Not exactly the best game plan

I have been busy hurling myself out there, expecting at the same time to get chewed up so thoroughly that there isn't any morsel left of my dignity. I have been spared so far and am tapping my still positive feet while holding my breath.

I even invited friends to pick me apart just so I could improve. Though more importantly so that I could get used to the criticism. Other than imparting me with wiseness, experience and insight (you know who you are), none has risen to occasion. They are all too kind and I can't help but love them for that.

The reality is it's a ruthless world out there and I do not have stars (or dollars) in my eyes. The warpaint has been airbrushed and the armour deployed. I am ready to battle.

High street fashion

The pin stripes injected a faint sense of sartorial elegance to the otherwise casual baggy pants that I couldn't tear my eyes away from the charming salesgirl who was donning it. Despite her petite frame, she carried off the big pants in an understated grace. I was instantly sold, without pausing to think for a moment whether my androgynous body which lacks sorely in height would be drowning in those resplendent bagginess.

And then the mirrors in the fitting room cheated. I delusively thought the reflection was a manifestation of my newly-discovered fashion icon. The purchase was thus gleefully made.

The enlightenment revealed itself in the guise of harsh white light and a true mirror. I was struck speechless for I looked very much like this:

Photo credit: here

Idly Idling Idler

The question is:

To do something I absolutely detest for the sake of keeping the stagnant mind occupied;

To bide my time to demonstrate my abilities while letting the mind idle further; or

To have jam-packed days to keep the lazy mind busy while bidding my time to demonstrate my abilities?

The answer is crystal clear.

Photo credit: here

My default fried rice

Fried rice is one of my favourite comfort food. It is tasty yet easy to whip up. It is also my fallback dish when I run out of ideas for the next meal. I like my fried rice flavorful and spicy. Through countless (and failed!) attempts in the past years, I've somehow bastardized it into a fairly acceptable version which is a cross between Chinese and Malay flavours. Think Yangzhou fried rice and Nasi Goreng (I adapted loosely from here).

Unless I have leftover char siu ( barbecued pork) which is rarer than rare, I almost always only use ham (or luncheon meat but it's canned) because it is savoury and also juicy enough to add a little moisture to the otherwise dry dish. Other farmyard friends such as chicken or pork, I try to steer clear from as they tend to further lend an aridity which ensues in the seasoned rice tasting like sand. Okay, I exaggerate but you get my drift. While peas are a common sight in this stir fry, I find it a bully. Its sweetness too dominant. As replacement, green beans are roped in to provide that healthy extra crunch and I proudly announce they do their job damn pretty well.

The next ingredient is the backbone of this dish: sambal chilli paste. Blend fresh chilli, garlic, shallots, dried shrimps (only when I'm up to it to dash to the basement to grab a handful) and oil to get the blades moving. Stir fry the mixture over medium low heat, add a small amount of sugar to balance out the flavours and season with salt. The robust paste infuses such mouth-watering piquance into the rice that it's hard to stop at just one bowl of spicy fluffiness. The absence of it becomes unthinkable: the rice doesn't pack a punch and lacks layers of depth.

If you prefer a more fancy-pants and substantial kind of fried rice, add prawns. Its succulent and firm flesh adds a right amount of oomph that makes you go hmmmm.... Oh, and don't forget those eggs!

Disconnected

The idea of vacationing without the iPad appealed strongly to me, so much so that when the man very sweetly reminded I should bring along the charger, I curtly retorted, 'Nope, am not bringing the iPad!' In reply, he gave me a quizzical look.

Just minutes before we were set to leave, a quick last check on the emails and Facebook was most imperative but also proved to be deadly to the adamance which started to waver ever so slightly... 'It's a holiday and it's all about being free from the humdrum of everyday life,' I put my foot down!

A last caressing touch and a lingering look, I left with a slight despondence which very quickly dissipated once I got into the car.

Up to the mountains we went. The heavy snow didn't dampen our high spirits one bit. In the next days we basked merrily under the clear blue skies, revelled greedily in the spanking breeze and drank heavily in the majestic looming mountains.

Oddly, I didn't find myself hankering after the iPad or suffering from withdrawal symptoms of not being online. In fact, it felt good being disconnected and peace found me.

On our way back, I began to dread my powerlessness to resist getting sucked back into the whirlpool of social media. Then my mind conceived a quick post-trip's resolution: To be offline a day per week.

This is the second week since we're back and as before, I've been online everyday. Seems like I still care more about what the world is eating, buying, thinking than my own inner peace.

Someone, please take away that iPad and get me out of this black hole for the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

Discomfort creativeness

The last post on my afterthought of a book was something which I've been wanting to undertake for a long time but didn't have the courage and determination to do so, simply because I have never done it before. Or more accurately, the fear of plunging into unknown territory has kind of paralyzed me into a frozen state.

Until this article. Like a copycat, I decided to emulate the author and to finally get out of my comfort zone. How true when she wrote, 'Going outside your comfort zone is—and this should have been obvious--uncomfortable. Even painful.'

Indeed, it was terribly agonizing writing the review despite my strong feelings for the book. The thoughts didn't flow and the thread of argument didn't have a leg to stand on. Fits and starts, fits and starts... Frustrations built and self-doubts kicked in. With gritted teeth, I laboured on, muttering gruntingly to myself not to give up.

Word by word, sentence by sentence, painfully pieced-together trains of thoughts led me at last to the finished article.

As I scrutinized the final product, I thought gleefully, 'It's actually not too bad.'

Rising up to your own challenges is rather gratifying. I should really do this more often to keep me on my toes and to get the creative juices flowing.

My first book review

Parenting is an immensely rewarding yet demanding and energy-draining job. While it doesn't exactly have to be rocket science, there is most certainly nothing child's play like about it. The constant nagging ambivalence whether I am a good mother, role model, teacher, friend, safe habour, coupled with tormenting anxieties if we are making the right choices for our daughter make me ponder ceaselessly if my limited imagination and wit will ever lead me to pull off this whole breeding stunt successfully. However you want to define 'successfully'

When Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, a parenting memoir, was offered to me by the friend, I thought the timing couldn't be better.

Despite waves of negative reviews about the unusual style of child rearing, I find the book a fitting read for someone like me who is still grappling with the whole concept and idea of parenthood. Sure, it is not exactly a how-to guide but who cares? Plus I needed some dosage of humor to dispel my parenting anxiety.

A candid and self-mocking coming-of-age memoir, it is the third book written by Amy Chua, a Chinese-American Yale law professor, whose traditional and incredulously strict and harsh Chinese parenting method did not always sit down well with her two daughters, especially her younger one.

To prepare her girls for their future, she imposed math and spelling drills, piano and violin practice for hours on end each and everyday. The girls were not allowed to go on playdates or sleepovers, no television and computer games. And the Tiger Mother's punishingly high expectations do not accept any grade lower than an A. She declared, 'What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you're good at it.'

Her child nurturing journey is naturally not without difficulties. With an inevitable clash of cultures, many drilling sessions manifested into screaming and bitter episodes. Even her usually obedient and submissive elder daughter did not hold up well to the crushing authoritarianism. Her husband's well-meaning but feeble interventions only served to further resolved Chua's determination to do the parenting job her way. Until her 13 year-old daughter rebelled.

Many are indignant and left speechless by Chua's extreme child rearing techniques. One went as far as to calling her a monster. True, she is extremely hardcore and her sometimes-cocky maternal ruthlessness and confidence maybe hard to swallow. But like all parents, she only wants the best for her children.

Rather than nitpicking, I decided instead to concentrate on the positive aspects of the book. Throughout the book, it didn't fail to strike me that mere mortals like me would have taken the easy way out and let the girls be so as to avoid all the inconveniences of 'epic battles' or 'showdowns' Yet, despite her busy work schedules and commitments, Chua's unflagging strength, brutal determination and clever resourcefulness to plod on against all odds; her fierce dedication to relentlessly push her girls to practise, practise, practise just so they could achieve mastery in any subjects of study; and her unnatural little requirement of sleep, have all but inspired my awe and respect for this tough woman.

There are no questions that these qualities were results of her own strict upbringing which she sees as 'a great success story' Therefore, it's only natural for her to want to instill these attributes of strength and perseverance in her girls in order for them to reach their full potential in life's work and that giving up halfway is never the answer.

Chua's elder daughter, Sophia, sums it up best:

'To me, it’s not about achievement or self-gratification. It’s about knowing that you’ve pushed yourself, body and mind, to the limits of your own potential. You feel it when you’re sprinting, and when the piano piece you’ve practiced for hours finally comes to life beneath your fingertips. You feel it when you encounter a life-changing idea, and when you do something on your own that you never thought you could. If I died tomorrow, I would die feeling I’ve lived my whole life at 110 percent.

And for that, Tiger Mom, thank you.'

In spite of my admiration for the author, I can never and will never be a Tiger Mother. Like Chua, I do wish my daughter greatness and success too. But I just can't ignore the compelling feeling that while achievements maybe great, they are not everything and certainly not the endgame in life. There is more to life than that and that is for her to find out when she grows up.

I strongly believe as a mother, my role is to ensure my child has a happy and fun childhood and at the same time to guide and help her grow up as a well-rounded, well-adjusted, responsible, compassionate, happy, honest and good person. Looks like someone has got herself a full plate....

Well, whoever says parenthood is easy?

The End of Me

I have finally fallen into the evil clutches of the highly infectious plague: the Internet television.

TV-watching has become such a sporadic event ever since I live in this let's-dub-every-foreign-film/tv-serie land. The sheer pleasure of being entertained by the google box or the big screen has all but been brutally murdered because the auditory sense is appalled by the voice-overs which are often frightfully incongruous with the acting humans on screen.

Therefore, I resort to other more productive and stimulating activities like posting trying-hard-to-be-cool updates/pictures on Facebook for the sole narcissistic purpose of garnering approvals or nods from online friends, liking their status/pictures (oh, that's very meaningful surprisingly because clicking that 'like' button is not unlike a good deed which will almost always satisfy the friends' similar urge for endorsements. Now, isn't that for a good cause?) and checking out these online friends checking out my check-ins. And whatever spare time may be left of it, I then engage in mundane and uninspiringly pursuits such as writing or reading.

Given that my time has been so well-occupied, I hardly have the chance to miss watching TV until this happened:

iPad + TV Apps = The End of Me

With a mind-boggling range of channels to choose from, it's suddenly transformed my pitiful plight from TV drought to overwhelmingly spoilt for choices.

Not that I am complaining. It's a much-needed change from the often thought-provoking yet heavy and depressing German television to the glitz and glamour of American shows which can be terribly entertaining but at the same time reek of implausibility and too-perfect superficies.

Now that the couch potato is back at wallowing in television-ing, you can expect the already-lack-of-colours imagination taking a backseat even further back. Heh.

A good day

So I finally decided to jump on the bandwagon of H&M's guest-designers collaborations. It's Marni x H&M this time. I am very taken to its quirky designs and the use of clashing colours and prints. With rather friendly prices, so what if I look like just another girl on the street?

As I was a few shops away from the store, the absence of a helter skelter crowd confirmed my premonition that I was too late. True enough, the few unwanted pieces that were left haphazardly on the shelves seemed to be enjoying their moment of peace after all that frenzy. Admittedly, I secretly heaved a sigh of relief that I was spared from a face off with a mob of frantic females of the species.

To my delight, however, the men's collection was not totally sold out. The man is in luck. Easter comes early for him this year.

Pleased with my shopping and new haircut, I was literally bouncing in my step as I made my way.

Then I saw him. A guy in his wheelchair, stretching out his hands, asking passers-by for money. My pace slowed as my mind raced: How often do I actually walk over to the needy and give out money to them? Almost never. Shame on you, hoonie! What kind of lousy human being are you?!

I stopped in front of the guy and put a €5 note in his hands. As he was thanking me gratefully, I could only smile at him. It may not be much but I do hope it had somehow made his day a little easier. Now I wish I had given him more.

Anyways, that single act alone made my day, not the shopping, not the haircut.

Giving is receiving. Indeed.

Literary pursuit gone a little awry

I just won't let myself have the satisfaction to state I have been so busy lately that I couldn't find the time to blog. Busy is such an overrated excuse these days that I sternly remind myself not to succumb to its delusional madness so easily. The true excuse is, quite simply, the inspiration missing and the words wanting.

In my hopeful but miserable attempt to draw much-needed motivation from one of Time's 100 best novels, Brideshead Revisited, I fell embarrassingly flat on my face. Painfully, I plodded through the book and having not seen any sparks of light at the end of the tunnel, I yielded yet again to the sloth monster, without putting up much struggle.

Then occasions for some self-justification to a respite from the unceasing preoccupation with the hunt for new writing materials thankfully arose. The girlfriend was visiting with her little one and hubby. I didn't forget the promise I made to cook her beef rendang. So beef rendang it was, as a form of silent encouragement, acknowledgement and support in her long path of motherhood. It didn't matter at all if she understood my intention. One thing is for sure, she is coping exceedingly well with her little beauty and with all the new changes. I am extremely proud of her.

Days later, Chinese New Year was literally knocking on the door and of course, a violent storm was cooked up in the kitchen for the reunion dinner with enough food to feed this family of three for days on end. Plenty of favourite home-cooked food = full stomach = comforted happy soul!

Together with the brief break, it instantly added new vigour to my pursuit of literary inspirations. Which's how I discovered Poskod. Much time is spent reading, digesting and liking their beautiful albeit sometimes-too-lyrical articles. Then along the course, rather than focusing on the on-hand objective, I stumbled upon and got distracted by the controversial novel called Once a Jolly Hangman which is about the capital punishment in Singapore. Its author, Alan Shadrake was arrested and jailed after the publication of the book. Incidentally, the book is not available in Singapore. With so much controversy surrounding it, I simply had to get hold of a copy, don't I? My comment after reading it? Let's just say, where there's smoke, there's fire.

Through the book, I did a little research on people like, Singaporean film-maker, Martyn See (whose films such as Singapore Rebel and Zahari's 17 years are banned in Singapore), Francis Seow, JB Jeyaretnam, Chee Soon Juan etc. Countless related articles, books and videos turned up in my search. And I am glad to be able to read all these and watch these banned films, all of which I believe I wouldn't have the possibility to do so if I were still living in my beloved country.

It is indeed an eye-opener for me and to quote our former President Devan Nair, 'for those whose eyes still require to be opened.'