Scribbles at the back of a car
As I grow older, my consciousness is scattered across different worlds, belonging to them all at the same time. It felt a little like that when I stepped into India. Tonight, arriving in Kedah was like a seamless stroll into a street across. It really feels like home; it feels light to be back. :) When I was a younger girl, flying one and a half hours up north was the equivalent of one bag of nerves on an annual pilgrimage into another dimension - filled with familiar faces of unfamiliar people speaking a gibberish dialect that faded into my background. Apparently, the two stark worlds have merged. Perhaps I've been traveling to Malaysia so often that it is no longer out of the ordinary, and unfamiliar lives have finally turned into loved ones.
It's a pretty long journey from the airport to my grandparents'. The elder brothers in the front chat intermittently, in between comfortable silences. I was resting on my mom, my head trying to catch her shoulder as the car sped and bumped across highway after highway. I secretly right-clicked and saved the moment as a morbid thought scampered across my mind. One day in the future, I'd never get to do this again, and I'd want to remember how her voice sounds like through the hollow of her back. It's really strange how fear can be love's favourite shadow, and I suppose that is partly why people say life is bittersweet! Sentences were beginning to form in my thoughts. Unable to sleep nor dig for my journal, I opened my laptop and here I am typing them out as we race down an empty night road, rows of shophouses half lit and silently cheering our homecoming party.
Anyone who knows me well enough will know that I have the nose of a dog. Before I can swing the car door open, I'm already flung into the welcoming aroma of the night air in this particular part of town. It is distinct, crisp, warm and lightly scented with Chinese ointment. Woo hoo! My grandpa's all ready and grinning at the gate in his stripped pajamas. Hahaha. Time to shut my lappie. Happy CNY everyone!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Why I love my strict Chinese mum
(link)
There's been this hoo-ha over "the western mom vs. the chinese mom" since the Wall Street Journal ran an excerpt from Amy Chua's memoir about her parenting as an Asian mother in the USA. She's received a lot of criticisms and death threats even since the article ran in the paper. So her daughter's (Sophia) written in in response. I'll leave you to read it - you can click on the link below the title. I got it from my friend's facebook page (yay to mobile surfing!) and totally enjoyed the read on my train journey.
Just as I stepped out of the train door, it hit me in a "!!!!!" kind of moment that I was actually brought up in exactly the same way. It seemed unrecognizably different being lived out through another person's life. I've been so conditioned by years of western education to think that the stereotypical pro-open and creative american parenting style is the way to go that I forgot my parents' current laidback-ness is a not too long ago change.
My mom was always the stricter one - and I daresay she held standards as tight as Amy Chua. I was rarely allowed to watch the television as a child (a pastime that is still non-existent to me now); I was forced to learn the piano - a process I hardly enjoyed; my Dad was prone to pampering me but it was a different story with my grades. Very typically Singaporean-Chinese, except for the television part. Yet, they lent a balance in the way they encouraged me to expand my capacities and experiences and was never for confining me to a measured and rigid route to success.
After I hit 18, I stopped buying the "live for the moment" cliche. I learnt that it is almost the cleverest way to make people live stupidly.
She's right. Creativity counts for nothing without discipline and perseverence. Life will be meaningless without responsibility and morality. It's not just an either-or; they're two sides that a coin must have in order to be of value.
(link)
There's been this hoo-ha over "the western mom vs. the chinese mom" since the Wall Street Journal ran an excerpt from Amy Chua's memoir about her parenting as an Asian mother in the USA. She's received a lot of criticisms and death threats even since the article ran in the paper. So her daughter's (Sophia) written in in response. I'll leave you to read it - you can click on the link below the title. I got it from my friend's facebook page (yay to mobile surfing!) and totally enjoyed the read on my train journey.
Just as I stepped out of the train door, it hit me in a "!!!!!" kind of moment that I was actually brought up in exactly the same way. It seemed unrecognizably different being lived out through another person's life. I've been so conditioned by years of western education to think that the stereotypical pro-open and creative american parenting style is the way to go that I forgot my parents' current laidback-ness is a not too long ago change.
My mom was always the stricter one - and I daresay she held standards as tight as Amy Chua. I was rarely allowed to watch the television as a child (a pastime that is still non-existent to me now); I was forced to learn the piano - a process I hardly enjoyed; my Dad was prone to pampering me but it was a different story with my grades. Very typically Singaporean-Chinese, except for the television part. Yet, they lent a balance in the way they encouraged me to expand my capacities and experiences and was never for confining me to a measured and rigid route to success.
After I hit 18, I stopped buying the "live for the moment" cliche. I learnt that it is almost the cleverest way to make people live stupidly.
There’s one more thing: I think the desire to live a meaningful life is universal. To some people, it’s working toward a goal. To others, it’s enjoying every minute of every day. So what does it really mean to live life to the fullest? Maybe striving to win a Nobel Prize and going skydiving are just two sides of the same coin. To me, it’s not about achievement or self-gratification. It’s about knowing that you’ve pushed yourself, body and mind, to the limits of your own potential. You feel it when you’re sprinting, and when the piano piece you’ve practiced for hours finally comes to life beneath your fingertips. You feel it when you encounter a life-changing idea, and when you do something on your own that you never thought you could. If I died tomorrow, I would die feeling I’ve lived my whole life at 110 percent.
She's right. Creativity counts for nothing without discipline and perseverence. Life will be meaningless without responsibility and morality. It's not just an either-or; they're two sides that a coin must have in order to be of value.
In spite of
I’m a woman of little faith. I’m extremely thankful that God is who He is. Thankful that the great I Am is constant in spite of who I become or what I do or do not do.
Nothing big, but this is almost a mountain-top experience.
~
White dog, black dog.
It’s a brilliant analogy. In every decision we make, we choose either to feed our Godly character or feed our sinful nature.
In a dog fight, who’s gonna win?
Monday, January 24, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Leak
when memories and fears begin showing up in an extremely vivid form
of sleep time dreaming, you know it’s time to take a check. unnecessary
and obsessive thoughts? i’m still paying the price and learning the
lesson. it really stinks. it’s like a montage of blinking lights – the
good and the bad – they take turns to fade and reappear; a dance that
never takes the curtain call.
the word of the week: attitude.
it changes everything, more than imaginable.
and it’s powerful, more than imaginable.
school’s finally in, and i’m still trying to grasp some form of orientation to a new life in a new campus. nevertheless, in the midst of a series of firsts and strangeness and incredulous hours, there is a joy that is seeping in from somewhere. contrary to popular lament, these things don’t seem useless at all. they are meaningful means to an unending end.
the word of the week: attitude.
it changes everything, more than imaginable.
and it’s powerful, more than imaginable.
school’s finally in, and i’m still trying to grasp some form of orientation to a new life in a new campus. nevertheless, in the midst of a series of firsts and strangeness and incredulous hours, there is a joy that is seeping in from somewhere. contrary to popular lament, these things don’t seem useless at all. they are meaningful means to an unending end.
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