Just Another Thought I Pondered

When I was a teenager, the world we live in operate on faxes and telegrams. There was no internet, and "Cyberspace" is a term that sound like some sort of hollywood movie. The favorite haunts were Mac Donalds and Burger Kings. Starbucks Coffee have not even been bought over by Howard Schultz its founder, and there is certainly no such thing as 'people watching' in a cafe. Plus paying 6 bucks for a cup of 'kopi peng' is a luxury most of us cannot afford. Heck, a combo meal at Mac Donalds cost less than 4 bucks in those days.

The youngsters today have it all. They carry mobile phones that send messages across continents, have never operated a cassette walkman, while mp3 and IPOD is the standard denominator in their dictionary. They hogged cafes like their living rooms and smoke cigarettes at the age of ten. They might have invented the term "alcohol bingeing', and they prowl the roads like they paid road taxes more than the capacity of songs that their multi-gig IPOD can hold. Some of them can even be hard to fathom.

Unusually hungry straight after dinner on the first day of Chinese New Year (those set meals in Chinese Restaurants during the CNY period doesn't exactly tickle my tastebuds), I drove to a movie mall frequent by youngsters, Orchard Cineleisure, for a takeaway Burger King meal. The green man in the traffic light has turned red, and the crowd dispersed fast on the walkway only to reveal 2 teenagers taking their time strolling on. I rested my hands on the steering wheel and waited patiently for those 2 chaps to cross over while the car behind me is increasingly finding my car bumper as attractive as a canine's ass.

For easy reference, I will name them Mr Moonwalker and Mr Colorblind who obviously cannot differentiate green from red. Watching them stroll across the pedestrian walkway is like smoking weed and making you witness everything in slow motion signature of John Woo's style. With pressure building up from a salivating car behind my ass, I tap a quick horn behind the wheel.

Mr Moonwalker fast paced himself a little, but still enough to annoy because concubines in Qing Dynasty movies walked faster with their feet binded. A more dramatic Mr Colorblind still in the middle of the road gave me a stare and waved his hands across the walkway still holding a half-smoked cigarette. He must have muttered something which I am guessing is hokkien swearing. I pointed towards the red man sign suggesting he should go back to kindergarden for some coloring lesson. Clearly displeased, he lingers in the middle of the road displaying gangsterism by swaying like a monkey.

Now, I know you might probably be looking for some drama that might involved an uncle slapping 2 teenagers thereafter. It did not happen. I stepped on my accelerator and moved on. Compliments of my wife who reminded me that there is a baby at the back of my car. And it is a small matter to begin with anyway, I probably wouldn't mind if there were no cars behind me, but because of those 2 jokers I had road hogged the entire stretch of cars. But I have to say I was very agitated for a moment, holding back my fume I parked my car and promised my wife I wouldn't beat anyone up. I got us some burgers and drove off.

Those two looked barely 18 to me. They were in fact, boys who have not even entered the army for national service. And yet they behaved like they own the world. I was concerned. Although rebellious teenagers are spotted around everywhere in the world, especially in the west where they went about their killing spree by firing machine guns into crowds, I find the trend escalating in Singapore. News of teenagers beating people to death locally have tolled up over the years.

My personal observation simply in Singapore context alone is that, things are getting worse. I have witnessed fights that erupted simply by a mere stare while sitting in a coffee joint. And these kids were mostly in their secondary schools. I have also witnessed kids talking back to their parents in total disrespect. Their behaviour suggest a total revisit in our education system and uninspiring parenting.

A recent article I read suggested these are the "Generation Y" lot, intelligent and well informed with IT knowledge. They know what they want and usually have a short attention span to things that interest them, simply because, well they are too intelligent. The article also suggested that to keep the 'gen y' nation in your workforce you will need to constantly give them new and challenging roles or else they will move on.

I say screw it.

Because whether they are 'gen y' or 'gen x' or whatever, basic courtesy and personal conduct of behave still matters in life.

I did not live through the times of hardships like my parents did. But they taught me well, instilled mannerisms and dignity in my approach towards life. I was brought up with confucious values as a Chinese descendant. I doubt many of these kids bother, afterall our fast advancing society had diffused our roots and cultural values, opting for one that is perhaps more westernised. But still it is not an excuse for impoliteness, a lot of ang mohs are in fact cultured and polite people.

Back at home after some burger dining in car, I looked at my baby daughter who was sleeping like an angel in her cot. I am sorry the word 'angel' is so overused in my entries that it is probably a cliche now, but that is only way which best describes her at such an adolescent age. That is until she grows up to be a teenager who has to succumb to peer pressures and what not.

For a moment, I shuddered at the thought of my little girl talking back at her dad. But that is a little too far in the future for me to anticipate. For now, I'll just watch her grow up with joy and promise to instill to her the very same values that my parents instilled in me.

And for the first time in my life, I felt old, like a father, a parent.

Pissed

I am not talking about my daughter's urine.

I am talking about an adjective that is used in a vulgarised manner. If you key in "Pissed" in dictionary.com, it is described as : "Used in the imperative as a signal of angry dismissal", among the many other interpretations.

Or alternatively the web dictionary suggest the noun :Pissed Off.

Honestly, I don't really give a hoot. To me it is best described as "Fuck Off". Well, for added emotional agression, I would rather delved into the international four letter word.

The day started pleasantly on the 2nd day of Chinese New Year. I woke up to a hungry wail of my lovely daughter now 3 months and few days old. I fed her, played with her, bathed her, dressed her, acted out a comedic performance in front of her to make her chuckle and giggle at her father who is increasingly mutating into a jelly fish (Yes, I still turned soft when she laughed and smiled at me, every single time).

Barely walkable thereafter, the 3 of us (including the missus of course) commenced our special "pai nian" day trip. A special day marked this year's calendar for the CNY because of our newly arrived daughter. Now, if there is a business proposition most profitable under the current screwed up economic situation, then it must be to bring a baby out for some ang pow collection. The lucky girl had already made a tidy sum in a single day while I lament at my undernourished bank account.

During this time of the year every year, I will make sure I visit my best friends and their family. And in turn they will pop over to my house and we can catch up with one another and reminiscence the good old days of peeing on roof tops and throwing urine bombs to our neighbour's houses. Not exactly a proud and heroic childhood, but least it was fun and we got to save some toilet paper.

This year is eventful because most of us brought our kids along, and also because my father hogged on to my friend's one month old baby boy refusing to give him up to his proud parents.

"Hey look, this is my grandson", my dad who is still carrying the boy in his arm said to my relatives.

Now, jokes are best kept funny when conveyed once or twice. Anything more than that is pushing for a tight slap across the cheek.

"Hey look, this is my grandson", chuckled my old man again to another relative for the 98th time in 3 minutes.

He may be a grandfather, and he most undoubtly brought his son up to be the fine young chap I am today, but he still deserved a tight slap, which I of course didn't paved it on his face. Well, afterall the old man is my father. But if you ask me again, yes, he deserved a tight slap.

I can understand the older generation for the infatuated idea of a grandson instead of a granddaughter, but it has gone so bad that my friend's wife came over and gave a tight slap on my shoulder, "Ken, you better buck up and try harder, your dad keeps holding on to my baby".

"Why, because he is a boy?", I asked.

I can't excactly remember what she said in return, but in an emotional blurt-out I retorted, "That is why my brother always FUCK him. What is wrong with a granddaughter?"

I think my friend's wife mentioned something about the old folk's mentality of wanting for a baby grandson, but I was so blinded by the Piss that was bestowed on me and added again, "Thats why my brother always FUCK him."

Now, I must mentioned that my younger brother who also have an adorable baby daughter of nine months old is a true champion because he really fucked my dad whenever this boy/girl issue arises. I never felt the need to do so until today.

I was pissed off, very, and totally.

A slight embarrasement pursued after my blunder to my friend's wife but it was too late for any action of recovery. I chosed emotion against a logical diplomatic reply. But I was glad I did, because I realized I loved my daughter so much more than I thought.

The night settled with my friends going home and I headed to my wife's relative encavement of a 5 room HDB flat for dinner. And while the relatives were smashing majong tiles and soaking prawns in the steamboat, I held on to my daugther tightly in a separate airconditioned room. She looked at me with beam in her eyes and seemingly knew what I had gone through during the day. With more chuckles and smiles, she mewed and stretched opened her arms, I had mutated into a full-fledged jellyfish again.

Thoughts raced through my head swiftly, the events of the past few days, weeks, and months. And I thought to myself, I am truely blessed god gave me and my wife an angel to behold.

Then I suddenly have an urgent urge to pee. The little started crying, it could be feeding time again, and quickly called for my lovely wife.

I Have Nothing to Write About, Again.

When I started blogging one year ago, I titled my virgin post "I have nothing particular to write really".

Fast forward 2009, I still have nothing particular to write about.

I contemplated writing about my shopping trip to Vivocity, or my shopping trip to Isetan Orchard Rd, or my shopping trip to Takashimaya Orchard Rd, or my shopping trip to CK Tangs Orchard Rd, or my shopping trip to Paragon at bloody Orchard Road.

Screw it.

You can't go anyway, do anything, or eat anything with a 2 month old baby on a pram.

Planning a dinner with my wife, I suggested a wonderful evening escapade at Rochester Park, with images of serenity and fresh air alfresco dining in my head.

"Smoke. Got people smoke there. Its open air. Got smoking area there", my wife reminded me.

"Oh right..", I put a big cross for Rochester Park in my head. After all, what if the little one pooped, where are we going to change her diaper? On the bloody bar table? In fact I put many crosses everywhere. The places are either too crammed, too noisy, too smoky, too far, too unfriendly, too expensive ( I added this one in for myself, my daughter has got nothing to do with this).

And if we seek some entertainment on a weekend, skip that cinema, forget about karaoke, and ditch that idea of swooning in a bar for a lychee martini. Instead, pop over to a shopping mall in Orchard Road or a shopping mall in Orchard Road.

Now, before you slap me silly for making you guys go round and round in fucking riddles, please hear me out.

Its all true, its proven, there is no social life after kids. I have succumbed to my evil friend I mentioned on my earlier post who insisted life after kids is as good as walking to a nearby police station and stealing a policeman's gun in a dramatic effort to pull the trigger into the head.

Last Christmas, I turned down a party organized by a committee of the university i attended (well, I didn't feel like going anyway). I turned down another from a friend organizing a party for parents with kids (Its call a Play Group. I am not yet ready to join the hordes of uncles and aunties chasing after their screaming children).

As a matter of fact, I can't go anywhere, more so with a one month old baby back then. Except visiting a shopping mall in Orchard Rd. Alright, pull that trigger, I know you guys are dying to stop my whining.

So when fellow bloggers and friends on facebook are blasting posts on this outing and that party that they have attended, I can only post pictures of my lovable daughter sleeping in her pram probably in an air conditioned mall. However, that serene moment alone is already worth more than any alfresco dining under the moon.

Yes, even with a ice cold martini in hand.

Sorry guys.

This post is yet another one about my little angel, daddy's little girl.

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).

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

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)

"zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz........."

"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.

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?)