Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Take Flight

"Our doubts are our traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt."
-William Shakespeare

"Trappings of expectations, fleetingly absent presence of mind..." said headline seems to spell the theme of this phase of our journey. Making the task at hand yet more ardous upon a purpose most simplistic - just keep things functional ;)

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

It's SOoO Fluffy!!!

Wisps above and tuffs to the side, volumnous stacks ahead and about... soaring above the clouds this morning, a familiar tune came to mind:

"I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
I’m just out to find
The better part of me
I’m more than a bird...i’m more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It’s not easy to be me
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I’ll never see
It may sound absurd...but don’t be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but won’t you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
It’s not easy to be me
Up, up and away...away from me
It’s all right...you can all sleep sound tonight
I’m not crazy...or anything...
I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
Men weren’t meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
I’m only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
Inside of me
Inside me
Yeah, inside me
Inside of me
I’m only a man
In a funny red sheet
I’m only a man
Looking for a dream
I’m only a man
In a funny red sheet
And it’s not easy, hmmm, hmmm, hmmm...
Its not easy to be me"

Off each leg of landmark transit cycles in life, man first moves from his back to crawl on fours, then to stride on twos and finally to hobble on threes. With the dawn of tech-savvy, since the stone age, some may even roll out on wheels. I'm saddened to say that though I'm no less than two-thirds of the cycle on, I've regressed to a crawl figuratively. We endeavour and strive, we've learnt that it brings growth; though sometimes it's possible to strive too hard, and lose sight of the natural scheme of things.

Just as we don't consciously breakdown the active motor-function subsets of tossing a newspaper while on a bicycle cruising around a bend at 20 Kmph, one shd not try to visualise or scribe a thesis on farting while singing in the shower, whilest turning off the tap and simultaneously reaching for the towel and keeping track of a five minute shower. In essence, trying too hard is actually possible, just let go, and take flight ;)

Monday, May 16, 2011

Nuth'in Serious, Sam...

As the morning rolls off to a hazy start, I find myself seated behind the control column of a single propeller plane, thundering down the tarmac, with yet increasing speed. An odd phrase flashes across my mind, “daag!” A boisterous bellow once often heard from the lips of an eccentric German brother of mine. Brother Ilija, how’ve you been? As always, living life to the fullest, no less, I’d assume!

“Daag!”, a sound so simple, yet uttered with aplomb, masking the toils and burdens of past pains and future dues. I used to think that it was a simple slang coined by sloshed bosom European drinking buddies, shared bashfully with an Asian dreaming of global citizenship. But I’ve come to see the error of my ways. A bastardization coined by Ilija of the german phrase “Guten Tag” - meaning “good day”, said with a warm smile and a hint of an innocent shrug, seaming to suggest, “Why so serious, Sam?”

This same time, yesterday, I was wedged into the couch, irritable from the scarce intermittent bouts of rest snatched between toilet runs; having lost yet another battle with gastro-enteritis, since the pre-dawn. Seraphina had tried to wake me from a restless slumber, calling out earnestly, then impatiently, and finally shoving me irately. Regrettably, I thundered in response, and insensitively chided her for being rude.

But was she not merely struggling to move against the bulk of insurmountable momentum needed for so tremendous a task as to inject life and joy into her father grown weary from the troubles of late. Certainly it was no fault of hers; certainly the dramatic response was unwarranted, for how was she to know. As tears flowed down her cheek, the saddened expression she wore seemed to ask, “Why so serious, daddy?”

My wilful daughter simply wished in eager anticipation, just as my brothers had when they were toddlers, to rouse an unconventional ally to kick start and breathe life into a mundane day. What was I doing, again. To watch her father rise to his usual strength and nonsensical antics, was all she was truly asking, to cherish the time together, to build upon a trove of happy memories. But what I had offered was a bitter dish I myself had resented; I was most remorseful. The flashback came fast and furious, “Why so serious, kor kor?”

A decade lost yet owed to my brothers in the haunting hollow halls of a preoccupied disposition. To be there yet somewhat ethereal; missing out on life as it unfolded, simply because I was too guarded, too detached, and too self-aware to throw caution and dues to the wind. Unawake to the difference between the necessary folly of childhood and the mantle of burden that the responsibility of being an elder sibling brought.

This epiphany has cut deep, sunk in, festered, and finally done me in, and I thank the good Lord. Dense as I might be, this here theme is starting to play like a broken record, and I finally got it. “Stay awake, for the coming of the Lord is at hand.” Granted one life, live it… each moment, cherish it… , “Why so serious, Sammy?” …‘cos the beauty about the ability to laugh at oneself, is seriously simple, its simply not serious at all ;)

Take it all in stride, relax, laugh, learn, toil, and enjoy each moment, for life is often hard enough as it is, muster courage and lend strength where it’s needed, and fall into the arms of those who will champion your cause when you need it, because we quite simply cannot be infallible. “Accept the simple notion that the aircraft will settle in its course, despite pockets of turbulence and thermal gusts.”

“Offer timely decisive inputs only when necessary.” …today’s flight has been the simplest yet toughest hurdle in my bid to relinquish over-control of a life so tightly-clenched. Taking-off is the easy part; it’s the landings that we walk away from that truly command respect. Relax, it’s all in God’s steadfast hands. You live, you learn ;) Simplify! K.I.S.S. - keep it simple, sam!

Friday, May 13, 2011

The Force is Strong in This One

Despite the fact that the missus robbed me of the honour of introducing handheld gaming to our younglings, through the dark allure of the iphone; I finally got to trump her feat by sharing a landmark moment in my daughter’s opposable thumbs training program. It was a proud moment for me, with the wife’s blessings of course.

Pride flowed over me as my daughter flapped frantically and gesticulated wildly to the fanfare of a hip digitized soundtrack, peppered with crackles of diabolical laughter. Yes, little Nana has outdone her old man once again, adapting to the ancient art of nin-ten-do, “hai!” and beat me at a round of Raving Rabbits on the Nintendo Wii console, no less. Yes, she’s three, and I’m thirty. Though I divulge that I granted her the benefit of a head start to sweeten the experience.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Here's to the past, strength for the present, and hope for the future...

The family would like to thank all, for the support and presence, in testament to the impact of the life of Teresa; who was our sister, mother, grandma, greatgrandma, and friend.

She was an unconventional person, born into conventional times, yet she dared to be different. Most of you who knew her, would recall her larger than life personality. She left a mark of intensity on all that she did. Her zest and passion for life was like rock and roll, it might not have changed the world, but it has made a difference in our lives and in the lives of those around her.

We thank all for supporting her on her many journeys, a journey most full and blessed, to have had the joy and company of her family - siblings, nieces and nephews, children, god-children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren - as well as the fortune of firm friendships that have stood true throughout the years.

To care, to keep and treasure in the mind’s eye, to miss and fondly hold dear to heart, to ache deeply and fiercely cherish, is perhaps the greatest gift we can give to her. It is indeed a blessing to freely share unguarded, for we are limited by the transience and mortality of life.

We ask the good Lord for strength to tide us through the grief of her passing. For life must go on, and it will. To be in the here and now, is also to weigh the gravity of past journeys we have shared with her – fleeting or otherwise, which have shaped our capacity for growth and resilience.

The last leg of her journey has been a most challenging one. However, through the blessings of a full and robust journey, she had found the strength to endure the toll of the same illness that had taken her father. We thank the Good Lord for the grace of time she had received, to prepare for her next journey with our Heavenly Father.

She no longer has to be the impervious matriach, she’d always strove to be; we can, and we will be alright, from this point on... We thank her for being our friend, our bickering buddy, our indominable critic and biggest fan.

And to all who have not had the opportunity to say your final goodbyes in person, we thank you for praying with us here today. Do keep her in your prayers, as we’re sure, she’ll keep us in hers.

For the remaining days we've all got together, live strong, cos we once shared her friendship ;)

Goodbye, great grandma.
Goodbye, grandma.
Goodbye, mother.
Goodbye, sister.
Goodbye, friend.

We love u, and always will...

Friday, February 04, 2011

Grossology

Once upon a misfortunate time, good 'ol Sammy had a roach up his nasal tract... Not to be overshadowed by his old man, Lil Phimmy popped half a roach down his disgestive tract... yup, my boy ate a roach and threw up... chip off the old perculiar block ;)

Friday, January 14, 2011

Medicated @30

Side-by-side, we braved the cold night, on unsteady feet, on both counts. The sky had started to sprinkle on a light shower of intermittent rain – as I had been told in Meteorology studies, was the right terminology for ‘drizzle’ in Singapore. With one assuring hand held firm, I steadied myself as I peered into the night; then looked to her purposeful eyes.

I watched her eyes sparkle as the blue canopy ballooned at the haphazard flick of a button; this was our shield against the inclement. It was a simple umbrella made off in haste, albeit one with an ever-peaceful Singapore Casket logo embossed; although at that point, I truly felt the logo portended an ominous outlook for me. Burying the pain and discomfort, I swept her up and broke from the brick and mortar enclave as we made haste across the open patch, fixed on our destination.

We arrive at the doctor’s, for the umpteenth time in a week.

As I sat there, allowing myself to momentarily let out my weariness, I looked over my right shoulder to see her shuffling her feet, silent and wary since we entered the room; eyes everwatchful of the man with the foreboding stethoscope, with guarded intent. As I looked to her, Seraphina placed her small hand on my arm reassuringly and said,”Daddy vomit, see doctor, okay”.

A simple yet powerful gesture beyond her years, she was being brave, for me. She did not take kindly to doctors, yet was fiercely protective of me. I recounted the tale of my miserable plight of intravenous drips, jabs and blood test, stemming from a losing battle with gastroenteritis and fever. It was a sullied tale of disgust and distaste; one of a seized gut, nausea, recurrent heaving, and a severe case of the runs.

Like a young hawk, she perched by my side – watching our faces, taking in the unsettling conversation – highly strung yet selflessly protective of her injured kin. Her gaze met mine, with understanding; daddy’s going to be fine. She seemed more certain than I was. I recounted the same sparkle in my son’s eyes, earlier in the day, as he toddled purposefully along the coffee table up to me.

It was late in the morning, sometime between the cocktail of pills and tablets and just before the next retching. Sunlight had flooded across the hall through parted curtains, illuminating a miserable picture, of a pale, twisted man – hair deranged, curled foetal and shivering on my in-laws couch – death’s shadow under a mountain of blankets. Yet the bold little warrior strode precariously up to me and reached with little palm outstretched, to pat me on my cheek.

Deep within me stirred a font, not from the nausea, but from strength I knew not of. In that instant, as he flashed me an accompanying megawatt toothy grin, the pieces snapped in place, I saw from both sides of the mirror. My little Seraphim saw his dad, infallible though weather-beaten, ready to rise from the ashes. Whilst I saw a cheeky cherubim, cheery and unperturbed by the raw scars that still lined his once porcelain visage. My family is my strength, and I am theirs; I have to be strong for them.

I’m going to be thirty in a month’s time, a short three decades providently spent, not squandered, despite several unscheduled detours. I count myself a blessed man for I have had a glimpse of a tomorrow. Simply because, today, my son caressed my sullen cheek and my daughter stood between a rock and a hard place, for me. I will remember this day, as I stand medicated, though not corrected, as a father and husband for life.

This has indeed been the weakest point of my life and I thank God for my angels yet again… I do love them so.

Saturday, January 08, 2011

Bad Parents Club aka Operation: Seraphim II Redux

Eyes downcast, we crossed the threshold, forever entombed into the hall of infamy, vilified by the burning glares of furtive, aching, helpless eyes. Eyes that bore through to the soul, eyes that flickered from empathy to blame, eyes that knew hurt, well and the same. Awkwardly wrenched from the cover of the night, flooded by light; queue number accorded, we had entered the bad parent’s club.

It was 10:15pm, we were at Kandan Kerbau Children’s Hospital, Accident and Emergency Department; it was not where any of us should be. This was Operation Seraphim II: Redux...

Lil phimmy had taken birthday bash a Lil too seriously; in a fit of excitement, he had yet again demonstrated his superb althetic ability, in a springing faceplant off the patio, unto the grille of a rusty draincover, amidst a horified and slack-jawed family, and a most traumatised grandfather. 8th Jan tis just such a gruelling date for him... first e umbilical strangling at birth, and now an unexpected fall, his new codename's Rudolph... a year older, yet another more resilient, we pray ;)