate it. But still, life can be good with children. If you need a suggestion for a fantastic fine Thai Dining restaurant just let me know, theres one in town, and yes, they offered ribs as well.

Merry Christmas to all fathers and Mums.

From Ken, May & Angel.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Complain, its ok?

Most people who knew me know that I am not really the complain type (I think..).

By that I mean the usual pathetic "complain here" and "complain there" sob who more often that not countlessly perceived the chap on the road driving the BMW is probably an "ah xia kia" (rich kid), and nothing more. What more with his drop dead gorgeous girlfriend by the side.. "ya lah, father must be damn rich oni, if my father so rich I would also be dating that Maggie Q lookalike what."

You may not be surprised that these lot usually have common friends who will gladly pat each other on their shoulders in agreement, "yah, some guys have all the luck, we are simply unlucky oni what.. come drink til no tomorrow..wait there's fly in my beer... I am lodging a complain to Heineken when this phone receives a decent signal, Singtel is next on my list.."

I have met one too many. And that makes me tick. I am not saying that I am one chivalrous dude with a heart of saint, well I admit I do complain at times, but chaps like these are on the verge of extremity. I am sure many of you share my sentiments. You and I, both detest species of such.

So no, I do not think I am the complain type (I still am crossing my fingers), and does not aspire to be one.

But where exactly is the line to draw? In a busy and emerging cosmopolitan singapore society, one has to live up to the expectations of I presume, the society itself. The successes and better paid jobs of your peers can leave your mind jaded, choosing to cross the path of jealousy and perhaps denial. (Because while there are losers on the prowls, there are definitely pricks wagging around.) That aside, the stress and busy lifestyles of modern types does trigger one complain or two of one's wretched soul.

Just do not set kerosene (and fire) on that suave Beemer Convertible.. (can I add that its my dream car?)