Puglia Pontifications

So here I am, snugly seated in a corner of a cafeteria in Bari Central station. We are all waiting for our train to Rome which is scheduled to depart in an hour and will take about 4 hours to navigate the 450+km journey. 

That’s the first thing that caught me by surprise… that even Italy, that I have seen so much of its ruins, have moved into the modern age and its cities are connected by a high speed rail network. My surprise stem from arrogance, or maybe I should say pride of Asia, esp with regards to infrastructure where Asia truly leads the world. On several other dimensions too, I would say that Asia is the world’s benchmark: the economic growth rates, the demographic dividend, the improving governance. And being an Asian who have enjoyed riding this wave, and to a very small extent, also making it, I am naturally happy for my continent and somewhat looking at the past colonial masters with some vindicated satisfaction that we can do it for ourselves. 

Yes, I do pontificate, especially on vacations when work does not occupy my mind. 

Truth be told, this vacation started as work. First in Paris where we had a meeting and then I held my global leadership meeting in Rome, but very soon D & M joined me and we toured the Puglia region together. Puglia? When one enjoys good food and the best restaurants back home all brag of Puglia origins, it truly piqued our interest. So, when the borders open, we quickly made plans to jump onto one of the VTLs (Vaccinated Travel Lanes) that the Singapore government had negotiated and we were lucky we did. Because within a week of D getting here, the Italian government, on account of rising Omicron cases, decided to bar entry from Singapore. We are already in the country and so can tour the rest of it. 

So, from Rome, we took a flight to Brindisi. And picked up a rental car at the airport there and drove directly to Lecce, the so-called Florence of the South. I am not sure where the similarities are as I didn’t see a hugely impressive domed cathedral nor bridges of tourist traps let alone a world class museum! 

However, some of the prettiest seaside towns, Gallipoli and Otranto in particular, are mere half hour drives away.

Travelling at this time has its advantages. First COVID controls have already thinned the crowds and add to that the winter months (with temperatures averaging 10 degrees) meant unspoilt unpeopled photographic opportunities were amazing. 

Some restaurants were closed for the season but we got into every place we wanted to and enjoyed some of the finest this country has had to offer. Everything from the bread (altamura, so i found out online) to the olive oil (we met Pietro Intini, who runs the family business of the same name) to the exquisitely fresh seafood (the baby squid at Opera Prima took the top spot) and new meats (in my case, horse and donkey) all washed up with lots of wine — nearly a bottle every day — meant we never went hungry. And I haven’t even gotten started on the pasta yet (freshly made and we even saw them being made by strong women in the sidewalks of Bari) meant we had a balanced diet at every meal. Yes, I am counting wine as fruit :-)

Then, there is the language. It has got such colour, even drama. Whether listening to the guide yak away with the driver on our way back from Amalfi coast, or the priest at Christmas Mass delivering his homily, our lack of understanding of the words did not prevent us from enjoying the emotions of it. Yes, we managed to attend mass on Christmas Day in the cathedral in Ostuni. I said before that though one may find catholic masses boring with its rites and rituals, there is at least a certain consistency and that meant that every Catholic can follow every mass (except the homily) perfectly well. In my case, I googled up Pope Francis’ powerful homily on littleness: https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/homilies/2021/documents/20211224-omelia-natale.html

At this stage of my life especially, it makes so much sense. The pope himself role modelled his life for all the world to see thus too. That it also resonates with my recent discourses with J and M, which inspired me to do a fellowship on the post-growth world and in particular on state capitalism thereof. 

Indeed, the post-growth world is very much on show here in Italy, and more broadly across Europe. Many surveys have established that the youth no longer feel they can lead better lives (economically speaking) than their parents. There are simply less people being born and therefore less consumers and hence smaller markets for businesses. The properties including some that come with the ancient trullis that adorn the region so beautifully can be had for less than six figures. So there is no real asset appreciation either. But economic growth need not to be main yardstick for success. Again, this is a more European rather than Asian issue. But one that is sure to prevail in the world.

I am reminded of our trip to Matera and where it has been found that since the paleolinthic times, humans have lived here and made their limestone caves in this area their home for over 10,000 years. No doubt, Sassi di Matera must have been something in its heyday but but the middle of the 20th century, it was the shame of the country where the inhabitants lived in squalid conditions with their animals and without electricity nor running water (though they did have a UNESCO world heritage listed cistern system). 

So, how does one revitalise a city like this: it takes a good heart in the public sector (including a strong will of the leader) to re-house the residents and improve the infrastructure and then a good head in the private sector to reinject the city with economic activities… in this case, to turn it into a world class tourist  destinations where global celebrities like Gal Gatot, Steve Perry and Will Smith will come to. And we lucked out being able to stay in the very same cave in the same hotel that they stayed in.

Actually, we stayed in three types of dwellings on our journey: from a cavuo to a trullo to a palazzo. The trullo is a thing of beauty. If the ancient citizens of Sassi practised negative architecture, the farmers on the olive groves of Alberlobello built particularly small perfect homes. We stayed in one and M especially had a nook which she burrowed into like a rabbit in its warren.

Speaking of that long-eared animal, on a 3-week journey like ours, you can imagine some listening and lots of talking. I admit I am not the best listener and am prone to voice my opinions confidently and loudly. One such occasion was when frustrated with not being able to stop for longer in Locorotondo, called one of the most beautiful villages in Italy “Valle d’Italia”, and being hurried along to Ostuni, our next stop, I simply just said that Ostuni is an ugly place. We were all talking about a Singaporean politician, Raeesah Khan, who was caught lying in Parliament and she would say things that are simply untrue and blame it on dissociation, and I guess I had a Raeesah moment myself. Yes, I am not the easiest person to travel with and both the girls had to cope with me and M in particular impressed me when she told D to let me be for a moment as I need to deal with the stress. I guess I work all year round, actually in these COVID times for two whole years, and in this extended vacation, I really wanted things to go perfectly: whether it is to find a place to park or for the luggage to be more manageable.

Well, we were travelling with winter wear for nearly a month and you can imagine that each of us had three bags: large, medium and small. The large ones are about 20kgs each, and the medium and small ones 10 and 5 respectively. So, packing and transporting has to be done well. Thankfully, D is a master of both. And we managed to get them all into a small Toyota Yaris, with one back seat down and bags stacked upon one another. The bags also got onto planes and trains.

The stress of driving in strange lands and on the wrong side of the road is much mitigated nowadays by GPS and in our case, we had got both the old school TomTom device as well as Waze on the handphone. Both guided us well and the journeys were also made a lot better with M’s playlist, including of Italian and Christmas numbers. Speaking of the festive season, we’ve all heard of having a white Christmas. Well, it didn’t snow in these parts but Ostuni (contrary to my throwaway Raeesah remark) turned out to be a rather pretty town and so we enjoyed our White City Christmas moment. Besides entertaining our ears, M also snapped on her camera some of our best moments, whether at meal time or just as we are ambling around town. The credit for the best photo (though cropped by yours truly) however goes to D. This photo captured what holidays are meant to be: taking in the sights, enjoying the journey and making the best of any situation.

Growing

On M's part, she is indeed growing and learning. Her latest entry on her blog (aptly called GROWING) says it well.

Between the innocently ignorant ages of 14 and 16 I prided myself on my inability to cry, extrapolating from it some sense of strength. Nowadays even James Bond films make me tear up, and every time I do, I remember that version of myself, the one with the bluster and the bold illusion of certainty. I like to think that I hold a menagerie of these past selves within me, and I carry them with me wherever I go. From the 9-year-old desperate to get her hands on a computer so she could furiously type, to the 12-year-old willing herself to grow up, to the 19-year-old discovering that she was much less of a hero than she once imagined. Feelings are just feelings and sometimes the old ones still well up and catch me off guard. When I’m sitting cold and hunched over on the floor. The key difference though, now, is me. I laugh at my hot messes and I tell them as stories to friends at the pub. I stay at the party until it becomes fun; I give myself a chance. I eat when I’m hungry and sometimes when I’m full. I take myself out to movies and I take pride in my clothes. I stop running when I feel tired and I remember to breathe. And when I’m feeling low, as the moods come and go, I know it’s all part of the journey I’m on.

Every day I’m learning and burning, I’m unlearning and discerning.

I try to let the sights and sounds of it all pass me by, noticing without latching on. The full moon tonight is shrouded in a halo of light, outshone by the yellow glow of the streetlamp along Walton Street. One golden leaf dangles and drops from the tree, silent and solitary until it disappears among the carpet of autumn beneath my feet.

Agree to disagree

 D & M are like any mother-daughter pairs: they talk frequently and of course have their fair share of disagreeable moments. But unlike many mother-daughter pairs, they find a way to emerge healthily from these moments. And often because of big picture, big person perspectives like the one below.

Sorry I was in the midst of a work call when you called on Fri evening my time, and after that I didn’t return call coz I needed some time to process your new milestone as I wasn’t quite sure what to say, how to say, and I didn’t want to sound overly authoritarian, nor negative, but couldn’t quite bring myself to be supportive coz it is something so at odds with my preference.

Just as you are growing, I too am learning and growing, and in this case, I’m learning how to agree to disagree.

On the one hand, I’m quite glad that you took the bold step to go ahead, and to take responsibility and accountability for something we disagree on based on your own rationale and passion. Glad that you’re doing something independent, and ready to bear the brunt of any comments or perceptions opposed to your own. It is a sign of progress and growth, and confidence.

On the other, I can’t help being concerned about any repercussions, founded or imagined. I worry that this may lead to other forms or locations of other embellishments, which I truly feel you don’t need to have, as you are already a strong, good and beautiful, and an inspiration already to many. 

You see, I’ve been so intimately a part of your growth journey in so many ways, grateful that you’ve allowed me to partake in it through generous sharing of your thoughts, intentions, experiences and escapades, joys and sorrows, that I live through each as if they were my own, feeling each high and each bump with you, so much so that I’m conditioned to worrying about any pain or bump for fear of you being hurt.

But let go I must, for this is just another sign of you conquering the seas on your own. And I do have faith and therefore must have trust that you’re well able to navigate waves to find joy from each crest, and ride out each trough to emerge stronger. Indeed, as Meryl Streep said, what makes you different or weird—that’s your strength. So yes, pick a pretty one, dress up the new mole and turn it into another star. 

photo credit: Amazon

Today’s the first Sunday of Advent, another new year, most fitting for me to take stock, try again and continue to grow in my parenting adventure, to improve my way of agreeing to disagree. It’s the season of hope, love, joy and peace, and I am filled with hope for what’s ahead for all of us, love for and from all of you, joy in all our growth, and gratitude for the peace from knowing we are good with each other and knowing God is with us always.

I am sharing this letter to you with J & V, to thank them for helping me with my processing and learning in their own inimitable way .   

 

Happy Sunday :)

Love

Mom

Quarantine spin: a vicious cycle

received a call at 11am today from ICA: Aruna

informing swab to release test only on Sunday

meaning i can only be released earliest on Monday

which means its 11 days of quarantine

asked for understanding

she was powerless even after 20mins

just wanted to pass on to her superior

feeling hard done by because i abided by days 3 & 7 tests

as informed by hotel, and confirmed by authorities who called to ensure i did

and that i paid them for the test kits

i called the hotel at 11:30 and explained my grievances

and pointed out that i checked in at 9am, not 9pm

therefore spent a full day already on arrival

then ICA officer: Chee Kiang called back at 12noon

retold the situation to him

he was nice but judgmental and ultimately powerless too

used phrases like "you claim" and "I can't do anything"

asked me to call the Hotline: 68125555 

that i deal with it myself

all he wanted to do was to inform re swab test

i managed to get him to send email on my behalf

he seemed reluctant but eventually relented

asked to be copied but he says internal comms

so, i don't know if he did it or not

called the Hotline at 12:30pm.

it was a maze of IVR and took me three tries and 10mins 

just to get to option to speak to someone

was on hold for 20mins before i got to a person: Liyana

who upon hearing my situation said she would pass me to her officer

and 10 mins later she transferred to a National Care Hotline staff

(obviously her officer was wanting to pass it on elsewhere)

at the 30-min mark, Mahindra from the NCH came on the line

i was surprised he was the person who picked up the call 

as i wanted resolution not counselling

incredibly, he kept asking me to call the Hotline

which was the very people who transferred my call to him

yes, i was beginning to lose my patience, but i think i kept my cool

incredibly, for a counsellor, after listening to me 

(or rather not wanting to listen to me), he gave up

😖

so, i called back the hotel staff, Syahfri who got his duty manager Francis to call me back

he says he will help

help

help!

help ......... 

Quarantine 2

 It's the second time in the year that I am subjected to Stay Home Notice quarantine, in a dedicated facility, which in this case is not the home but rather the fairly new JWMarriott South Beach hotel. 

Unlike the first time in April, which followed a trip to Malaysia, this one was after a bit of travel to Malaysia, UK, Germany, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and UAE. So the context of having to quarantine is somewhat coloured by the knowledge of how other countries are managing. 

With the exception of Malaysia (who is frankly playing catch up), other countries notably UK, Germany and UAE have led the way moving their society from pandemic to endemic mode. Once their vaccination rates approach 70%, they had the fortitude to open up their economies and borders, knowing the virus will not be eliminated, that infections will rise (esp with the highly transmissible Delta variant), and more people will get sick but not so much to overwhelm their health systems capacity. In other words, it can be managed more like the common flu. 

You can see from pictures in the previous post the extent of gathering allowed. It means restaurants and tourist sites can function. In the UK, they even allow cinemas and theatres to open and I went to both to enjoy the game changing No Time To Die and a third viewing of Hamilton!!! Masks are even optional in these crowded spaces.

Yet 11 swab tests later, I am still fine - testing negative all the way.

But upon arriving in Singapore, the scene was one from the movies. Workers dressed in PPE suits directing passengers in single file to their respective areas in an empty airport, once one of the world's busiest. The question that niggle on my mind is why? These are smart people who can understand the epidemiological data that vaccinations only partially prevents infection but is highly effective against serious illness and deaths, so why the panic when infection cases go up? 

Often government decisions are tempered by politics. Is this the case here?

Such are the musings of someone stuck in quarantine for the 5th day. I am at the halfway mark of this 10-day period and like the last time, I fill my day with lots of meetings. It helped that there is an Global Operating Committee meeting (on Munich time) these few days that runs till midnight which is perfect since I am still jet lagged and my body clock is still in Europe. My assistant has done a good job of setting up 10 calls per day spread over a 10-12 hour period.

After the calls, I would settle into Netflix and Youtube (talk shows, watch channels, news programmes) and fall asleep around 5am (or 11pm Munich time). And I would wake up by noon the next day. I will need to start adjusting my hours over the coming days. 

In between my meetings, I would  get some work done and clear emails. And of course, I chat and eat (a functional packed meal in plastic boxes) and drink (at night) as well. Got myself a bottle of Hendrick's and a bottle of Chianti upon check in and both are sustaining me well so far... and may also be prolonging my cough. So thankfully, the days and nights do pass quickly. I wonder about those who don't have the ability to work remotely like me. What do they do the while away the hours?

In my case, I paid for a larger room... a suite, to be precise, with a separate living and sleeping area with a large bathroom in between. It's not the size of the room per se but the fact that there are different sections so one feels less "trapped" in the same four walls. I would say I spend equal time in each section through the day. 

Yes, I know what you are thinking: how is it possible for one to spend 4 to 6 hours in the bathroom. Well, first you have to understand the family condition of having to go right after the meal. Then you add the fact that I tend to sit for a bit (and also enjoy the 'Toto Washlet' bidet ). Then I do take long showers twice a day and there is also a very nice bathtub here which I have soaked well in :-). So, there you go.

Cleanliness, they say is next to Godliness and I even joined the neighbourhood rosary session. 

Outside, the world ticks on.... (and one of them - an ICA officer - just called me today to make sure I am in my room. Well I am. I mean, where can I possibly go?)

Seven Nation Army

 White Stripes' best song is this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0J2QdDbelmY 

Besides the iconic bass riff - it's right up there with The Beatles' Come Together, Queen's Another One Bites The Dust and Duran Duran's Rio - the lyrics are simply amazing. Imagine these opening lines! 

"I'm gonna fight them off. A seven nation army couldn't hold me back"

In a manner, against conventional advice, I undertook a journey to reconnect face to face with my teams and clients in Malaysia, UK, Germany, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and UAE. And three days ago, after being away for 30 days, I return to Singapore. Each country had their COVID entry procedure. A couple needed local SIM card, some required installing their mobile app. All required some level of pre-registration cum approval. And of course all of them needed PCR-negative test. 

The last one worried me because if I tested positive anywhere along the way (I had to do 13 tests altogether from the start to the finish of the journey and I am now at test #10 just today), I would get stuck and won't be able to complete the trip as planned.

But make I did! There were some funny moments when I joked with the swabbers in the Middle East (an Indian in Doha, a Malaysian in Riyadh and a Filipina in Dubai) first to be gentle and then that i ordered a negative test. Am glad they took it all in their stride.

I am glad to have done this. The leader of the ME business tells me that there is "so much positive feedback from the teams and the MDP colleagues – I think it is a strong statement to be the first PAL to travel to the different regions, and it makes our clients and us feel special to be part of your first visit."

ME (KSA, UAE, Qatar), UK and Germany are three of my largest markets in EMESA, a newly integrated region in the firm. In fact, PSPA in EMESA has been a solid multi hundred million dollar business the past few years and with a potential to grow exponentially 

I have identified several key unlocks:

• Dedicated leadership capacity
• Deepening core markets and attacking white spaces
• Bringing the full offer of PA offerings to all markets
• Heightening EVP with PS “ring fencing”
• Injecting further expertise into the region

I don't often blog directly about the business but this one where management attention comes against all odds... a seven nation army of pandemic protection measure, couldn't hold me back.

 

Ma dearest

The photo is narrow, naturally because she was slimmer then. Only 25 years old and newly married.

Her impact on life, hers and many others, however is considerably broader. Much much broader.

She is my Ma and in her 80 years (and wishing her many many more!) on this world, and for many decades she has taught and shaped many minds, in their most formative years. There is a saying that one's personality is formed at the age of five and it is exactly at this age that Ma taught young children in Malacca, first at a renowned private chinese school and then at her own kindergarten (which she had jointly found with Pa).

She grew up in rural Malacca to an educator father and an entrepreneurial mother, my maternal grandparents. To call my grandma (Ah Jia) an entrepreneur probably flatters the word. Ah Jia was an immigrant from China, arriving in Malaysia with nothing more than the clothes on her. She was illiterate and could only scrawl the three characters of her name (more about that later) and only spoke the Dabu variant of the Hakka dialect. On the back of Pax Britannica migration, she came over at the behest of her mother as she was betrothed to my grandfather (a fine young teacher who was also a Dabu Hakka) in an arranged marriage.

Even in today's world, where gender and race inequalities are still uglily pervasive, imagine what it was like a century ago for a woman like her. She hardly knew her own language let alone the language of the natives or the colonials. She did learn enough to sign her name in order to procure the rubber estates that she worked on from her employers. That indomitable - surmount all problems, no matter the obstacles and disadvantages - spirit, was nurtured in spades in her daughter, my Ma. By the end of her life, my Ah Jia had acquired acres of rubber estate and half a dozen shop houses and was also able to send her youngest son to university in Australia.

Ma did not go to university though. Being the middle 5th child of 10 and living in a rural village amidst the rubber estates, Ma did not enjoy "elite" education and in fact studied in the local school where my grandfather was the headmaster. So, while not premier in reputation, the education she received was certainly premium in quality and today, she is the best speechmaker in the family. 

But more than mastering the toast, Ma also possesses a sharp strategic mind. She may have only studied till middle school (not unusual for girls then) and therefore does not have the papers to evidence her smarts, but the way she brought up her family and managed her career spoke volumes. 

First, in consultation with Pa, none of their kids were educated in Chinese, because back in the 70s/80s, an English-based education remain the surest path to success. Indeed, none of us are now anywhere as fluent as her in Mandarin (and our mother tongue ability is literally just to be able to speak with our mom) and so she fell on her sword there so that we may all rise in our careers.

The other testament to her strategic mind is how she managed her own career. Her middle school certificate got her a job as a kindergarten teacher but she knew, liked her own mom, that she could do more. After taking some time off to raise her family full time, she returned not to her erstwhile employer but to start her own kindergarten with her husband, my Pa and they ran that successfully for 2 decades before a 7-figure exit.

She is retired now but not being able to sit still, she keeps herself fit and is nearly as trim as the 25 year old in the photo above in her line dancing troupe where she has made new friends, some half her age. My Ma, she is forever young. Happy 80th birthday!

Working it out

 I am now on my way to Malacca, to the loving embrace of my parents and feeling so happy. Even at a ripe old age of 53++ :-), I am still not beyond feeling their love and loving them back and I know this will not stop.

In life, however, many things are less certain. Heck, even the climate is changing. I wonder if my grandchildren will one day live in Singapore or will it be underwater? 

The weather aside, we also cannot control others. We can only know them. 

M had told me a few days ago about how A had told someone and now her friends know about it. Both parents sympathised with her and like the different persons we are, we both gave different advice: in fact, we both represented the extreme ends of the range of responses. 

Truth is it is her journey and we can only proffer advice. Only she can decide which of the paths you want to take. At our chat ROAing at Funan, I commended her on having taken the right decisions even at moments of high stress.

So, the first thing is to recognise that. To take comfort that she does make good decisions when confronted with a problem. 

Second, as she decides what to do, I would like to share how I process my own challenges. She may have a different technique but I guess it never hurts to hear how others do it. Mine is a 3-step process.

1. Be kind to yourself. The problem was not created by you. So, don't blane yourself and don't take it out on yourself. Mom always laughs at dad when I blame the floor, but hey, its a mechanism I use and it has served me well

2. Take your time to decide what to do. No issues are that urgent and as you do so, embrace the journey because you are growing in the meantime. In fact, one day in the future, you may even look back and point to this time and said, yup, i learnt a lot then!

3. Write your thoughts, your options down. Like me, you are a writer and so its always easier to pour it out on pen and paper. In a way, that's kind of what I am doing now too as you have been on my mind and when we spoke last night, I felt that live conversations weren't quite the thing to do and so i am writing instead. Then with all your options laid out, you can decide. 

And this brings me to the final point. The options going forward. And she has heard two already, from her mom and dad... and there are at least two more.

i. Do nothing. It will pass. Some other stories will become more interesting. Besides the friends who love you will still do and this episode has given you the opportunity to learn who are true. If I were you, I'd be so grateful that I got the chance to know this at the age of 21

ii. Take more time to decide. You dont have to act immediately. This is not at all a life or death situation and in fact yoh have so much more to look forward to, not least being back in Oxford, your final undergraduate year and then Masters. Wow! Let not the urgent crowd out the important and this is not even urgent.

iii. Talk to A. It may help to tell him how you ferl about it. He is immature and you talking to him can help him grow too. As I said earlier, its good that you know now who you can confide in and who is not ready.

iv. Reclaim the narrative. This was what I had said earlier. Since the word is already out, might as well add your voice to it so its not just other people speculating and you can even make it a positive announcement thanking everyone for their support and that you are much better now. Its like a Simone Biles moment and she got so much more support in return for her courage of speaking up.

In other words, this is all part of life. Of growing up. There will be other challenges, big and small, that will come our way. How we overcome them is the key. And as I said during our ROA, she has shown she does make the right decisions to move on. 

And of course, she will do so from a rock solid foundation: the love of your family. Nothing can beat that, even for a half century old guy whose heart is brimming with love in anticipation of seeing his parents in an hour!

Coming of age

 30 years ago, perhaps to the day, I made a big decision! I bought my first handbag. No, don't get me wrong. I wasn't into cross dressing. I bought a sleek modern handbag (in black!) which I have been admiring in the shop window for my then girlfriend (now wife). It was a branded item, from a French fashion house. It cost me more than 10% of my monthly salary. But it was all worth it. I was prepared to spend a lot more and as it turns out, share all my assets with this girl.

There is a twist to this tale though. When her 21st birthday came around, I was not there in person. I had already been posted for work in Bangkok and the handbag which had been procured and lovingly wrapped months before was duly handed over to my best friend's girlfriend (she was more reliable than he was) for her to hand over to D at the birthday party. 

So, I never saw D's reaction to the gift. I only heard her voice in a call and read her response in a letter, both of which warmed my heart  a thousand miles away considerably. She took really good care of it and it still looks new and modern to this day. The first is due to how she preserved important things and the second because I got timeless taste! Hey, that's why I married her.

So, handbag and 21st birthdays have a special significance for us in this family. And when M turned 21, her parents got her one too, in her favorite color and in a design her mom knew she would like. 

Gifts mark a moment in time and some, like handbags,  have some function of utility too. The real significance about coming of age though is well summarised in this poem. It's not about turning 21, but its about facing the years to come and knowing you will remain beautiful inside. you brave and glorious thing!

How many years of beauty do I have left?

she asks me.

How many more do you want?

Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.

When you are 80 years old

and your beauty rises in ways

your cells cannot even imagine now

and your wild bones grow luminous and

ripe, having carried the weight

of a passionate life.

When your hair is aflame

with winter

and you have decades of

learning and leaving and loving

sewn into

the corners of your eyes

and your children come home

to find their own history

in your face.

When you know what it feels like to fail

ferociously

and have gained the

capacity

to rise and rise and rise again.

When you can make your tea

on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon

and still have a song in your heart

Queen owl wings beating

beneath the cotton of your sweater.

Because your beauty began there

beneath the sweater and the skin,

remember?

This is when I will take you

into my arms and coo

YOU BRAVE AND GLORIOUS THING

you've come so far.

I see you.

Your beauty is breathtaking.

Author Jeannette Encinias

 Happy birthday, my darling daughter

About a kettle

 You have all heard of the phrase, pot calling the kettle black. 

Well, as a scout roughing it out while camping in the woods, I had my fair share of soot-blackened kettle, not to mention also pots and pans. And having to scrub them all clean for inspection the next morning, I know by experience all soot are hard to get rid of and a blackened pot should certainly not insult the kettle.

As it happens, one particular appliance survived our house move nearly two years ago: an electric kettle whose dispenser no longer works. So, while it boils water and keeps it warm, to get to the hot water, one needs to use a small cup to scoop the water out and risk burning the fingers when brushing against the hot plates inside the kettle.

Why would something that could be procured for a few dollars survive. Well, the truth is when it first broke down, years ago, it wasn't so broken and we made do with it. After all the main function: that of boiling water and keeping it hot is working well. And having worked our way around it, using a kettle like this became familiar and almost natural.

There is however a twist here. You see, channelling their inner Marie Kondos, D & M throw out a lot (and I mean a lot) of stuff once it is no longer working. So, why not this one? 

I think there are five reasons, all applicable to life in general:

1. First it was not exactly out of service. Its key functions still work

2. The workaround (even with the risk of getting burned) is feasible enough

3. After a while, the workaround even seems natural

4. If one can get sentimental over an inanimate object, in its not fully working state, it has become a unique kettle

5. And last but not least, I have learnt not to interfere with decisions made by the wife in the kitchen about kitchen appliances. After all, isn't that a recipe for a happy life?!

So there you have it, five tips to go through our time on Earth. Everything and everyone is a little flawed. We can always work on it and even have workarounds should we not be able to fix it and then grow accustomed to it and perhaps love its quirkiness. 

A "black" (non dispensing) kettle is just fine

The search for perfection

Ever since moving to the new house, I gave in to my audiophile bug and with a few willing accomplices, set up not just one or two, but six hifi systems up and down the house. The equipment are American, British, French, Italian, Japanese-made and the listeners, well... mainly local Singaporeans. 

The thing about this bug is that one looks not just for a cure, but a better and better and better cure. A warmer sound. A more emphatic bass. A clearer mid-range. In other words, perfection.

I think this bug has not only afflicted the audiophilia part of me but also other parts of my life and even that of my family's. We are always striving for something better.

In a way, I may have caused it because I have aspirations and similarly urge my children to have theirs too so they can work towards meeting and achieving these.

But ultimately, what is this quest for perfection lead us to. I attended our church group's metatonia session last week and we were asked how we can earn eternal life. The answer (from the Word of God) troubled me and I told the group. If, in order to inherit eternal life, I have to give up my family, I said I am not sure I can do that... unlike the earliest disciples who gave it all up (their possessions, their wealth, their homes, their families) to follow him.

T, a soft spoken member of the group, shared his perspective and it resonated with me deeply. He was recounting having to go for a medical procedure which he was afraid of and as he prayed, he surrendered his family to God. It was an astounding perspective he shared and a epiphany for me. 

At the end of the day, we return to our maker and will have to give it all up and so all we can do now is to make sure that we live our lives so that we can be more perfect in His eyes. Now, that is a bug worth catching! 

Homecoming (a poem by my daughter for me)

 An elephant never forgets, and still

When the tears have run dry, she makes one last appeal,

Then says a final goodbye, though it hurts, though it’s hard.

As nature knows what it knows,

So she’ll go where she goes,

As the river flows but never knows the end goal from the start.

What is home if not a country, a people, a song,

The first place we feel we don’t really belong.

Some stay, but most know: true courage lies in making a new start

Sepandai Tupai Melompat, Akhirnya Jatuh Ke Tanah Juga

It's apt that on the day I am due to collect my citizenship renunciation slip, this famous malay phrase comes to mind. You can guess what it refers to from the picture below.

 

photo credit: gambar-ularcobra

Squirrels are uber athletes. This specimen above even had a fruit in its mouth as it attempted a leap from one tree branch to another and they do this countless times a day, with supreme confidence. And they almost always nail their landings.

Until they don't. And hence the phrase that means "as clever as the squirrel jumps, eventually it falls to the ground". As someone who likes data, this statement is tautological. Of course, if you jump as many times as the squirrel does, there will be that one occasion it falls. That said, I have never seen one fall. Ever. And given I have taken over 200 walks in parks the past 1.5 years and seen many squirrels (maybe 500 of them), I have never seen one fall. Until yesterday.

From an incredible height, it fell onto the paved jogging/cycling track in Bishan Park. Despite its luxurious fur lining, I could even hear the thud as it hit the ground. There it remained motionless for about 5 seconds (out of shock,probably, M says) and then as it sensed a bicycle coming its way, it flipped itself over and ran up a nearby tree.

It struck me that the Malay idiom is incomplete. It isn't about the falling. It's about the getting up again.

And this squirrel will likely have its confidence well intact, and probably attempt that great leap again, and naturally without harnesses or safety nets. 

I write this just as the Tokyo Olympics gets underway. Deferred by a year due to COVID19, the human uber-athletes of the work will now start to showcase how far, how fast and how high they can perform. Some of them will fall too. The human spirit cannot be any less than the squirrels'. They will pick themselves up and run, jump and score again. Another saying comes to mind, "you don't score any goals from the kicks you don't take".

Stateless

My early life is marked with mathematical precision.

Not just my date of birth, but even my time of birth is duly recorded on my birth certificate. Speaking of which, that birth certificate is no longer in my possession. More about that later.

It took my dad no more than one day to register my birth. And exactly as I turn one month old, I was duly baptised. My parents' plannin' remain impeccable. Because 3 years later, my brother arrived. And three years after that my sister.

But thereafter, there was less certainty. Again, the evidence is on my birth certificate. I was first enrolled into Ping Ming Primary School and later (I am sure after a not insignificant quarrel), my parents placed me in Bandar Hilir English School (which had already began teaching in the Malay medium). 

Being completely unschooled in the English and certainly Malay language, I refused to go to school. I was scared, naturally. My mom fought my fear with pain. She made me bend over and caned me repeatedly. I attended BHES and incredibly ended up topping the class and the year aceing every subject with all round perfect scores. Though I never repeated this feat, it was enough to teach a young me never to fear the unknown.

Indeed, much of my life thereafter is marked with courageous decisions of taking a step back from a current trajectory to leapfrog two steps ahead. Whether it was to leave Malaysia as a top student at the age of 17 to Singapore to further my studies. To leave an expat lifestyle in the aviation industry to join the incomprehensible management consulting sector. And to decide to break away (despite being the boss' blue-eyed boy) from a big international firm to join another. 

There remains, however, a constant. I remain a Malaysian. Or more precisely a Malaysian Chinese, in the sense that I identified with the second class citizenship the non-bumiputras in Malaysia suffered.  Adversity binds people together like nothing else and we knew no one owed us a living. I was radicalised early in life because I failed to win government scholarships despite my grades. My dad, aptly incensed, became a staunch opposition supporter. 

I chose a different way to battle the system. First, to endow myself with a better education - in Singapore and ironically under the auspices of a Singapore government scholarship. And then to return to help companies and the government in Malaysia become better. I was also publicly commenting on the country's state of affairs and even had a column in a local business paper.

For a moment, it seemed to work. Our recommendations were enacted into policies and programmes. And then a change of government in 2018 and the political leader whom I had become close to was to be Prime Minister in waiting.

But within two years, a mutiny within the ranks and the ruling coalition could no longer hold on to power allowing a back door government to emerge. I was despondent. It set the country back. I even penned an editorial titled, "Can I still believe in Malaysia?".

The piece, while hard hitting, still carried a somewhat unrealistically hopeful message but deep down inside, I didn't really think so.

And so by July 2020, I made a seminal decision to undo the one certainty I've had all my life: that of changing my citizenship. Within a year, my application to Singapore was approved and today I submitted the application to renounce my citizenship. Along with the application, I gave up with birth certificate, identity card and passport. At heart, I am still a Malaysian Chinese.

For the next week, I am somewhat stateless (until I get my Singapore documents). I am reminded of my great grandmother who almost a century ago, uprooted her family from Dabu, China to seek a new life for her sons in Nan Yang (Glorious South as what South East nations were referred to then). They endured a difficult 3 month journey, sailing in wretched condition. They were all part of a British masterplan in East Asia. The European imperialists had found SEA to be the plantation of the world given the fertile lands and conducive tropical weather. Rubber, rice and all manners of spices were worth their weight in gold and peoples from other colonised/annexed lands like India and Guangzhou were brought to Malaysia and Singapore to build the economy.

In those moments, my grandfather and his brothers must have been stateless too. They did eventually become British subjects and Malaysian citizens. Their move allowed me to grow up a Malaysian (away from the cultural revolution of communist China). I thank them for it. 

Nothing remains certain, however mathematically precise you wish it to be.  

Quarantine 1

 

April 19^th, 10:15am

Room 2339, Fairmont Hotel

Singapore

 

It’s now over 60 hours since I have been in this room, as part of the StayHomeNotice COVID19 quarantine SOP. M suggested that I record my experiences and so here goes.

 

I am at the writing desk which overlooks the junction of North Bridge Road and Stamford Road, where the Capitol Kempinski Hotel is, along with the office of its owner, Perennial Capital. Further down the road Peninsula Plaza and Funan IT Mall (owned by the state-owned Capitaland), and then across the road the St Andrew’s Cathedral. So, in this junction stands private, public and spiritual assets.

 

Speaking of spiritual, the last time I spent some time like this is at an Opus Dei Silent Meditation Closed Retreat nearly seven years ago. Back then the setting couldn’t be any more different than where I am now. In Ulu Tiram in Johor, I was meditating in a class where:

“there is a wooden door that opens into the courtyard which features a flowing fountain, out of a jar. The sounds of flowing water is one of the most soothing to me. The windows overlook a three tiered plain lawn garden lined at the side by simple shubs and at the perimeter by fir trees (or Christmas trees as we call them here). A garden which I had covered end to end in my afternoon walk yesterday.

So, this is the perfect location for this epiphany to come together: pleasant familiar sight, soothing sounds, appropriate imagery and most importantly, the right message.”

The weekend passed uneventfully. I guessed I have spent many days and evenings alone for so many years when travelling for work in all parts of the world that being in a hotel room, doing work at the writing desk, dining and drinking alone, or watching TV until I fall asleep. That D has thoughtfully supplied me with snacks (including M’s home baked banana brownies) as well as yoga mats and free weights meant I had something to fuel me as I work and watch and then some equipment to burn off the calories I will inevitably put on.

 

So, all in all, the set-up is right. The big challenge is the duration of time I have to spend in here. While I have packed the days with calls, I also have to deal with eating packed food everyday and at some point, Netflix & Spotify will cease to entertain. Right now, it’s Day 3 and I have 3 times more the duration to go. Will keep you all updated!