Happy New Year

I ought to write a blog post. 29th December 2009, the day is Tuesday, two days away from the 1st day of 2010. This will be my last post for the year, my best year. Not because I am richer, (I never will be, because I remain a pauper despite my vow to expand my bank acct same time last year, the year before, and the year before and before), nor is it because I finally gain an extra kilogram since I last weigh myself, but simply because I have led a fulfilling journey as a father for the year of 2009. It has been extremely and undeniably awesome!

The little one is the reason that kept my spirit alive when lights go dim, she is the first person I want to see in the morning when I wake up, and the person I definitely have to smooch before I doze off to dreamland every night. She is simply, everything to me.

Nevermind the screwed up economic climate that carried through the year of 2009, nevermind the bitching demands from my clients, nevermind my car broke down for the tenth time, nevermind all the woes that hogged some of my worst days throughout the entire year, there is always a healing ritual every day when I head home from work. Although the particular ritual at times involved the inhaling of human poo and occasional physical abuse (she scratched my handsome face once that left a faint scar on my face), her cheeky chuckle and sweetie pie demeanour is enough to melt me like an iceberg in a tropical climate.

And beat this: “PAPA, PAPA bao bao” she would ratter on while extending her open arms as she laughed when I reached home daily from work. Her expression is one that tells a story about a baby who has waited for an entire day for her dad to scoop her up from her feet, to play with her throughout the entire evening, to bathe and sing her lullabies, and smooch her to sleep. NOTHING, I repeat, NOTHING comes close to this! This is Nirvana, this is what I breathed and lived on, this is what makes me weak, and the reason and meaning to life.

Alright, I am intoxicated. It is the missus’s theory. I am mad. The sweet little one has gotten me poisoned in my brain. Because I repeatedly pronounce my daughter the cutest baby in the world when in fact I must have been in the sea of poisoned parents who claimed the same, their baby is the cutest. ...Nah... this of course is not true, because mine is. Alright... I admit that am beyond medical help.

But seriously, I never thought I would be so deep in this. I will like to think I am the macho, heck care, cool headed type, and definitely no weakling to a sweetie daughter. But I am, because despite the crazy hours of midnight waking up to baby wails, the anti-social lifestyle without partying, movies, and booze, this is still unmistakenly, the best year of my life, the best year, the BEST!

I want to shout out A Very Happy New Year to all of you out there! Whether 2009 had been a tough act or a breeze for you, I am sure as with my case, there must be surely something, or a special someone in your heart, or perhaps a special occasion that must have made it a great, great, great year for you people.

HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY NEW YEAR, and a great welcome to an even better year come 2010!! (yeah... the casinos are opening in Singapore in 2010, this time round I am sure I will strike it rich)

*Angel is 14 months old now and she is walking, and I am chasing, mostly in circles...

Your Highness

I finally heave up my lazy ass to type this sentence.

I have been a bad father.

3 nights ago I experienced a phenomenal that shattered my heart crushing every artery that made up the pumping organ. My adored daughter for the first time in her life shoved me away while I attempted to pat her on her back. It was 4.30 am in the morning. I had just finished a shower and dying to crawl into bed after a torturing OT in the office. The past weeks had been rather unforgiving as I pushed myself to work on projects, designing, illustrating, meetings, and all those crap that will make any chap think otherwise on becoming his own boss. In other words, I was a freaking bee that couldn’t spare a second for my daughter. I was an OT maniac, unwillingly though.

The little princess woke up in the middle of the night, and reiterated in protest. She clung on to her mother like she had just seen a complete asshole for the first time in her life. I turned to meet her in her face only to be rewarded with an annoyed look from her while she turned away from me to the other direction. That heart smashing process apparently repeated ten folds until I gave up. Not only did she not want to look me in the eye, she aggravated my heart crushing moment by crying and pushing me away.

I resented eventually, wavering the white flag.

Normally she is like the koala from down under that stubbornly hugged on to you even if an earthquake is shaking the ground at 100 Richter scale. Be it in a restaurant if I have to leave for a moment to pay for a meal, or walking away from her to wash my hands, or any scenario that warrant a two metre proximity detachment, she never wanted to leave me, protesting in wails and tears will fix a 2 month drought.

What exactly happened 3 nights ago?

It was as if she knew. That I was working too much to be bothered with her, leaving her with the poor mum to coax her to sleep every night, that I have been a bloody asshole shoving her aside every morning heading to work, that I neglected her blog updates without even a single pic of her 1 year old birthday.

I deserved to be spanked!

And decapitated, and be ignored by the great, great, great grand princess.

The aftermath? I spent a good weekend with the highness by showering her with all my love and care. Lights, Christmas trees in Orchard road, extra long baths for the kiddo and lots of smooches. So much so the missus had been teasing my sorry ass for the making up effort. I was a pathetic dog and servant to the greatest of greatest, highest of highness, and prettiest of princess in the whole wide world.

So have you forgiven me yet, my darling Angel?

Sorry daddy’s been a prick.

It’s 1.52 am in the morning. I better check on you before the day draws a close for me. And double cross my fingers that history does not repeat itself within a 3 day time frame...

Hang in there dowager, here I come.

*To fellow bloggers, sorry for not being able to visit your blogs lately, lets catch up again soon. S O R R Y.

A Walk In The Park

We survived the challenge on Monday. When I suggested the outing, I had my own skeptic mindset and obstacle to wrestle over. A day in the Singapore Zoo could have been better, or the Night Safari and the Underwater world which we had both conquered triumphantly lugging our gears of baby ration and pampers mercenary.

But we went ahead anyway. However I was still skeptical behind the wheel driving towards the Singapore Botanic Gardens. It would have been so much more interesting catching rabbits and chasing tigers at the zoo with all the animal shows and gigantic elephant poo, but a day in the garden?

I imagine myself rattling to our baby daughter, “Wow Angel, look, its a green leafy tree with barks and brunches”, “Wow baby, another green leafy tree, and this one's got a darker shade of green”, “Hey over here, another tree, wow, also green in color, wow, isn't that cute darling? Wow”.

She may be a baby with a little brain but she's no push over. You show her the same trick twice she'll make an effort to feign interest. You conjure a similar trick one more time and her face will suggest you are insulting her intelligence. And believe me, it makes you look really stupid.

The way it turned out for the three of us, it was a walk in the park, and literally too. It was a splendid day at the biggest park in Singapore. Angel enjoyed herself tremendously although we were sweating like 3 fat pigs in this outdoor event. Spanning across 32 hectares of land, the garden had its root back in early 1822 when it was established as a “Botanical and Experimental Garden” at the Fort Canning Park. But it was only in 1859 that the piece of 32 hectare landscape granted its birth as the Singapore Botanic Garden. Today it is a prized tourist attraction in our tiny island of Singapore.

I hope I had the history correct because I am too lazy to google its proper origin. But you guys get the idea lah, it is a park, a solid great park, made up of er... lots of green stuff. Ok, now that we get that introduction part over let's move on to the pictorial segment of this post.

I wanted this post to be of a photography kind of post, with lots of well taken angled pics sprawling everywhere, but apparently my photography skills never improved since my NAFA days when I had to borrow fellow classmates' shoots to hand up for assignment. Also, armed with an idiot camera and pressing on the “auto” mode at every shot, I guess as much no photography awards will be given. So I ended up with much color tweaking in the Photoshop software which hopefully disguised my lack in photography shoots. But since I had already spilled the beans that I sucked in photography, I do hope everyone will still enjoy with us on our little journey in the garden of ...er... lots of green leafy trees.



Angel's absolutely cute smile!



Angel's cutie pose.



Angel's mummy pulling off a smooch.



Daddy time, hooray!!



Against the backdrop of the Bandstand, known as the “Gazebo”.



Angel in her pram by the Symphony Lake.



Mummy and Angel.



Angel's on the park bench.



Nothing, I put this in to show that the park is not all packed with green leafs.



Daddy time again! Woohoo!!!

Pain

The pain is more than I can bear for the past 4 days. What started out as a normal day last Thursday turn out to be a hellish trip of fucking lower back pain all through the bloody weekend. I could hardly walk. I am surprise at my own threshold, I beared it all through Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and now I am at the fucking point of breaking.

3.40 am in the morning, Monday today. The pain is overpowering, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling sorry for myself. And I haven’t felt this sorry for years. I always thought only wimps feel sorry for themselves, apparently I have recruited myself in the army of sorry sods. I sighed and resigned to the fate of 2 slipped discs bowing low to human structural degeneration.

I have done all I could to keep myself healthy and fit. At least 4 times a week I would waddle in the swimming pool and once a week visit to the neighbourhood stadium. I also make regular visits to my physiotherapy centre and ensured that I keep myself mobile all the time, less idling and more activity is what I need according to every damn doctor and therapists I have consulted.

I really have done my best. But I walked like a waddling duck with a 10kg dumbell tied to its feet for the past 4 days and felt like an apologic dog whenever my daughter cried for me. This is the worst weekend for me, and the only days of my life that I hadn’t make my daughter very happy. I cannot carry her like I always did, and it is breaking my heart. I am serious, my walking speed made me a member of the snail community due to the extruded discs pressing on my nerves sending pain signals to my brain. I felt like shit.

It doesn’t help either that I am currently limping with my right arthritic knee that is equally pissing me off like a pregnant woman feeling the need to visit the toilet every 10 freaking minutes. This weekend had been nothing but shit, elephant pile stacks of shit that comes in tonnes! DAMN!! Chee Bye!!! Nah Beh!!

Ok, I think I am done. I am done complaining and whining in the true essence of a qualified wimp. Let me try to get myself some sleep. Apologies to those of you who have read until the final words of this post, an unconstructive post made up of complains and swear of a pain ridden ordinary chap.

Damn, I am feeling sorry for myself again.

Sorry guys. At least I made it to 2 post entries this month.

hmmmm...

Riding Out The Challenge With My Wife.

I am facing a blank screen trying to type sense of things lately.
Good, now that I had typed the first sentence and currently on my second, I’ll try keeping it going. You see, truth is, I haven’t got much I really want to express on my blog lately. Life is gel of baby sitting, work, meals with dad and mum, in-laws, my routine runs and laps in the pool, and that’s it. My social life pretty sucked these days, so you won’t see any wild party pics in this blog anytime soon. Plus, with my age catching up, I kinda feel like I am out of the social circle made up of young people in their skinny jeans and hip hairdo (I know, not wise to mention anything about hairstyle especially after my ‘Rooster Tale’ post), and I am beginning to feel a little bit of an ‘uncle’ myself. By that I mean feeling a little old, but not old age walking stick clutching old, just... matured old. If you know what I mean.

The problem is, I don’t totally feel comfortable heading into that direction at times. The thought of my screaming kids running wild along shopping aisles while the missus prowl ed the shelves of yet another ‘Toys R us’ or ‘Kiddy Palace’ store is enough to further lengthen another wrinkle across my forehead, and at some point in time the scenario will present itself. There are no two ways about it, kids are still kids, they will misbehave no matter how well taught they are.

The challenge has already begun.

Because Angel is ten months old and a little over, she has a bigger brain now I presume. And that little brain has started to extend it’s capability beyond feeding her information to demand milk and the things that little babies do. That little brain demands that she must grab one of those yellow Paddington bears hanging down from the ceiling of the ‘Guardian Pharmacy’ store. Failing which will trigger a signal that would entail a loud wail from her mouth or something on the line of breaking the weak dad’s heart.

With a sigh, I enlisted the help of a patient service staff who duly took down one of the stuffed bears. The crying and complaining stop, just like magic. I am sure if you ask David Copperfield or Chris Angel to teleport the Statue of Liberty or float in the air they would perform the act like eating cake. But they won’t stand a chance against good old Paddinton bear when it comes to making babies stop crying. This is the sort of thing that is hard, parenting, it’s deep knowledge. Because I have to decide against swiping my credit card or simply putting the bear back to where it belonged. I almost chose the former, but the missus had the good foresight to put the toy back.

She was right and I was wrong, I supposed. If my little girl start to cry and demand her way through all the time, my future would no doubt be the aforementioned, screaming kids along ‘Toys R Us’ alleys and overlapped wrinkles that would shame my neighbour’s bulldog. The curve is steeper than I imagine. Logic vs emotion, which would you choose? When it comes to soap opera Korean dvd serials, the missus wins hands down in the emotion department, you need to slay a tree or present a carton of soft tissue papers to pacify her. But when the real situation such as the abovementioned presents upon itself, trust the missus to play the logic card. Amazing split personality she has. She could be the perfect subject for any psychotherapist.

But seriously, she’s the perfect mum. When it comes to situations like this, she’s the better decision maker. I have no doubt she would also be the better discipline master as well. I, on the other hand gets bullied by my little princess more often than not. Picture this, the feel of warm and tiny palms running down your cheeks, your daughter looks intimately godly at you as she was stroking your cheeks, soooooo sweet... and while you are still savoring the loveliness, you heard a sudden smack, before you knew it the little bugger had drop a slap on your face. By the time you had come to, she’s already facing the opposite direction in her own high, smiling and chuckling away. She does have a knack for pulling off stunts like this.

That would be my little Angel for you currently. A big baby who has started to develope her own opinions, and already picking up her first few steps (with assistance of course). Despite her growth developments, she’s still a tiny baby at heart who is ever so glued to her weak dad. Walk away from her without carrying her when I returned home from work and I am asking for trouble, for she would cry and break my wretched heart. I am cursed for life, willingly.

There is an irony here. The future is coming and I have to embrace it, the aniticipation of learning more things in life and seeing your children grow up is exciting. But at the same time, it also meant I am leaving a lot of things behind, such as my carefree frame of mind which I tremendously enjoy when I was a younger me. Instead, I have to learn to grow up faster than my daughter would, and guide her well in her own path of bright future.

But my first course of action is to go up the mountain and learn from the great master. The one that is emotionally more logical than her husband.

Thank you May, my wife and a great mother, I can’t do this without you.

My Angel

A lot had happened over the past few weeks. My Birthday celebration, Angel was sick again, I caught up with a friend from Switzerland, attended my hairstylist’s new pub’s opening (I didn’t put rat poison in his cocktail in case you wondered, and I have finally trimmed off my parrot tail yesterday), my car broke down and was repaired subsequently (horrible nightmare this one, perhaps will talk about it on another occasion), done a good deed helping an Indian guy who collapsed out of sudden at the IRAS revenue house (poor guy had nobody to help him while he lay flat face down motionless, those fuckwit security guards were all standing from afar whispering “Mati ar? Mati ar? JUST my luck to have walked passed, couldn’t possibly do nothing, luckily a doctor came by to offer instructional advice otherwise I would have to perform the CPR and possibly ended with some curry lingering in my mouth), also flew to KL to help out a friend’s wedding, and so much more.

But what I want to talk about on this post is simply, my daughter. My Angel. My joy. She is the most beautiful thing that had happened to my wife and me for the past nine months. Every night my eyes met her while she’s engrossing in her zzzzzzzz’s, I told myself life without her will be a total meaningless affair. And I know deep down inside my pathethic soul, she will be my biggest bully for the rest of my life. Her demands will always be reasonable, her requests will always be met, and her future boyfriend will be sure to get a bloody horrific hard time from me.

My first trip away from home last month for my friend’s wedding proved too much for me to bear apparently. The entire trip was merely a grueling test for a poor dad, to see how much my endurance measured up, how long I can survive not seeing my daughter, and to track how many times I have to flip through the photos of my daughter on my Iphone before the poor gadget self destruct in protest.

I slept at 3 am on the first night in the hotel. I woke up at 4am, went to pee. 5am, pee again. 6am, pee. 7am, tried to pee. And finally got dressed up. No matter how much eye serum I rubbed underneath my eyes I still ended up a big panda eyed man over the entire 2 day trip. I couldn't sleep without my daughter by the side. I was almost over it when my friend GZ had to bring his 2 daughters to the table at the wedding dinner. (You bloody insensitive prick) That was when I started to flip photos on the Iphone again before receiving a reprimand from another friend, Steve. I then handed the phone to my wife (with Angel's pic still on the screen) and told her, “Take care of my daughter. I am going to pee.”

Life had so much changed over the past nine months. From a carefree chap who only cared about the next season of line up fashion and what next to mod my car, I had become an uncle with his supply of milk powder and a weak heart for my daughter. I am screwed, in a beautiful kind of way of course.

She’s 2 weeks past her ninth month now. Her figure of speech extended beyond gibberish to “papa” and “mama”, her new tricks included rocking her body up and downwards in response to our command of “dancing”. She has also learned the famed flying kiss, the bye bye wave, and the extreme kissing of smooching whichever stuff toy she fancy.

How time flies. Soon she’ll no longer be a baby. She’ll learn to take her first steps in a few month’s time, and she’s going to weigh a tonne judging by her appetite. That means more business for my physiotherapist.

Before that, let’s revisit her early moments as a new born baby with the below collage of photographs, all taken within her 1st week of her life.



Next up, her happy moments captured.



And finally, her greatest moments with a silly dad and a great mum.



Thank you everyone for following us on this blog til date.

Have a pleasant and enjoyable week ahead.

A Rooster's Tale

When viewed from the side, it looks like a cross between a parrot, a hedgehog, and a rooster. Meet it head-on frontal, its a swoosh of broom swipe trimmed to resemble a gigantic paint brush. The back facade is fine art at its best, it is an installation art form made up of an entangled load of farm hay. It is designed to make parents nag and propel hair clay companies to another year of indecent profit. Yes, this is my new haircut and the reason to my sore arms and neck. Arms because I have to spend five minutes every fucking morning pushing those damn strands up so that it will not be mistaken as unkept grass from Lim Chu Kang Cemetery. Neck because laying on a head rest is now history as doing so will result in forfeiting all the morning efforts in styling the hair. Vanity has its price.

Creative people can sometimes snap. Inspirations come and the sense of adventure clouds practicability. I am talking about my hairstylist, not me, who coincidently shares the same name as I do, Ken. (I will like to be seen as the victim here) I know I can be adventurous when it comes to personal style of grooming. Like the time when I had my hair touching down on my shoulders that resulted in an SIA air stewardess mistakening me as a "miss" instead of "mr", and the auntie who offered me to co-seat with her on the bus and then frozed dumbfolded when I turn to meet her eye to eye. She probably had at that moment met the "ugliest female" on the planet. I have done so many different hair styles all these years but never this rooster head. This is on par with the punk level. This positioned me alongside the "Ah Beng" demographic. Hang a gold chain on my stiffened neck and pop a cigarette in between my lips and I can start collecting protection money.

It was so bad my adored daughter could not recognise me when I first came home after the snipe. She had her mouth wide opened with an unsure look for a good ten seconds or so and then turned towards her mum for confirmation whether the punkster would be her father. That repeatedly happened for a few times before she finally got settled down and resigned to the fact that her vain dad is a hopeless case of a 35 year old man trying to look a punky 25 years in age, and obviously one who sucked at it.

"You look like a Lao (old) Ah Beng!" - My mum's comment.

"What kind of hairstyle is that wearing on your son's head?" - My dad's comment towards my mum.

"This hairstyle is ok. On it's own." - My wife's comment.

"And certainly not the kinda hairstyle for a man of your age." - My wife added.

"Siao Kia (crazy punk). One of those crazy idiots on Harley Davidson bikes." My wife further added.

There were other hurls of unkindly comments which i shan't continue to elaborate. They were all under the same category of insults and verbal abuse anyway. Truth is, to a certain degree I have to admit these accusations sounded all so true. I am no
longer in my freakin teens to slice stares in a parrot hairdo, and my wrinkles definitely doesn't match the wavy spikes. My "chao bin" (smelly face in hokkien) escalate the "Beng" factor even further. So, am I doom??

Nah. More than a week had passed since the Ah Beng invasion to the household. The world had finally resumed it's norm. Because my mum had apparently been hoaxed. (I told her a lie, that I would trim the parrot off my crown). As for my dad, comment no. 2 never left my mum's ear but it has been turned into a deaf ear anyway. My wife? She's liking the hairdo now. All woman fancy a little bad ass attitude in a man anyway right. And that is the reason why girls fall for bad boys right. Well, yes, of course... except that I look like an over aged 'Beng' instead of a suave 'Bad Boy' in his masculine persona. I merely said that to humor my own pathetic self. So don't you all go puke in the toilet bowl.

My nonsensical analogy aside, matter of factly, it is a simple case of getting used to. Over time, hype and shock spins away with the rotating hour and minute hand eventually. So, the moral of the story? It doesn't matter what the heck you did to your hair, skin it, dye it pinkish with a dash of electric blue, or model it after a porcupine and garnish it with a rooster's tail, all verbal insults will die away over time. Instead, go with NIKE's gungho attitude, "Just fuckin' Do It!"

And this is just what I am going to do next up, the porcupine head! Join me anyone?

Sorry about the 'F's. Eh hello! You are talking about "Ah Beng" here leh!!


*I wrote this on a bullshitting myself context. I ain't gonna do another funk head. I am just venting my insecurities away. I have to give credit to the missus who had been a kind support so far on this issue although a little too shocking for her to handle initially. I am also beginning to like this hairstyle of mine. Did I mentioned I will be coloring it at the salon tomorrow? Just pray that the outcome isn't a chin cheong gold!! So I guess the true moral of the story is, ultimately I am still a vain bastard!! HAHAHA!