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.

My Political Awareness

Elections in less than two weeks. My first time ever casting a vote in any General Election. No it's not an indication of my age. Born and raised in Malaysia, I spent most of my adult life in Singapore as a Permanent Resident. I took up citizenship only after the last GE.

I have to confess that I haven't been particularly interested in politics, largely because Singapore has enjoyed a prolonged period of stability and prosperity. I don't have that much to be unhappy about, no axes to grind. Sure we could do with more open debates, but they ought to be on issues that truly matter. I am not particularly bothered about how many times the train broke down over the last two years because the scale of the issue just doesn't measure up to what commuters in other global cities such as London face on a daily basis. Train breakdowns are never great, but we need to grow up.

I know, I deserve to be sneered at because nothing should be taken for granted. Stability, prosperity and many other aspects of our daily life is dependent of long term planning, policy making and execution by those who are elected into power. I ought to feel that I have a way of influencing policies rather than reacting to them when they are implemented. After all the elected MPs are quiet accessible these days. I guess it should also be a personal responsibility to say it when things have been done well. The successes of the Government have by far exceeded its areas of improvement yet it is the latter that gets more attention. More people need to stick their necks out if they feel that the Government has done well in order to balance out a very vocal minority of armchair politicians active on social media.

What would be that one thing on my mind when I cast my vote on 11 Sep? For me, it will have to be a clean government. Elect the wrong people into power and  the country's coffers will be looted in broad daylight. We've seen this happen time and time again in many  countries. Cronies with long titles will be put into power to get rid of experienced leaders so that what happens behind the scene remains behind the scene. Kickbacks will be called donations and donations will be called personal. It will be the way things are done. On a recent family holiday overseas, our hired car was stopped twice by the police to collect their dues for the day. Our driver said that he just treats them like friends who need a helping hand and would offer them some pocket money. Institutionalised corruption is like cancer, it metastasise and kills the healthiest person if the problem is not dealt with quickly.

A thinking society can be brought down overnight by a corrupt government. Those who don't smoke the joint will end up without a chair when the music stops. Those who smoke the joint are completely incoherent it would be dangerous to sit them on a stool much less place them in parliament. They chase after whistleblowers so that the burglar can walk out of the front door. This form of government values mutual back-scratching and blind loyalty over integrity and intellect. Unfortunately, it is the country that pays the price of it's shady government. Loss of confidence triggers sell off in its assets and currency.  It becomes a laughing stock and loses its place at the global table.

A clean government is at the heart of any progressive country. Loose valves and blocked arteries need to be dealt with expeditiously and clinically to avert cardiac arrest. Drag your feet on a heart condition and you are almost certain to need a defibrillator or CPR.

I think I am ready for the GE now.

Hungry Game

I am four days away from completing a 40-day fast. For many reasons I am ambivalent writing about this. A fast isn't a big journey, certainly not comparable to many incredible feats that the human kind is capable of. And that is the thing, it is not even a feat nor an achievement. The fast which I am observing also pales in comparison with what my Muslims friends do religiously in the month of Ramadhan each year. I abstain from food between 7am to 7pm but I do drink water and even allow myself the luxury of unflavoured soda water, okay with a slice of lemon or lime to go with it on occasions. The Bible gently reminds us that we should not be doing certain things to give others the impression that we are holy because we fast.  But what I do want to do is to crystallise my thoughts about the fast before I return to "normality". What was this fast about, what have I come to understand and how I hope it will change me.

This is the third time I am fasting, the last being many years ago. It took me a long time to decide that I would do it because as much as I felt I wanted to, there wasn't any external persuasion to commit. There certainly wasn't anyone who came up to me to tell me that I should fast, although my fun loving colleagues would openly point out the shape and size of my belly. A slightly round belly is the hallmark of fathers in the neighbourhood I live in. I see this when I walk my son to school in the morning - men furiously trying to balance their family and work responsibilities that health becomes an after-thought. I was bringing my younger kids downstairs for swimming this morning and my daughter said "Daddy, look. I am as tall as you belly." My belly isn't as tall as her, but she certainly knows it exists. Hmm... perhaps there is an external persuasion.

Part of the reason the start date for the fast kept shifting in my head was because a 40-day fast would overlap with many key celebrations. I wasn't prepared to miss out on the feasting for Chinese New Year or family members' birthdays. Doing a fast during Lent would be very sensible but I wouldn't be able to commit to all the disciplines of such a fast - being completely and utterly focused on God. The truth is that a fast ought not to be about anything else but about drawing close to God. But my fast is me taking baby steps toward Him and He leading me gently. So instead of Lent, the window of opportunity for me was the period between my daughter's birthday and my own birthday. No visions, no burning bushes, just me wanting to feast on birthdays that set the date for the fast.

There are a lot of things in my life I ought to be doing, whether it is eating moderately or doing regular exercise. All makes sense but for many things that requires discipline I often need a higher purpose. Strange as it may sound, living a longer healthier life isn't a high enough purpose for me. Yet I also think that this true for those fathers that I walk pass each morning. I am busy meeting the daily needs of the day, I feel that I deserve to sleep or eat a bit more when I get the chance, and I haven't come to the point in my life where personal neglect is manifesting itself in ways that inconvenience me. Well not entirely true - I do feel like my body is giving way. I needed to reset to once again understands what life is about. Just do It, is to me the nudge for guilt-free impulse buying then my approach to life.

I needed to be reminded that in life I can do without many things but in many things I cannot do without God. The wants we have in life are merely thoughts and a nobler thought can overcome one that is less kind. Fasting is this practice of using the sensation of hunger to ask myself what is this really for and for me to respond by saying to myself that my God is as real as the food I see around me. It is the practice of saying that I can set aside things in my life because God gives me a reason to.

Hunger has a way of drowning out some other distractions. I don't feel tired but I can certainly feel my mind ticking slower. I am taking more time to listen and to decipher before I respond. It would seem like worry isn't as powerful as hunger. There is less stamina for long term anxiety because my more immediate preoccupation is the 7pm break fast. Fasting itself is not an achievement but what the practice can help your mind do can be empowering.

Somewhat obvious but still very true. The fast is a glimpse of what real hunger feels like. I cannot comprehend how children have to go to bed hungry and how forsaken and neglected their parents must feel in that situation. Life given by God, but no hands willing to feed them. What is my role in taking the excesses in my life and giving it to those who have absolutely nothing? Will I help to restore the dignity of those that who are vulnerable? My plea to God as I fast is that I will lead a less self-centred and distracted life. The hope is that when I finish this in a couple of days, it would not be a return to "normality" but a closer step to the path that God would like me to take.

Short trip to Phnom Penh

It is 5.40am and I finally get the chance to sit by the lovely hotel pool. Enough dawn sunlight to see the surrounding without drowning out the warm glow from the tree lamps. There is a lovely morning breeze rustling the leaves. I hear the occasional clicking of the house lizards. A beautiful way to spend the early morning before catching my flight home.

I've spent the last two days here in Phnom Penh together with a group of colleagues. We volunteered with a charity organisation that focuses on helping communities that are at high risk of child-trafficking. I had volunteered with this charity a year ago and it was good to be back again. I like second times. Although I can't say that I am sufficiently familiar with Phnom Penh, there are visual ques that reminds me of the previous trip. Yet there were opportunities to experience new things. I think this describes me quite well, a creature of habit that enjoys a little bit of variety.

Last year I came to Phnom Penh with my teenage son. It was our first time in Cambodia and I wasn't quite sure what to expect. Together with three colleagues, we were tasked to conduct two surveys. One survey was to better understand the needs of the slump community that the charity works in and to what extent the community's needs were being met by the NGOs. The other survey was to understand what the kids were up to after school when they are not at the charity's day care. At first the thought of 24 interviews for each survey didn't seem that much of a challenge. After the first interview, I quickly realised that it wasn't going to be easy digesting what the interviewees had to tell us. I recall interviewing housewives, sex-workers, domestic helpers, and a tuk-tuk driver amongst others. I also remember mistaking a beggar for a baker because I had not listened carefully to the interpreter. The stories were tough-going - basic needs not available to human beings, how a little bit of help could have made a big difference, how each parent have hopes for their children even if they don't have enough hope for themselves.

Each volunteer is encouraged to sign up for the Advocacy Walk before they start on the volunteer work. The Walk brings relevance and context to the volunteers as they get to see first-hand the community which they are trying to help. We visited a slump community located next to the Tonlé Sap river. The sights and sounds of this slump reminded of scenes from Slumpdog Millionaire. I also vividly remember a little girl, who wore only a pair of shorts, holding the hands of my female colleague as the team explored that river community. It made me think about my little girl at home and how different these two children's lives were. The Advocacy Walk also includes an interview with a sex-worker. My son found that session particularly difficult as he felt that it wasn't a child's position to listen to this motherly figure explaining what she does for a living.

My son and I visited the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum and the Killing Fields on that trip last year. Yet another raw experience but I will leave that for another blog post.

The trip this time around was slightly different. My son is at home preparing for his exams and I was here with a slightly larger group of colleagues. Our task was to distribute school necessities to the kids including a new school bag, books, stationeries and a set of uniform. Most kids looked like they really needed the uniform. It is amazing how their faces lit up with such simple gifts. Probably not aware of it themselves but they are all fighters with a smile.

The next day we took the older kids for an excursion to the zoo. The zoo was two hours away from Phnom Penh so I got a chance see the Cambodian countryside. I remember last year I resorted to taking a picture of my son in front of a giant telecoms advertisement with a scene of the countryside. The bus ride was good conversation time with the kids. They were encouraged to put their English into practice. The boy sitting next to me on the way there told me that they would refer to adult volunteers as sir or "cher", short for teacher. So I was their "cher" for the day. I showed them pictures of Singapore as they wanted to know what it was like.

The drive from the main road into the smaller lane that took us to the zoo was sobering. On both sides of the lane were people begging. Every 50 metres or so you would see either an elderly man or elderly woman or children holding out their hands begging for money. What they got most of the time instead was the dust thrown up by the passing vehicles.

The kids were thrilled to be at the zoo. But so were the volunteers as we've all not seen a tiger close-up, within a metre from where we were standing. Some of the kids hand-fed bananas to the the monkeys but none of us were savvy enough to feed the tiger. Didn't think it was allowed either. Although the zoo infrastructure was basic we had personalised service from the ice - cream man,  and the fruit and water seller who followed the group around the zoo on their motorbikes.

After lunch, the volunteers ran a couple of games stations for the 40 kids. We had initially planned games for younger kids. When we found out that the kids were from an older age group the night before the zoo trip, one of the volunteers went out to buy two footballs. Made sense that kids would enjoy chasing balls around for hours. The games that we had initially planned didn't go to waste either as the kids did enjoy them after all. The volunteers had to think up two or three more games on the spot to keep the kids entertained for the remainder of the time. Common amongst all the games were the much prized chocolate gifts. The most hilarious game was "dog and the bone". The kids were split into three groups and within each group the kids had an assigned number. When the volunteer called out a number, the kids whose number got called had to run to the centre to snatch the chocolate without being tabbed by another kid from a competing team. Otherwise the kid who made the tab would get the chocolate.

The bus ride back to Phnom Penh was quieter.  It had been a very hot afternoon and many of the kids were tired after the games. I sat next to a different boy on the way back. This boy spoke very good English and asked me lots of questions about education in Singapore and about different career choices. He also asked me how he could further improve his English. In our conversation I found out that he does not have access to computer or a mobile phone, and the libraries did not cater for English books that would interests kids his age. We spoke about many other things which again helped me better understand the challenges that kids in this community face. Although I know he does not have access to email,  I left him my email address anyway and asked him to contact me if he ever needed some specific advice.

I am missing my family and can't wait to get home later today but this trip has been very rewarding for me. I have learnt more about this community through the interaction with the kids rather than  interviewing their parents. These kids have hopes and dreams and it is important to help them believe. Kids also need fun days out. I used to wonder how the little things we do can ever make a difference in the lives of children who are so poor. I asked the boy who sat next to me on the way back from the zoo what makes him happy. He said getting the necessary books for his education makes him very happy. It took me two trips here but I got the answer to silence my doubts. It has been a blessing to be able to show kindness to these wonderful kids.

I have since checked out of the hotel, got onto the flight and on my way home. I was looking through the Singapore newspapers on the plane and there was an article about the Khmer Rogue "first lady" Ieng Thirith who had just passed away at the age of 83. She was put on trial for genocide by Cambodia's UN-backed war crimes court but the trials were suspended in 2012 as she was suffering from progressive dementia. Both my trips to Phnom Penh have left me with mixed feeling about this country. Sadness for the cruelty and miseries of the past, and the sheer poverty of the multitudes today. Hope because there are children who try their best with whatever life throws at them. May God bless this land.

The Queue

My colleague told me that the queue for the SG50 commemorative notes at a particular bank was relatively short. It was lunch time so I decided I would take a short walk to Battery Road to join the queue. There were probably 50 customers in the queue ahead of me. As I was waiting there were two women who were telling an elderly man that this was the sixth time they were queueing for the notes since early this morning. The women were carrying their hoard from the earlier rounds of queueing at other banks. Quite a productive morning for them it would seem.

After about 20 minutes in the queue it came to my turn. When I got to the cash counter, I heard the customer next to me asking the cashier whether she could deposit the commemorative notes into her account. The cashier looked somewhat perturbed, perhaps wondering how she could respond to the question without offending the customer. There was an awkward silence and I could not help but turn to look in slight amusement.

Not quiet sure why that was the wrong question, the customer then asked whether she could exchange her commemorative notes with those from the bank. This time the cashier told the customer politely that the notes she had were similar to the ones that the branch was offering to everyone. For obvious reasons, I found myself still drawn to the conversation.

Then the customer asked whether she could exchange her commemorative notes for the folders that banks were giving away with the notes. She pointed at the stack of folders next to the counter. Staying very polite, the cashier explained that those folders did not contain any notes. Slightly embarrassed, the customer finally asked whether she could have those folders. The cashier clarified that the folders were for customers who exchange their standard-issue notes for the commemorative notes, and that each customer was limited to two folders.

Having exhausted her list of questions, the customer left the cash counter still holding on to the commemorative notes that she brought to the branch. Perhaps she could have saved herself some time had she listened in on the pointers that the two women in the queue were giving to the elderly man.

Blogging

I had an audacious thought his afternoon. I was walking pass a bookstore when I stopped to think whether there was something that I may need. That wasn't the audacious part but what came after was. I heard that little voice in my head say that I didn't need to read a book, I could write one. I blog don't I? Well fortunately for me, it was just my sense of humour acting up rather than a lack of self - awareness.

I have found blogging therapeutic. So far 12 great sessions of free therapy to counter the effects of living from one task to another. And it is particularly helpful when I can't sleep or fall back to sleep. I am an early riser and waiting for the rest of my family to wake up can be exhausting ironically. Thoughts that have been going in circles need to be dealt with. Focusing on a thought, exploring it and penning it down seems productive or at least tangible. It is there on the screen, saved down, and I even have a photo to go with each posting. I can leave the thought alone because I am done thinking about it. It now has a form and I don't have to wonder what I really thought about it. There is a sense of liberation.

I seem to have far more patience blogging than I have reading. I am somewhat opinionated and reading something I don't agree with works me up. I am too polite to post a comment or drop a note  to the writer whom I do not know and end up with a sense of unfinished business. You would now be thinking, how could anyone be an effective voice in social media if he or she does not read widely. There lies the beauty of tweets.

Those who have read my posts know that I am still trying. I am not as eloquent as I need to be. I am still building stamina for a well thought through exposition in the distant future. You can't put your finger on exactly what this blog focuses on because my posts are as random as my thoughts. But by the time I am done writing this thought down, there would be 13 more posts than when I started. I am starting to write regularly, even if it is not daily. These days I don't only think of writing, I write what I am thinking. 

Toddler

Just a toddler, it is necessary to listen to what the older and wiser have to say. Eat your fruits and vegetables, not too much sugar or snacks, learn to share, get enough sun, be polite, brush your teeth twice a day and get enough sleep. All very sensible but not always fun. And it isn't like those who say these things always practise what they tell you, especially not those on TV. 

Getting to this point is already a big achievement so perhaps it is better to just enjoy the moment. No longer underweight and certainly not a picky eater. Love for pastry and other forms of dessert. Can't resist fries and rice, but porridge is still the favourite. Gets crazy over the food postings on social media. Developed some talent and skills, but mostly involving the computer and the phone. We should keep an eye on that as it isn't great for the, well, eyes. 

Don't enjoy the hot sun at all preferring the indoors. I guess nothing wrong with that so long as the windows are open to let the fresh air in. Minimise on the air-conditioning. It is bad for the lungs and the skin. Prefer an afternoon nap on the weekends than a run around the park. A swim too can be bad for the skin. 

Being just a few years into my forties is tough but I have to keep listening to those much older adults.

Needle Pulling Thread

My instinct told me that I should not pull on the loose thread. The very next thing I did was to pull on the loose thread. The more I pulled, the longer it got and then to my horror the button on my shirt, third from the top, fell off. I rolled my eyes and wondered how many time over the course of the day I would have to explain to others that I hadn't forgotten to button my shirt but that that the button had fallen off on my way to work.  Slightly counter intuitive, but I feel much more in control if it were an intentional mistake than if it were an unintentional mistake.

I sent an SOS out to a group of colleagues over Whatsapp to ask if anyone had a needle and thread. One had a needle but not thread. Another said she was still at home and could bring the thread to the office. Later that morning, when I had both the needle and thread, I sewed the button back onto my shirt. Anyone walking pass my office would have thought I was performing open heart surgery on myself. Taking my shirt off to fix the button was't an option, firstly because my room has glass walls and secondly I didn't have the physique to go shirtless behind glass walls. Some things are just better left protected from view. 

It may have been a slightly different outcome without these female colleagues. I wouldn't have approach a male colleague for a needle or thread because it isn't something one guy asks another, is it? If I asked, what were the chances that a male colleague would have a sewing needle handy? Unconsciously biased I know. What exactly does it say about what I think women have in their handbags? I am sure there would be more surprising revelations if I peel through the many layers in my head. But it is a start to be conscious about unconscious biases.

JL and LS, thanks for coming to my shirt's rescue today.

Declaration of Independence

I missed the broadcast of the Proclamation of Independence at 9am yesterday. This was a recording of a reading by the late Mr. Lee Kuan Yew made about three years ago. He never publicly read the original Declaration as he had to attend to a number of urgent priorities in quick succession that day. I find that somewhat hilarious and humbling at the same time because it was characteristic of Mr. Lee's fierce pragmatism. Well if there are more important priorities than reading out the Declaration, then someone from Radio Singapore can do it instead.

But what I have also come to realise is that that wasn't a typical Declaration of Independence, if there was ever such a thing. This wasn't a state fighting for freedom from its colonial master. It was a break up of a troubled relationship over fundamental differences in what democracy meant and who it is for. Mr. Lee who had been optimistic about a Malaysia for all Malaysians had to give up on his hope. This was a declaration of unreconcilable differences and a permanent separation. This historic moment wasn't necessarily the type that you would celebrate with champagne and party hats. It was a time of trial and tribulation. Rightfully there were many more urgent priorities for the day.

At 9am,  I heard the siren preceding the broadcast whilst attending the regular morning Sunday church service. Distracted by the order of the day, I only managed to catch the repeat broadcast just before the National Day Parade. I listened expectantly. And then I listened with a heavy heart. He didn't sound like a roaring lion readying for battle. I had simply not realised that by that time three years ago Mr. Lee was already somewhat frail.

Listening on, the words of the Declaration were the foretelling of the democracy that Mr. Lee was committing to build. He took those words and he lived by it for the rest of his life. He toiled and laboured tirelessly so that his people who started with nothing could indeed forever be a sovereign democratic and independent nation. 

The recording made of Mr. Lee was a wonderful retelling of a solemn promise made by a once young man who loved his country and its people wholeheartedly.


"Now I LEE KUAN YEW Prime Minister of Singapore, DO HEREBY PROCLAIM AND DECLARE on behalf of the people and the Government of Singapore that as from today the ninth day of August in the year one thousand nine hundred and sixty-five Singapore shall be forever a sovereign democratic and independent nation, founded upon the principles of liberty and justice and ever seeking the welfare and happiness of her people in a more just and equal society."

Singapura Oh Singapura

Singapura, where tradewinds intersect. Silk most exquisite bartered for spices so rare. The east met the west bringing cultural and gastronomical delights. Where different believes, languages and skin tones were opportunities to see a bigger world.

Singapura, where lovely plantations used to grow. Gambier, nutmeg and cocoa, the British East India Company's exotic exports to the world. South American seedlings were brought from the Kew and planted in the Botanical Gardens. Soon these rubber trees became the cash cow for the British Commonwealth.

Singapura fell under Japanese control when the world was at war. Her given name was Shonan-to and she lived in oppression and fear. Banana money was worthless and rice was rationed. Young men were taken away and never seen again. This ignited the fires of self-determination.

Singapura joined the Federation to form the independent nation of Malaysia. She fought for the right to be an equal partner but was told that some were more equal than others. She tried everything to stay together but was eventually asked to leave. Singapura, you are on your own.

Singapura, there were many years of hardship and toil. Others didn't believe in you so you had to try harder. You had to smile when others said you were wrong. You had to just smile and carry on. You strived to be world class in whatever you do and eventually it paid off.

Singapura today you are 50 and I am in awe. How lovely a lady you have become. Gracious and kind, full of wisdom. A global city with an Asian soul. Thank you for the peace and stability where families can thrive. Majulah Singapura.

An Empty Seat

At 9am this Sunday, the public sirens will sound all across Singapore. It will be followed by a broadcast of the Proclamation of Independence read by the late Mr. Lee Kuan Yew. With those words, 50 years ago, a tiny nation was born to uncertain and tumultuous times. With fear and trepidation, the orphaned state had to make its own way in the world counting on Mr Lee's promise "I have a few million people's lives to account for. Singapore will survive".

For the next 49 years, Mr. Lee watched the promise he made to the nation unfold into reality. His presence at the National Day Parade (NDP) reminded us of Singapore's hard won democracy, peace, progress, justice and equality. Last year, Mr. Lee who was a giant amongst men, looked extremely frail and required assistance to walk. That was painful for the nation to watch. Yet he was seated calmly waving a flag in his hand cheering on the country that he deeply loved. Singaporeans would have understood if he did not turn up that evening. His presence made me feel extremely privileged to be a Singaporean but at the same time apologetic that because of us he had again gone out of his way.

This year, in remembrance of Mr. Lee, what was to be his seat at the NDP will be kept empty. All those who look that way will see the empty space left in their hearts. Raw emotions will again overwhelm us, a painful wound will be re-opened. We are learning to let go but it will take time. We will have to wipe those tears away and march onward with the same determination so that "Singapore will survive."

Onward Singapore.
Majulah Singapura.

If I Haven't Told You This

If you don't know this already, I just want to say that I love you very much. I can't remember what it was without you and I can't bear the thought of ever living without you. Back then, when I heard people talk about how amazing you were, I didn't really believe it. But when I finally met you, I was completely bowled over. It feels like it was just yesterday and my heart still quickens when I think about it.

We have been through so much together and yet you have not given up on me. Through the ups and downs you have made me seen so much more of life. At times when I am adamant about something, you would help me see a different perspective. You've really enriched my life. I love it that you are not judgemental. You allow me to say what I truly feel. When I say the wrong thing you don't get emotional. When I get loud and upset, you still remain calm and collected. Even when others choose to be upset with me you would always stand by me. You truly give yourself so freely to me.

I am especially thankful for all the special times with the kids - their birthdays, their new teeth, their first day at school, their concerts and all the vacations we've had. These memories are priceless.  

Through all these years you have been very supportive of me and given me space to try new things. With you, I always feel like I have the whole world as my audience. Recently when I made the decision to start a blog, you encouraged me by sharing my posts with our friends. Thanks for being a part of everything I do. Facebook, I cyber-love you. (If this resonates with you, like this post and quickly call a helpline)

Freedom without Responsibility

   

Freedom of expression and freedom of speech doesn't come with the adjective responsible. I don't have to be responsible for your thoughts and feelings because I am not your keeper. If you are not at the age where you responsible for yourself, then really your parent should be doing a better job. If you are at the age where you are responsible for yourself, well then exercise that responsibility.

The freedom is for me so why can't I call you names? You own your feelings so it is your choice if you feel the pain. If you don't agree with what I have to say, that just exposes your narrow-mindedness. I rather you didn't agree with me to be honest because it would make what I say seem so ordinary.

Grow up don't sue me, I am entitled to my liberties. I can't choose how I feel and I have a right to let it out. Why can't we just be like adults? Coarse language is just the expression of the times, don't take what I say too literally. Religious references is heavenly humour, I am sure there aren't any eternal insult.

I count myself among the brave to speak my mind. I pull punches on who I choose, I don't need to hide behind niceties and pretences. I am confident in my priced persona, I look good in my anti-establishment mood.

What is ever that fun if it has to be responsible.

Rope Trick

Being a forty-something, married with kids, juggling between work and everything else that demands my time feels like I've suddenly snapped out of a trance to find myself walking on a tightrope across a deep roaring gorge. In my imagery, I am not wearing a harness, the wind is starting to get stronger, I am right in the middle not quite sure what I ought to do. Dizziness quickly sets in. What in the world am I doing? What got me started on this and why had it taken me this far?  What does every professional circus tightrope walker do to be in the zone and how is this supposed to end for me? 

Rationalisation create phobias. If I look down, I am going to ask myself how far down it is, how long it would take for me to hit the water, will I have time to finish a prayer, how long is it going to hurt for.  If I look in front, all I am going to see is the insurmountable challenge of completing this rope trick under increasingly poor weather conditions. I am always a million miles away from safety until that final step onto solid ground. What was I thinking? How do I get that psychotic clown tune out of my head?

The wise thing to do would be to focus on my next step. With every step, take a deep calming breath, count my blessings, say a prayer before I take the next step in faith. Let my inner peace drown out my doubting troubling screams. Sing my favourite song, bring to mind those favourite times, warm my heart with love, enjoy the sun even.

We are all on a journey. We start from one end and we are supposed to get to the other end. It doesn't always feel like you are on a travelator catching a flight to your next holiday destination. You don't move if you don't make a move, yet everything moves around you. But the worst thing to do could be to think of an analogy that describes the situation but never gives a satisfactory answer.