Me and My Ma Ma

Me and my Ma Ma

Young me with the parents

 

Most children I know consider their mothers to be the centre of their tiny universe. To them, mother is the most beautiful woman in the world. I had no such thoughts about my mum.

 

Growing up, I thought my mother to be quite ugly and old. I could not feel any love for this lady, and did not feel her affection for me either. I held her in mild disdain, thinking her ways obsolete and really quite ridiculous. Seeing that she was educated – something so rare for girls in her generation, I wish she could be more happening, more hip and more fun,

 

There were reasons for the way I felt. Being an adopted child, I struggled constantly with rejection. Since mum adopted me when she was in her forties, she was much older than many parents of my friends. For a young person, I suppose it was hard to see beauty in someone old.

 

The fact that I was adopted was a poorly kept secret. Mum desperately wanted it to be a secret, but the world around her was not cooperative. One way or another, I found out the fact way before I started school, and my little world crumbled at my feet. Part of me condemned myself for not being good enough for my natural family. Yet another part of me condemned my mother. It was an offensive-defensive mechanism – an effort to make me feel better about myself. It got so bad that I often made my mother cry. It did not make me a happier person. In fact, it made me feel lousy about myself. Still, I could not stop being mean.

 

When I was in my teens, I was allowed to go to KL alone to spend my holidays with my cousins. Those trips were crucial in helping me change my mind about my mum.

 

My 6^th aunt lived in KL. She was the most astute of my aunts and most willing to talk to her teenaged nieces. She was quite a rebel in her own time. I understand she ran away from home and stayed away for years. That alone was enough to earn my respect! I was a gutless rebel, and I knew I would never have done what she did.

Parents on their Wedding Day

 

She spent a lot of time talking to me about my mum.

“Your mum was a selfless daughter and sister.”

“She was very beautiful, and many rich young men sought her hand.”

“She loved you very much.”

 

Piecing her story together, it appeared that mum was very pretty when she was young. Many young men sent their go-betweens to ask her hand. Unfortunately, just about then, my grandfather died. Most of her older sisters were married by then. So she became a teacher and helped support her mother and younger siblings. She rejected marriage, according to my aunt, because of her sense of responsibility. She wanted to help shoulder the financial woes that had befallen the family. She finally got married after all her siblings had grown. By which time, having children was a problem – hence my adoption.

 

I’d like to say that these conversations with my aunt changed me, and I was a loving and sweet daughter. Not so. I was still as prickly as the durian, and probably as foul smelling. I simply could not talk to her without getting jumpy and irritable. I still made her cry.

 

After I got married and lived inSingapore, I would invite her to come to stay with me. I looked forward to her visits, yet was filled with trepidation. Without fail, we would quarrel every time she came.

 

“Your maid stole my shoes.”

“Stole your shoes? What on earth for? First they would not fit her, and second, they are ugly!”

 

She would ask my opinion for most things and then do the opposite of what I suggested. She drove me wild.

 

Then she died. Life was not easy. There were stages in my life that were so difficult. While I would probably not have burdened her with my struggles, knowing she was there would have helped. She was not, and she would never be there again.

 

I looked at her old photos and finally saw what rejection had blinded me from – her beauty. There was much gentleness in her eyes. Her face was lined with wrinkles, each wrinkle representing worries. She was a worry wart, but she mainly worried for those she loved.

 

Somehow looking at her photo reminded me how skillful she was with her hands. She knitted beautifully, and to this day, the cardigans she made for my cousin when she went toVancouverto study are still remembered with hushed tones of admiration. She was also a great handyman, and if anything was in need of repair, she would be the one fixing it.

 

Mum loved but did not know how to show it. I only knew how much she loved me when she bought me a diamond pendant with an entire month’s pay. This was particularly significant since it was her last salary.

 

She had a hard life, but I hardly heard her complain. She was no gossip and even though I tried to dig, she would not talk. Even when she fell out with her sisters, I never heard her telling anyone anything bad about any of them. She was fiercely loyal. If she had any fault, it was that she never trusted anyone outside of the family. She gave dad a hard time, never considering him truly family, but an outsider that one had to be mindful of.

 

I miss her very much. I felt I never showed her enough appreciation when she was alive. Too late to regret, but not too late to love and to show it, to those still living, mothers, children, warts and all.

 

Happy Mother’s Day, y’ all.

The Price of Life

This is part 2 of what i submitted to public house

 

The Price of Life – Part 2

 

More than ten years ago, someone I knew was diagnosed with cancer. Since the family was fairly well-to-do, she sought treatment from a private hospital. Several hundred thousand dollars later, she passed away. Her husband was devastated. Not long after, he complained of feeling unwell. A battery of tests were ran on him but doctors were still perplexed. They could not find the reason for his illness. While still in hospital, while still being tested, he passed away. His bill – several hundred thousand dollars. This couple owned a house in a fairly good location. The valuation of the house just about covered the bills. Thankfully, his children did not need to get into debt in order to pay the hospital bills. The irony in this story is that while not mentioned in his will, the biggest beneficiary of his estate was the healthcare industry. He, and countless like him, has made it possible for the industry to remain profitable.  No wonder health related shares are the darlings of the stock market, in good times or bad.

 

Was the treatment worth it? I have been reminded again and again of the importance of the economy to the country. So while I cannot do it for others, in order to help my children take a prudent decision, perhaps it is time for me to look at how much my remaining days are worth.

 

For a start, I did not work for much of my life. Family and children have always been far more important to me than career. So as a rough estimate, and spreading it out over the years, I probably earned an average of $15000 a year for the past 25 years. That would mean a lifetime earnings of $450 000, and I am erring on the side of generosity. The choice of staying home also meant we hardly have any savings – after all it is not easy to live on a single income. I have had health challenges for the last 10 years. So while I think I am fit to work, I cannot over-stretch myself. Currently, I hardly work at all, except for piecemeal, freelance work that sometimes come my way. If I want to be generous, let me just assume that the next medical report is a positive one and I can get back to part time work – if I can find a job that is. Say I then can earn $15000 per annum. If I do survive until age 62, I have the capacity to earn another $150 000. Technically, that is all my remaining life is worth – $150 000.

 

So how does it make economical sense for medical costs to be so high? How can $600 pills, thousand – dollar MRI scans, several hundred thousand dollar hospital stays be justified? How can medical costs exceed what some one can earn in a lifetime?

 

Ah, you say, your contribution to the family and to society cannot be pegged on money alone. Your love, your care your prayers are worth much more. In fact they are priceless. I certainly hope that not everything we do out of love has to be valued in monetary terms. I’d like to think that when I am gone, I will be remembered not because of the money or jewellery I leave behind, but for the joy I had given to those who survive me. But let us be practical. While life is priceless, can we afford to live? How have you, as a government, made it possible to sustain life? Or are you paying lip service to the value of my life?

 

Current discussions have been going on and on about how to pay for healthcare. I think before we even begin to consider payment, we should consider the cost. What has made healthcare costs so high?

 

Like many others, I am painfully aware of the importance of health insurance. At several stages of my life, depending on the medication prescribed, I have had to foot $800 or so a month for treatment. Fortunately the cash element has been kept manageable, thanks to the twin contribution from medisave and medishield. Cash element in the bill is NOT the total cost. So when former Minister of Health, Mr Khaw, spoke about $8 heart bypass, that does not tell you how much the operation actually cost. Being able to pay cannot justify the cost.

 

As hospitals are privatized, profits must be generated. Just look at the argumentsSMRTput forth to justify fare increases. Shareholders have to be looked after, and CEO bonuses too. Costs will not come down. If the government load heavy registration costs onto already expensive medication, refuse to subsidise new and improved drugs, cost of medication can only escalate. Medical insurances, including medishield are provided by private insurance companies. A public listed company always aims to generate profits. If medical costs soar, if claims increase, premiums will naturally go up too. If healthcare costs are not controlled, if we continue to pursue profit at every turn, at the same time find what seems to be legitimate reasons to justify a reduction in subsidies, then the day will come when most will not be able to afford insurance even.

 

My husband and I only have one property – an hdb flat. The value of this flat has risen in recent years. It gives me some hope that we can retire and not be a burden to the children, should we downgrade. If we pass on before that time, we hope that the children will have a tiny inheritance each, to help them along this very expensive, difficult world where salaries stagnate and costs soar. We have no intention of contributing to the extremely lucrative healthcare world by making them the beneficiaries of the little we have accumulated through the struggles of our lives. In other words, when push comes to shove, we would opt to cease treatment.

 

To me, the first consideration in healthcare budgeting is not how to pay, but how to reduce cost. To me, it means that as an example, the government cannot look at healthcare from the perspective of how to ensure profitability. Healthcare facilities for the public, like public educational institutions must be seen as cost centres, not profit centres. Furthermore it is time for the government to review how much the life of a citizen is worth, and budget accordingly.

 

It’s time to show us that you are worth what you are paid. Stop telling us the problems. Show us some answers.

 

Hell Care Health Care

This is the unedited post of the article which was published byPublicHouse -http://publichouse.sg/categories/topstory/item/246-the-price-of-life-what-value.

Hell care Health care

 

Well, it certainly feels that way at times. Just recently a bunch of us got into a discussion on healthcare again. Someone in the group shared his personal story. When his father was admitted into a local hospital several years ago, Class C ward-mind you, he was made to sign an undertaking to pay the bill before the staff would proceed with treatment. 5 months of coma later, his dad passed away. His bill – $500 000.

 

This story really got me upset. I do not claim to be an expert on healthcare policies, government budget or hospital administrative policies. I am just an ordinary citizen with healthcare concerns for myself. So do not throw me questions on funding – that is the problem for our superbly well-paid ministers to solve. I am also not going into a discussion on the merits of health insurances and medishield. The discussion will get too involved otherwise.

 

Even as I write this, I hear the many conversations I have had with taxi drivers and the aunties peddling simple ware at the market. “Di zhi dao, ooi si, buay sai pua pi.” Translated from hokkien, what they are saying is, inSingaporeit is ok to die, just don’t get sick.

 

Someone else mentioned that a cancer patient had to pay close to $600 for a pill – that’s right – $600 for ONE pill. Hospital bill so far, $13000. My reply – if I were the patient, I would stop all treatment. That night, I kept wondering if something similar were to happen to me, at what point would I stop treatment? What is the economic value of my remaining life?

 

Yes, this world is so economically driven, so financially based that even life itself must have a price tag. The question is, who determines the price tag?

 

Out of curiosity, I decided to check out the Hippocratic Oath. In particular, I checked out the often used version, rewritten in 1964 by Dr Louis Lasagna (forgive the irreverence – but he sounds almost edible!) One line stood out for me and I quote:

 

“I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person’s family and economic stability. My responsibility includes these related problems, if I am to care adequately for the sick.”

 

How interesting. The medical profession needs to be concerned about how the sickness of the patient affects the financial burden of his family. This seems quite the opposite to what is happening in actuality. Not only does it seem as if an impersonal system is uncaring of the “economic instability” of the family, it seems to want to ensure that the family is responsible for every last coin that the treatment may cost, never mind if it costs more than the family home.

 

I grant you there are those who care, that there is help available – if you know how to look. I know doctors who bring foreign patients into their own homes while they are recuperating from their medical conditions. These would not be able to pay for local accommodation otherwise and once home, would not be able to afford to make trips back toSingaporefor follow-up appointments. I have seen doctors waving their consultation fees when they realize the financial difficulties their patients are in. However, these are the exceptions, not the rule. And as a society, we do not expect the medical staff to be made out of pocket either.

 

After all, we are a meritocratic society, and how good we are is measured by the salary we can command, the amount we can earn. At a recent interview for placement in our prestigious local university, one student who had applied for either law or medicine, I cannot rightly remember which, said this in answer to the question, “Why do you want to be a lawyer/doctor?

“I heard you can earn a lot of money!” It was a cheekily honest answer – and guess what, his honesty paid off – he got a place.

 

I remember how when Ng Eng Hen was introduced, his earnings as a doctor was brandished about as proof of how we had snatched a trophy from the private sector. Currently, doctors, especially specialists are leaving government hospitals in droves. They want to be paid more, for less stress. Let me state emphatically that I do not blame them.

 

What I do blame is how we have allowed ourselves to get to this stage. It begins with a paper chase, and it continues with a paper chase. First it is the degree, then it is the money. What values have we transmitted to our children?

 

During the discussion, someone mentioned the cost of drugs.  Malaysian pharmacies sell drugs at way lower prices thanSingapore. Someone else said that this is because of the low cost of registration of drugs. There is a downside though. Often times, imitation drugs make their way to the counter. These drugs are either ineffective or may pose a danger to the patient. Be that as it may, counterfeit drugs do not make their way to the counter because of lower registration costs. They get there as a result of corruption. There is no reason why we cannot lower the cost here inSingaporeand still maintain a stringent standard of registration. The truth is pharmaceuticals spend a lot of money testing drugs and coming up with new courses of treatment. They want to earn back the money they had spent and then some. As a people, as a government, we cannot control their business policy. However, we can control how much we profit from their successful research. Are we too profit driven?

 

Which brings me to the question I asked earlier -who determines the price tag of my life? In the case of my friend who inherited the $500 000 dollar medical bill, the hospital put the decision squarely on his shoulders by making him sign the undertaking. The value of his father’s life to him was priceless – how else could it be?

 

What if the undertaking was reversed? Instead of making the next of kin sign such an undertaking, bearing in mind the emotional upheavals, the struggles in the conscience on how much filial piety is worth, the lack of medical knowledge that makes such decisions a stab in the dark, why not get the hospital or the government administration to give us a signed policy statement instead? Let them put in black and white to what extent they are willing to treat patients – at which point of debt would they feel compelled to stop treatment. Let them be the one to put a price tag on lives – for they can do so in an impartial, considered and educated manner. The next of kin can still try to maintain treatment by servicing the debt to acceptable levels – if he can find the means to. When he cannot, then let the professionals pull the plug. Stop putting the guilt on the relatives – make the expert decision and take the responsibilities that come with it.

 

I know I sound cynical and upset. I am cynical and upset. I have one last proposal to make. To me it is absurd to expect the common folk to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills. I propose that there is a cap set on the cash portion of medical bills. This can be gradated according the financial standing and affordability of the individual patients. Beyond this amount, I feel a specially set up fund must foot the bill.

 

I will conclude by quoting the last two lines of the Hippocratic Oath. My prayer is that as a nation, we can help the medical professionals keep their professions honourable and noble.

 

I will remember that I remain a member of society with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

If I do not violate this oath, may I enjoy life and art, respected while I live and remembered with affection thereafter. May I always act so as to preserve the finest traditions of my calling and may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jon and Chris performing Lucky by Jason Mraz

I cannot help it, I am a proud mother. My son and daughter-in-law presented this at their wedding dinner. One of the things he said was that I never pressured him re academics and career – forcing him to make decisions, and to make them work. He wants to pursue a career in music, and he has our blessings. May God bless you both, the third generation of Mr and Mrs Tsang!

Dear PA or is it PAP?

Dear PA … or is PAP?

Recently there is so much talk about the PA advisor, and how he has to be a PAP member. Then this PAP member Advisor is always the PAP MP or the losing candidate. Forgive me for being slow, but why? Why cannot he be an ordinary civil servant without ambitions or position? Then again, you earn millions, while I earn pennies – so you must be right.

Anyway, whether PA or PAP, can I ask some questions?

1. How come every time there is a big celebration, the greeting banners are so huge, and always show the smiling faces of PAPMPs or the losing PAPcandidate? Like this one on the right? Except for the very egoistic, very few people use their own photos for greeting cards. So how come our banners are like that? Quite unimaginative, no?

2. I agree, sometimes it is very confusing. I mean we can be in MacPherson, but actually we are in Marine Parade. So it is not a bad idea to tell us where we are. Even so, we don’t need the smiling face of the PA advisor welcoming us there, do we? Like this?

3. When giving out awards, scholarship cheques and goodies, can we use someone neutral and not the advisor? Many people think these awards come from the pockets of the advisor, or thePAPwhen it actually comes from the taxpayers through the PA.

4. Then I don’t understand why the PA advisor can have an office in PA owned community centers or buildings when opposition MPs cannot. They say their grounds cannot be used for any political business. Their advisors are there to advice them and their presence is apolitical.

Say for example, Mr Desmond Choo happened to be in the Community Center office because he needed to give some advice. A resident saw him, and asked him, “Mr Desmond, can help me with my problem with HDB?” Is this type of meeting political or not? If it is political, then Mr Choo would have to tell the resident, “Wait ar uncle, we go to kopi shop lim kopi and talk.” isn’t it? If not, then is it apolitical? If it is apolitical, then how come Mr Chiam See Tong cannot conduct this type of meeting in the PA owned properties?

5. Why when there are big events, PA advisors’ photos are featured in the banners? The latest one in Potong Pasir was a National Bird Singing Competition. Pity I had no camera with me. But that banner had 4 big squares – three squares showed birds, but the last one showed Mr Sitoh’s big photograph – even though he is not a bird. It got taken down in two days. Poor Mr Sitoh was nearly mistaken as a bird taking part in the competition!

Sometimes I wonder the reason for these huge grins in banners. Maybe unbeknownst to us, these banners are sponsored by some toothpaste company. In which case, I suggest you use chiobus, and cool dudes. Oh I forget – it is because of their “million-dollar smiles – pardon me for being obtuse.

Dear PA… or is it PAP? Don’t use taxpayers’ money to promote any candidate or party can?

PS, if anybody has a photo of that banner with Mr Sitoh, can share with me?

Growing Up in Rented Rooms

Archiving what I wrote for Publichouse http://publichouse.sg/ here

 

I read Dr Wong Wee Nam’s article about President hopeful Tan Kin Lian and was reminded of my own childhood.

I too grew up in rented rooms. Mum was, for all intents and purposes, the breadwinner of the family. Dad sent so much of his money away to China, or gave to friends in need that I doubt if he contributed much. So from the start, my parents lived in rented rooms.

Rented rooms in the old days were very different from those today. I grew up in Penang and the rooms we rented were spacious. To give you an idea, mum would have a double bed, a sewing machine, two armchairs and a coffee table, a study table, a dressing table, an old fashioned blackwood long bench, a wardrobe and enough space on the floor for a double mattress. The landlord will give us a small space in the back for our little cupboard for groceries and dried goods, and a little dining table.

 

Living in rented rooms was not always pleasant. Some landladies were nice. However, we usually have no ensuite, and some of the houses were so old that they did not have modern toilets. The houses that used buckets for toilets still bring shivers down my spine and probably accounted for poor bowel movement for the better part of my life.

There are quite a few stories I can tell about this experience. One of the more memorable ones was how I caught my neighbor having an affair with one of the employees of my landlord. The room we stayed in belonged to a small Chinese company who used the ground floor as an office. I had to walk past my neighbour’s room to go to the toilet. One day, I heard lots of giggles. I glanced through the open window and saw the lady with the odd job worker from downstairs. I was a little young then, and was wondering what the man was doing tugging at her sarong. Later the lady told me the guy had come to help out with her baby. The little one was born with encephalitis – a huge swollen looking head. Some days later, the man’s wife, who was a good friend to the lady and who incidentally had helped her with getting the room, had a mighty row with her. This lady was a real so-and-so, and eventually she made trouble for us with the landlord, just so she could get our room. We had the biggest room that overlooked the streets – which was really cool, especially during the Chingay procession. We had a perfect view of the entire proceedings.

The purpose of my writing this however is not just about reminiscing. I want young people to know that not owning your own home, though a bummer, is not the end of the world. We do not need to wait for all the stars to align before we get married and have children.

I lived in Rwanda for nearly two years. In my first year, I taught English to some hospitality staff. One day I asked my students how many were parents. Nearly all put up their hands. Then I asked how many were married. Less than a quarter put up their hands. Of course I asked them why. For the Rwandese, the wedding ceremony is a must. That ceremony costs a pretty penny. It includes a feast on top of giving cows to the bride. So unless the groom has saved enough, a wedding is out of the question. To me this is quite ridiculous. I told my students that surely a simple wedding will suffice. From the look on their faces, I was really off the mark.

For Singaporeans, we have moved on from our kampong ways. No longer do we have the sizes of the family homes of old where married children continued to stay in the family homes for decades and generations. In most western countries, not only married children have their own homes. Children when they reach college years begin to move out to rooms or apartments of their own. So it is little wonder that ideally we want to have our own home before we settle down.

This, however, has become somewhat of an impossible dream. It takes time to get to know someone well enough to know whether we want to settle down in marriage. Only then does the couple start looking at buying a property. Given the current situation, couples are usually successful only after 3 or 4 tries. Then they have to wait for 3 -4 years for the apartment to be ready. The other option is to buy resale or private property. Well, if you are able to afford to do so, it is certainly an option. If it is not within your means, you still have a choice.

Growing up in rental rooms has not impeded Tan Kin Lin’s success. I was not emotionally scarred nor did I feel disadvantaged in any way. My mum finally bought a house when I was thirteen. She had just retired and you cannot imagine how anxious I was about her finances. She was more prudent than I imagined or could ever hope to be and we more than survived.

All through my childhood, I never had a television. Mum did not even install a telephone. We did not own a fridge. I still did well in school. Sure I was envious of my classmates at times. Coming from a prestigious school, and being in the top class, you can imagine most of my classmates were well-to-do. But because I could hold my own in class and on stage and in various competitions, no one looked down on me. It helped that I had supportive extended family members, who challenged and motivated me to do better.

For those of you out there contemplating getting married, it is inconvenient not having your own home. But do not allow this roadblock to defeat you. Look for other options – rent a room, stay on with your parents, stay with married siblings – while waiting for your own apartment. The key to your children’s success is not wealth or possessions – but your love and encouragement. When privacy is needed, go for a holiday with your spouse. If you play it right, each holiday can be a honeymoon, especially given the restrictions of not owning your home

Just an update and introducing Publichouse.

Hi. Been busy and have not updated this blog in awhile. Anyway, to my amazement, the curry story is still drawing eyeballs. The newest debacle is of course the People’s Angst. Haha…may blog about this sometime next week.

Anyhow, the more exciting news is the launch of Public House  http://publichouse.sg/. This is started by Andrew Loh, formerly from TOC. It’s a really cool website, and a refreshing difference from other pages. There are stories there!!

Anyway check it out. And of course check my stories out. Have to learn from the masters of shamelessness to be shamelessly self promoting. Leave u to guess who the masters are…just a hint – its not an individual… haha.

http://publichouse.sg/categories/features/item/33-through-the-eyes-of-hope

http://publichouse.sg/categories/highlights/item/16-sophia-tsang

Bear in mind the second story i wrote before dear kee chiew spoilt the show for me… sigh.

Please Sir, Can you not cook curry Sir?

I did not want to write anything today.  Really not in the mood. But this news report caught my eye and ire. Todayonline – community disputes So here is my rant.

I mean we all know that some disputes can be really petty. But surely this takes the cake?

You know how we used to hear racial jokes about smells? We are all convinced that we don’t smell? In actual fact we do. Chinese can have a “porky” smell or smell of garlic. Indians can smell of coconut oil. It is just that we are not aware of it. What do we do? We can laugh at ourselves and tolerate our neighbours. I mean what do we expect? Tell the Chinese to eat less pork, use less garlic? Or the Indian neighbours not to use coconut oil?

Hygiene is a different matter. If the smells that exude from our neighbour’s flat is a result of a lack of hygiene, then yes, we can complain and expect some improvement. Lack of hygiene can bring pests, or in extreme cases present a fire hazard.

Coming back to this case, I take issue not just with the complaint. I take issue with the highlighting of this specific case. In the first place, I think this is NOT a common example. In highlighting this case, it makes this particular PRC family look bad, probably deservedly so. The bigger problem is that it shows that our foreign guests are not integrating. Worse still, they know how to make their complaints heard and addressed. It spoils the market for other, more sensitive foreign guests.

Furthermore this is the sort of story that promotes xenophobia. Just read the rapidly increasing no. of comments on facebook links and the content of the comments.

Next I take issue with the resolution by the community mediation centre. Is this a triumphant solution or what? I take my hat off to the Indian family for tolerating this resolution. Cooking curry only when the neighbour is not in? Gosh how is that wisdom? Or is that really being totally insensitive? So if the Chinese family is home by six every evening, the Indian family must cook dinner before 6 even if they eat at 8?

Tolerance of each other’s culture is the basis of harmony. Imagine muslims tolerating the Seventh month festivities that are coming up, the smoke from the joss sticks and the very loud noise of the performances of the getaior the Chinese tolerating the call to prayers from the mosques. In this society, there are many examples of such tolerance. Now we have guests who come to our country who tell our own people what not to cook? I mean…

By coming up with this sort of solution, CMC is almost sending a message that we need to be gracious hosts and be mindful of our guests. Our guests on the other hand, have every right to complain against us. Why not advice the PRC family about culture and integration instead?

The request of the Indian family is for them to give the dish a try! It is nice of them. However, the Chinese family is entitled not to like curry. Offer them some dishes as good neighbours should. But if they don’t want to, no need to try. Just like I don’t like smelly tofu, or my future daughter-in-law does not like durians. No need for either of us to try. Live and let live.

Taking this a step further, next thing I know, durians are disallowed in all hdb flats, because some neighbours, especially those who just moved toSingaporethink they smell foul. Or worse, the sale of durians is banned because we need to be sensitive to those who think it smelly beyond reason.

Sheesh!

Rudimentary Mind Map Skills

Enough socio-political posts. Back to work.

This week Jay’s  (6yrs) comprehension passage was about having pets. Owning pets seem to be universally something that most children aspire to. Hence, though he was feeling unwell, he was fairly attentive.

However, his concentration and focus left much to be desired – mainly because he seemed to be dozy from his medication. In times like these, just talking will not cut it. I decided he needed a spot of colour on top of actual images from the net to explain what he was reading. In times like these, I am so grateful to the internet. It has made available otherwise difficult to source for pictures, (such as a hamster’s burrow),  instantly available.

There was a lot of information about hamsters in the passage. For a child his age, and given the constraint of feeling ill, I decided he was not too young to be introduced to the mind map technique of note taking. It certainly helped him with the questions asked later.

By the way, taking note of information is an important skill and is what most comprehension passages are testing. For some, a mental picture is all that is required. For others, it is just a matter of highlighting information. Mind map is a good start for young readers in particular because it is colourful, and involves action as well. Eventually, as the child grows older, he should find his own preferred mode.

We discussed various facts about the hamster that are found in the passage. Quickly I sourced the net for appropriate pictures. Then we opened the box of colour pencils and began with our art work. The following is the result.

Mind Map - All about the hamster

Life with Fourth Aunt

I spent a year living with fourth aunt and her family. I was six years old then.

mum, sei yee, yee cheong and tong kor kor

Of all the aunts, I think mum was closest to fourth and sixth aunt – hardly surprising since she was no. 5. My aunts were real characters. Sixth aunt told me she ran away from home to pursue her own life and career, and only returned much later. I must ask my cousins the details when I next see them.

Fourth aunt married fairly early – as was the tradition then. According to my cousin from 2^ndaunt, fourth aunt was fierce, and she was terrified of her. To me, though, 4^th aunt was aloofly warm – if you can understand what I mean.

The thing I remember best about her was her fabulous cooking. Of all my aunts, I think sei yee (Cantonese for 4^th aunt) was the best and most natural cook. She worked magic with all her dishes. I remembered helping out in the kitchen, pounding spices with the pestle and mortar – and often shooed away from that post cos I was not strong enough to get the consistency she wanted. My eyes would tear from peeling shallots, my fingers would swell from being poked by prawn feelers, or burn from cutting chillies.

Sei yee worked every dish from scratch. Watching Australian Junior Masterchef, I wish I had the sense to pick up her cooking skills, rather than simply obeyed instructions like a brainless kitchen helper. I could have been a brilliant cook too!

The kitchen smelled divine, with the various curry pastes. Each meal took hours to prepare, and since we neither had gas nor electric stove, the kitchen was often smoky. The task I loved the best was fanning the coals till it burst into flame. I guess there is an arsonist in the soul of every child!

We owned no fridge, so going to the market was a daily affair. When I did not have school, it was quite fun to go with my aunt. It was always noisy and very happening with all sorts of stalls, from selling trinkets, to all manner of street food.

chickens in a basket for sale

Eating chicken was a treat, and whenever we bought chickens, sei yee would thrust her hand into a basket, grabbed a chicken and pressed at its ribs to test its fleshiness. Then the chicken seller would slit the throat, drained the blood into a bowl and threw the bird into a drum-like device. A few swirls later, a de-feathered chicken would appear. Such magic!

Of all my cousins living at home, I was closest to Ah Kuen jie jie. She was attached, but not yet married, and stayed home rather than worked outside. The two of us were sei yee’s main kitchen slaves.

One of my most vivid memories was when Ah Kuen jie jie was tasked to slaughter a chicken. Occasionally, we had one or two chickens in the backyard – either gifts from some visitors who reared them, or bought early for some festival, since the market would be closed during the time. In any case, my cousin was quite squeamish about slaughtering the chicken by herself – usually sei yee did that on her own. If I remember correctly, auntie was not home. My cousin simply could not bring herself to catch the chicken and slit its throat at the same time. My memory gets a little hazy here, cos it was a traumatic affair. I seem to recall one of us saying it was cruel to pin the chicken down and then kill it. We should let it have a chance to escape death (how ridiculous! As if sei yee would ever let it live!). So I vaguely recall ah Kuen jie jie running after the chicken a chopper in hand, both of us giggling hysterically. Somehow or other, she managed to chop the head off. But the chicken kept running round and round still. By that time my laughter had turned into terrified tears.

mum, ah yuet jie, 9th aunt, ah kuen jie, yee lin, ah hing jie, suet lin, chee chong, yee cheong, 1st uncle

I do remember my other cousins too. Ah Yuet jie jie was married, and always looked beautifully glamorous whenever she visited. Her husband played the Spanish guitar beautifully. Sometimes he would bring it with him, and I would just sit there and gawk. Ah Hing jie jie worked in a bank – and she drove a little car to work. She stayed at home but I barely saw her since she worked on the mainland, and spent most of the day away.

As for my male cousins, I remember the youngest one the best. He was in secondary school and very athletic. He spent a lot of time playing with the neighbourhood boys. Sometimes my auntie would get so exasperated at his disappearance that she would go in search of him, cane in hand. When she spotted him, she would first shout, then prepared to hit. Ah Tong kor kor was an athlete, and many a time I would see him run in the front door, and out the back, with my slightly portly, not too young auntie huffing and puffing after him. Ah Kuen jie and I would stifle our giggles for fear of turning sei yee’s wrath on us instead!

Yummy Penang Char Kuay Teow

Sei yee taught me to be independent. At six, I was often tasked to go to the shops, on my own, to buy things she needed. I had to buy spices, or bread, or even to buy coffee from the nearby shops. She made sure that there was no crossing of road, since the road in front of the house was very busy. The sar hor fun and char kuay teow stalls however were across the road. So whenever she wanted to buy those, I had to walk till I was immediately across the road from the stall. Then I had to shout my orders at the hawkers. If you find my voice loud, you now know the reason why! Still, I was too young to be embarrassed, and the yumminess of the food made me quite eager to obey actually.

Living with sei yee was a blast. I just saw some of her children when I went up toPenanglast week. It brought back so many memories.

I may not be rich or famous, but I certainly had a varied and interesting life.