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!