Clear Days Ahead?

I am sitting next to the swimming pool as my son runs off for his swimming lesson and my daughter plays at the side of the pool. There is a lovely breeze and the air seems clear for the first time in many days. It feels like a heavy shroud has been lifted and everyone is outdoors to make the most of it. A group of residence are doing their tai-chi to the tune of Love in the First Degree even! And I have never been happier sitting in the sun.

Just two days ago the family was trapped indoors in what looked like post-apocalyptic Singapore. To kill time I was trying to blog about it. The 3 hour Pollutant Standards Index (PSI) at that time was 125, an Unhealthy range and climbing as the hours past. The smog was stinging the eyes and my nose tingled from the allergen. From my living room window the visibility was very poor, roads and public areas were deserted. The Straits Times reported that the haze could be with us until November partly due to the dry spell brought about by El Nino. The thought was so distressing I couldn't get myself to finish the blogpost. I clicked Delete.

On most days everything in Singapore seems to tick along to our Majulah precision. A global city with fabulous skyline, world class recreation facilities, and an exciting culinary scene. We are a services hub and innovation meeting point predicated on stability, efficiency, high quality of life and inclusiveness. These intangibles are a result of strategic planning which in itself is an intangible. Without natural resources and a sufficient land mass, we are as vulnerable as egg shells. Without strategic thinkers our fate as a nation is like shifting sand or this oppressive haze - good one day and disastrous on another.

The winds of change just slightly up north of our city state is a stark reminder that progress and credibility built over half a century can be suddenly shrouded in hazardous haze. A man who counts himself beyond the law is inciting racial hatred to shield himself from an impending downfall. The red t-shirt Himpunan Rakyat Bersatu (United Citizens Rally) were clearly suffering from confused identity when they went out on the streets on Malaysia Day freely chanting racist slurs. They would have seemed less cowardice had they been more upfront in calling themselves Himpunan Rakyat Satu Kaum Sahaja. Nazism would have been quite fitting as well. There is a rampage on its currency and the country's rating. Yet typical of most crazed regime, the leadership has responded with incoherent rhetoric. The free falling currency is good for exports it seems.

The annual haze quagmire is a more direct evidence of our vulnerability. Outright burning coupled with natural forest fires during the dry season wrecks havoc in the region. Our plea for action and offer to help drew fury and indignation amongst some senior government officials who lost sight of the fact that the local inhabitants are asphyxiating in a toxic soup with the PSI hitting 1900. Diplomacy and regional cooperation is forgotten when it matters most, replaced with stubborn refusal to acknowledge the real problem. 

The sub-100 PSI today seems to be holding up to my surprise. I am even cautiously optimistic that this could mark the end of the haze season. But somewhere in my mind I know that this is probably only a temporary change in the wind directions and we are not entirely out of the woods just yet. This to me is a constant reminder of the vulnerabilities we face. We need to continuously sustain our resilience as a single people, never falling for sweet naming euphemisms to hide possible fractures in our society. We must call out issues where they exist and work single-mindedly to resolve them before they become a chasm in our society.

Gifts from Heaven

I haven't thought about this for some time now but just over the last few days I spoke about it twice. I am actually a father of five. 

The large age gap between the two boys is accounted for by two babies that didn't get through their first trimester. Baby 3 was a girl. We found out because the doctor suggested that we run some tests to see if there were any genetic related issues that led to the two miscarriages. Over the years, when I speak to friends who go through the roller-coaster of starting a family, where appropriate, I share this with them. 

Becoming a parent is a gift. And like a gift, it is not a certainty. In fact nothing about this gift is known with certainty. Some couples have difficulty conceiving, others face many heart-stopping moments. Which is why even when the entire pregnancy goes smoothly, there is a sigh of relief at the end. Bringing kids into existence is a phenomenon that is so full of complexities that it is, in a literal sense, a miracle. The sight of a new born is a whisper from God that He exists and He is handing over to you someone precious.

We had to wait many years before our second boy arrived. During that pregnancy, the doctor asked us on many occasions to run the routine test for down-syndrome. We decided against it because we wanted to have the child regardless.The doctor, who was doing his part in being a responsible physician, was concerned for us. The decision wasn't one made out of chivalry or religious fervency but the acceptance that such gifts come in many forms. 

Earlier this week, one of my friends said that she didn't believe in an after-life. I told her I did and that I long to see my two other kids when I get to the other side. As much as I believe in God's gift of life, I also believe in His means of grace to get me there. What a treat it would be to see those two.

I was reminding my younger son today not to tease his sister. As I was emphasizing to him that she is his only sister, I realised that that wasn't quite so true. So I corrected myself by telling him about the two siblings before him. He found that interesting and verified what I told him with mommy. When he came back he asked whether he could have another sibling. I told him I am too old to consider having another child, but really in my mind I felt contented with my five special gifts. 

Pilgrimage

Earlier this week I thought about rounding up my closest secondary school friends for a... well I thought about what I should call it... a pilgrimage. I say round them up, but there is really only two of them. It wouldn't be a novel idea by any measure whether in real life or in the movies. Not quite sure why this idea has only occurred to me now. 

There were four of us from the same class and we ended up on the school waterpolo team. Countless hours spent in the pool and we travelled together for many out of state competitions. In our last year we came up first place in the interstate school competition. Those years were awesome. We each went on our separate ways after secondary school and eventually settled in different countries. And then our lives as friends seem to have just fast forwarded - you could probably condense all the touch points in the last 20 odd years into a couple of months. 

One passed away about ten years back. A rebel living on as a legend. The rest of us living out our forty-something lives without too many surprises I think. We each have 3 kids - pooled together there are 4 boys and 4 girls, ranging from a 17 year old to a newborn. We meet each other one on one maybe once a year. These tend to be quick updates from where we last left off - what are the kids up to, how is work, any new hobbies. The last time all three of us met up was probably about 4 years back at a wedding. This just screams for a pilgrimage doesn't it? I don't want to meet them next at someone's funeral.  

Sure sign of being a forty-something? Maybe it is about wanting to be a kid again? Or a way to travel to places our families just wouldn't think of going? Maybe for me it is about starting another ritual just like how I have embarked on blogging. Maybe it is all these things put together. Maybe long time friends remind you that some things haven't changed all these years; that you have survived being yourself. Maybe they reveal to you what the raw elements that make you who you are so that you can figure out the next step forward.

Time to make some calls.

Another Milestone

My daughter agreed to go to Sunday School his morning. The conditions were that I would accompany her and that she could bring her pink owl bag along. A big step for her but made easier by the fact that my second son started Sunday School earlier this year. As we were leaving for church, my son said that he was very proud of his sister. He voiced out my thoughts exactly.

On the way there my son explained to her that they would not be in the same class. I held my breath because that could well be a deal-breaker for her. But she didn't make a fuss. My son who wanted to have more involvement in her new experience. He asked if he could bring her to class but we were already late arriving at church so we dropped him off in class first. He gave his sister a kiss to wish her well.

My daughter adjusted well in class. She followed the actions to the worship songs and responded to the questions asked by her teacher. It was slightly confusing for her that the class assistant had the same name as her elder brother. She enjoyed storytime and was pleased to receive a colouring booklet, stickers and a file with her own name on it. 

The only fuss was on the way to lunch when her brother said that her class name "was weird". She took offence to him, protesting that her brother had said that her "class name was stupid". I didn't even know she knew that weird could imply to something being stupid. Mommy told the boy not to say anything if he didn't have anything nice to say. I think he found it odd that the class name wasn't related to something spiritual like Love, Joy or Peace. Instead, it was a cartoon character.

Another milestone for my daughter and for me. She believes in God but she does not yet understand the Christian faith in full. Well I guess I too am on a lifelong journey to understand my Christian faith in its full richness. But if she has enough confidence to stand her ground when somebody says that her faith is weird then that is a good place to be. I just have to make sure she is less sensitive to comments about class names.  There are too many influences that can steal a child's dignity and values from them at a very young age. It is important for her to know that she is precious regardless of what this world says about her, and that she is wonderfully made when the world around her suggests that she ought to feel inadequate about herself. Believing that she has God's love is a great place to start.

Majority at Work

We learn from a very young age not to be sore losers. Whatever the outcome, you are not supposed to throw a tantrum and definitely no name calling. Unless the game was rigged, the winner won it fair and square. Be gracious because it would otherwise look very bad on you. Simple lesson which we all try to pass on to our kids. 

My  youngest still can't help herself at times though - not winning any rounds of Uno can be too much to handle. Large grains of tears would swell up in her eyes as she tries to keep her emotions in. She would pout and her breathing gets shallower. And often it is when I try to console her that she would let out her loud distressing cry. Being a man of principles, I would remind her in the gentlest way possible, usually hugging her tight, that there will always be a winner and loser. Sometimes, my second son would also try to reassure her that it is okay that he's won.

The whole family stayed up late last night to watch the live news coverage of the General Elections results. I was rather surprised that all the kids took so much interest in it. My second son had the most questions - how many PMs will there be, why do the number of seats won by PAP increase so much after an announcement, what do the winners do after they win. One question he asked which I found particularly interesting was whether the parties that did not win would feel angry. I am not sure why, I told him that they would not feel angry but they would be disappointed. I thought about it this morning and I think it may have been that I wanted them to understand that disappointment rather than anger was the right emotions to have in such situations. 

What I think I should have done perhaps is to explain to my kids that there was a rare exception where the losing candidate lashed out in anger and blamed voters for their incompetence. He claimed that he had a better economic plan and a better manifesto and that "all this is is a mandate for authoritarianism and brainwashing". He implied that Singaporeans were mindless individuals under the control of the Government and that we were no different to North Korea and the Chinese Communist Party. He berated "I guess Singaporeans get the Government they deserved. I don't want to hear anymore complaints".  What was most unfortunately was that he spoke as if he wasn't a Singaporean, but rather a foreign candidate trying to teach the rest of us what democracy ought to be. Kenny didn't even take the time to thank all those who did vote and support his party. Sadly this was missing in most of the interviews with the parties that lost. Sadly too that many of these candidates did not talk about respecting the choice of the people. 

Whatever our views and whoever we voted for, we ought to be proud we allowed democracy to arrive at a decision. The outcome is the voice of the majority and that is the beauty of this system. People who chose the incumbent are not mindless nor irresponsible nor cowards. Whether you are rich or poor, whatever your race or religion, whatever your vocation in life, you are entitled to your one vote. We should be very proud that in this country, there are no concerns about vote-rigging and phantom voters, nor heightened risks of post-elections riots. We should be proud that we are a diverse nation with diverse views but can arrive at an important decision in a respectful and dignified manner. One people with one heart.

Phobia

I hurt my back two years ago and at that time the doctor sent me for an MRI. I wasn't unfamiliar with the procedure. A couple of years back, my father had an MRI  and his doctor asked him whether he wished to be accompanied. I was somewhat surprised that he said yes. So the next day I brought my father to the radiology department for his appointment and the MRI technician gave both of us instructions on what to do and what not to do. My role was simple - I was to hold on to my father's leg just to reassure him that I was there. After the procedure, I felt certain that he needed me there yet I hadn't fully appreciated why.

On the day when I had to go for my own MRI appointment, I didn't think too much about it. I did the registration, answering a long list of questions including whether I had a tattoo or implants. After I had completed the form, the nurse ran through her checklist with me repeating some of the questions on the form I had filled. She explained the rationale for some of her questions, for instance reminding me that magnets and metals have a natural attraction. Then came the question "Are you claustrophobic?" I had responded "Yes" on the form but I thought it was a rather odd question because I wasn't sure of the difference it would have made since this procedure was necessary.  Anyway, I confirmed with the nurse that I had low level claustrophobia. She said they would give me a headphone so that I could listen to music. I wasn't sure how much that would help but what's the harm.

I changed into a patient gown. Sat opposite me was another man waiting for his turn and he seemed pretty relaxed, texting on his phone. Then there was a lady who approached the registration desk to ask what alternatives her daughter had other than an MRI. In her North Indian accent, she explained that her teenage daughter was claustrophobic and there was no way she would be able to undergo the procedure. She asked whether her daughter could be given GA. The nurse explained that patients needed to be conscious as they have to respond to instructions during the procedure. The nurse said that she could consider a CT Scan but responsibly explaining to her the disadvantages of that procedure. I can't remember the rest of the conversation, partly because it made me think whether I had under-estimated my fear of enclosed space. I scanned the waiting area for signs of other anguished patients, but none seemed more anxious as how I was starting to feel. It got worse the more I thought about it. Was the chamber wall going to be 2 feet away from my face or 2 inches? I've seen it on TV and the cavity is like the eye of a needle. What if I had a bad itch, like the ones I am starting to develop?  The rational takes over the over-confidence. Is there an escape? 

After what seemed like a long wait, it was my turn. Noting that I had declared myself to be claustrophobic she asked me whether I would prefer to wear a sleep mask. I was slightly confused - how would being blindfolded help to eliminate the fear of not being able to move, breath, be heard, be seen and to see? It didn't occur to me at that time, but I should have asked if I could test going into the chamber with the sleep mask. Anyway, I decided against the sleep mask. She told me what to expect - it will take about an hour and there will be some knocking sound, but I should not move unless I hear instructions to do so, from her not from myself. She then asked me if I was ready and I reluctantly said yes.

There was a swoosh sound, much like a DVD player, as the platform transported my body into the MRI chamber. It moved a lot faster than I had expected. I hadn't had enough time to transition from the empty zen-like room into this isolation capsule, nor had I had the chance to clear my throat a final time before I had to immobilise myself for a good long hour. I immediately asked the technician to get me out of the chamber. She must have seen this a thousand times before so she was very polite about it. After a minute or so, she asked me whether I was ready to have another go at it. I mustered enough courage for a nod.

I remembered praying for calm and peace as I entered the chamber the second time. I closed my eyes and prayed for all the anxiety to leave my body and that God's presence will be with me. I moderated my breathing and adjusted my sense of space around me. The technician did a sound check and the fact that we could communicate with each other was somewhat reassuring. Soon, I settled down and the rest of the session went by fairly quickly. It wasn't as bad as I had imagined it to be. But it left me with this very raw impression of how death and dying may be like. Isolating and completely out of my control. Once they put you in, they don't pull you out again. The only thing that makes enclosed space fearful is that I can't get myself out and I think I will have to be there for a long time time. Death seems deadly claustrophobic.

Many outcomes conjured by our imagination are not real, but the sensation of fear, although irrational, is very real. And then there are many outcomes that we had been fearful of that turns out to be real. Life can be full of hard knocks, unpredictable. False alarms and our active imagination have a way of asking us the "what if" and the "when if" questions in life. I learnt that for me, I can only overcome real fear with a sense of God's presence - that He is interested in my life and has made a claim on it, and that He is in my boat and will get me across to the other side of the lake.

Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? 

If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. 

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. 

If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you. 

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  ~ Psalm 139: 7 - 13

 

Cooling-Off Day

Finally the hustings have come to an end. Frankly I have found the past week exhausting even though my only involvement has been to tune into the very passionate conversations between friends and colleagues and running through social media sound bites. I spoke to myself a lot, rolled my eyes until I induced a headache, and laughed out loud at some of the goofy political gaffes. I found myself playing the role of an economist in my head at times, and public relations specialist on others.

I could have done rather well coaching some of the candidates on the do's and dont's of hustings. Don't use old school analogies about any kind of ships, don't focus too hard on the opposing party that you end up shouting support for them, don't spend precious air time talking about who walked the block and who cycled through. Always remember that a calm disposition and a balanced view give others the impression that you speak out of experience rather than exasperation. Try not to speak like the army because we are not under martial law. Try not to dangle carrots or your bravado because it is like screaming "shoot me". Try to rehearse your speech and FAQs with highly critical people so that they can save you from bad press.

The Cooling-Off day tomorrow makes a lot of sense. It is a break from all our emotions and allows us to defuse our impulsive thoughts. The vote should not be an emotional response but an objective, measured action only to be taken after careful deliberation. I've now heard both sides of the story yet it is not about taking sides, because each tells a different side of the true Singapore. I may think that another person's perception is inaccurate, but whatever that person's perception, that is his or her truth. Both sides have presented their reality and the question is who can best balance those needs. Who will be willing to accept the harsh feedback received and do something productive with it. Who will focus less on the division between Singaporeans and work on ways to unite them. There is a Cantonese saying "The palm is flesh, the back of the hand is also flesh". Who will take this attitude when they act of behalf of Singapore?

Time to cool-off and consider what is most important to Singapore. If I had two wishes it would be first,  stability and security. The financial meltdown in Greece, the sharp devaluation of the yuan and the regional currencies, and the growing threat of terrorist and hackers are just examples of complex issues that a government needs to guard against. This requires strategic thinking, careful planning and precise execution. Singapore will lose its relevance if it can't maintain stability and its safety. 

Second, a gracious society. Sounds waffly, but what exactly do we live for if everything we ever do is just for ourselves. We need to break out of our WIIIFM (What-is-it-in-for-me) cocoon and became far more beautiful WCIDTMUB (What-can-I-do-to-make-us-better) creatures. You can clearly tell I made that acronym up on-the-fly. This comes from a broader based education that helps our kids have a better grasp of what success is. If we remain a WIIIFM society, nothing will ever be enough for us because we will never see other people's success as something that is worth celebrating and something that we can aspire towards. A gracious society helps us to see things from the perspective of the greater good of the society.

Hope you have a cool polling day.

Enjoying the Moment

I look a lot like my late father especially now that I am in my forties. He had strong genes and his physical features have been carried down even to my two sons. My hair is greying and in a couple of years it will probably look exactly like his full grey. He had a well-formed rounded belly with a rather large keloid in the middle as a result of a surgery to remove gallstones. This I would try to avoid to my best abilities.

My father was born in 1925 when the world was a very different place. At that time, Malaya was a British colony providing a source of wealth to the Crown from the export of tin and rubber. My father said that his grandfather was a rubber plantation owner but he gambled away the fortune, although I wonder how large the fortune may have been. So my father's childhood wasn't one of privilege. In fact, he told me that as a child he was neglected, moved around to live with different relatives. I think that left him with a lost sense of belonging in his life. I wished I had enough sense when I was younger to probe when my dad told me these stories.

He started working in his teenage years but soon after the Japanese invaded Malaya. He witness the atrocities of the Japanese Occupation - men young and old were taken away in the middle of the night never to be seen again, headless bodies of those thought to be traitors were hung on lamp posts to inflict fear on the rest, and people dragged away in broad daylight if they didn't bow to the imperial army. The secondary school which he attended, Victoria Institution in Kuala Lumpur, was converted into the Japanese army's headquarters. I attended that same school many years later and you would hear stories of how and whereabouts in the school prisoners were interrogated and tortured.   Those years were filled with fear and full of uncertainties. Everyone lived in hope and in faith that somehow they will get through those bleak times. People had to look beyond the oppression and carry on from one day to another. During those year, despite the danger and the distance, my father, who was working in Seremban, would cycle back to KL to bring rice, which was rationed, home to his parents.  

After the war, my father worked in Lever Brothers as a factory supervisor. That was where he met my mother. Work related hazard! Perhaps their first conversation was about the fact that their birthdays were only two days apart, although my father was much older. I remember my mom telling us that at that time there was another man who was trying to court her. My mom told this man that she was already seeing someone else but he didn't get the hint. She eventually had to tell that man that she was already going out with "Choo".  Either out of respect, or fear for his life or for fear of his job, the man stopped his pursuit. And so after several year, my parents got married. Well they got married, and many years after became my parents.

My father went through many ups and downs throughout the rest of his life. He got caught out in a world that was fast changing around him. Not having completed higher education or upskilled himself, he did not hold jobs that could sufficiently supported a family with four kids. There were also periods of time when he was unemployed, and this was a source of anxiety for him and for my mother. Being the youngest child in the family, I was oblivious to all this when I was growing up. I understood we were from a low income family but that was as much as I knew. I didn't notice the struggles that he went through.

There is a snapshot in time I hold very close to my heart.  This is from as far back as my memory can take me of a time spent with my father. We were on a beach holiday with relatives and I was very happy to see my father when he arrived a day later. I remember sitting next to him both squeezed in a beach deck chair looking up into the sky as the sun was setting. I asked him where he had gone and why he was late. I can't remember what exactly he said, but I remember he made me feel that it was okay because we were now together so we should just enjoy the moment. The next morning, he brought me to swim in the sea. I remembered holding on to him tightly because I was afraid of the waves but I also felt incredibly happy.

Today is my father's birthday. I want to thank him for my most primitive memories of us just enjoying the moment together. I want to thank him for staying the course in the midst of his personal struggles. I want to thank him for his love and hope, even though he was mostly a quiet man. I thank God for him.

"...but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us" Romans 5:3-5




   

Happy Birthday Mom

Today is my late mother's birthday. And my late dad's birthday is in two days time. As I think back, they didn't celebrate their birthdays when we were kids. My parents were very traditional in many sense and I think they didn't like anything that attracted too much attention to themselves. It was only in the later years, together with a family that was very close to ours, that we would celebrate birthday for all the September babies.

It hadn't occurred to me until this morning. I was doing a time check as I prepared my son for school when I realised that it was 3rd September. The first picture that came to my mind was a black and white photo of my mom carrying me when I was a newborn. She used to say that I was well behaved as a baby - able to entertain myself when she was busy with housework. In that photo, I did seem like a quiet peace loving baby. Whilst I can remember how she looked, I realise that I have forgotten how her voice sounded. I can remember my dad's voice but not my mom's. I realise that in my head I speak of her in the third person but any memory that I replay of her is like a silent movie.

My mom came from a poor family and lived through the Japanese Occupation in Malaya. As a child she was very weak and caught malaria twice, almost dying from it. She only finished four years of primary school and didn't know how to read that much. After she left school, my mom sold lunch prepared by my grandmother to factory workers to help with the family income. She recounted a time when she was so absorbed in her thoughts that she lost balance and dropped the food on the way to the factory. She was so afraid as she walked home that day and never forgot the punishment she received from my grandmother. My mom didn't have that much of a childhood.

When I was growing up, she supplemented the family income by looking after kids. There was a time when aside from her own four children, she was minding five other kids during the day time. This was on top of the household chores, marketing, cooking and looking after both my grandmothers. There were some things that she did which never made sense to me - choosing to walk to the wet market which was about half an hour away instead of taking the bus, and washing all the clothes by hand at 5am each morning. She would never consider trading off money no matter how little for a bit of comfort or convenience. She was constantly concerned about making ends meet and making sure she had enough for her kids' education. Also I guess the experiences of growing up poor never left her.

Somehow by God's grace she got to eventually see all four of her children graduate from university. Several years after I started working she decided to stop childminding. With the money she saved up she bought a new house. But just as life was getting a bit easier for her, she became very ill. Her condition was very serious by the time it was discovered and she passed away within three months. Those few months were some of the most stressful time in my life. It was difficult to watch such a strong woman suddenly become so weak, a person who had so much courage facing life become fearful of death. I just couldn't understand why she got the short end of the stick after having worked so hard all her life.

Many years after she passed away, I came to accept that whilst we lost her on this side of life too soon, God received her on the other side. When her tough life got tougher towards the end, God ran towards her to embrace and comfort her. At the very end, although she was in great pain, she held on to God's peace and the assurance that God was leading her to where it was going to be truly home.

Being the youngest in the family, I was and still am well loved. But as the youngest, I got to spend the least time with my parents. Sometimes I can't help but feel like an orphan without either of my parents around even though I am in my forties. It takes so little to be comforted by our parent - a little smile, a little word of advice, or just sitting next to each other. Yet when it is gone it is gone for good. I think about them when I watch my children grow, especially on days like this. Perhaps then, it is not all gone.

Growing Up Together

She is, to him, like the blue blanket is to Linus van Pelt. Where he goes, his Mei Mei follows. He comes up with creative play-pretend, and she is the main cast. Recently, he decided that when our small group meets for fellowship, they too would have a small group meeting at the yellow Ikea table. Although they may have a slightly different idea about the book of Numbers. Other groupie activities include reading the road safety manual together, two-against-one wrestling match with me, or hosting a big social event in their bedroom. Another favourite activity is hiding out in the step-in grocery cupboard near the dining area to plan their secret assignments. Their mission, "to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before". At times, their elder brother becomes their target for exploration. 

Like any true relationship, there are disagreements. She has lots of buttons and he presses them when he gets bored, sometimes all at once. Almost every car ride ends up with the two of them waging an endless "you started it first" argument. And of course, fairness, which comes pre-programmed in every child you order. There is a big warning sign about this for repeat orders and in the post-sale user manual. When this basic principle in life isn't met, deafening screams for justice and equality are unleashed, followed by buckets of tears. I remind myself that such episodes teach kids to love one another although things aren't perfect.

They are competitive about every possible thing - who bathes first, who finishes brushing their teeth, who wins the most times playing board or card games. Sibling rivalry has nudged Mei Mei to eat faster, drink more milk, and to put on a brave front on her first day at the kindergarten. It had also at times spurred her imagination. Before she even started kindergarten, she would tell us what her teacher said. This is often in response to her brother recounting his day at school.

He rescued his sister on two occasions when she fell into the swimming pool face down. On both occasions, he carefully held her head up so that she could breathe. This evening, when she was sleeping too close to the edge of the living room sofa, he ran to her rescue. So when she got upset with him for apparently giving her a stern stare, I recounted his rescue effort earlier in the evening to remind her that he loves her. He explained to her that he wasn't staring at her but that it was his bored look without her company. She burst into tears because she felt embarrassed that she was unhappy with him. 

Recently, he taught her how to swim with her floats on. I've not had success convincing her to float in the water by herself. She would cling onto me tightly whenever we are in the pool together. One day, somehow his brother took her by the hand and led her around the pool. At first she was nervous but eventually she warmed up to it. Very soon she could propel herself around the pool without holding on to her brother's hand. It was simply amazing to see how a young child can teach another a lesson in trust.

Every parent will have similar stories to tell about their own kids. But it doesn't make it less special for any of us. Children have an incredible way of reminding us of God's loving nature and humour. And to remind us that every child is a special gift and miracle not only to their parents but also to one another.