Children: Parents' responsibilities or Teachers'?

I never thought I would be this overworked over news about a school teacher abusing her charge. The boy, a 3-year-old toddler, got hair line fractures on his leg due to the abuse that he suffered. It's just too close to home. I imagine if Taylor were the boy and couldn't help myself from getting emotional and tearing up. Taylor is a rambunctious tot, and I wouldn't take my chances with these kind of people who see my children only as a source of monetary fulfillment, if not less, or worse: as nuisance.

One of my friends, who happens to be a teacher, felt that "one rotten apple ruins the whole barrel", because she agonized the heat from angry parents on Facebook. Understandable. And as much as I would like to condemn this irresponsible, cruel, a-sorry-excuse of woman, I feel discouraged with this society that relies way too much on teachers. Children as young as mewling babies were put to childcare. Although the reason was logical and crucial - because mommy and daddy have to go to work to earn a living - I strongly feel that parents are responsible for their children when they're very young; which should be filled with parent's love and guidance. It's sad that it's a bit unfeasible here due to dual income family. Costs of living here are too high. (Sarcastic point, which I'm not completely guiltless: It's even worse if you're the type that see the importance of materialism.) It's hard for us, too, because I choose that road of a staying-at-home-mom and let Jon be the sole bread winner. We have enough. Praise The Lord. If it can't be helped, sure, there's no other option but rely on childcare.

Maybe it's the conservative American upbringing in me. I was brought up by family and teachers that instilled the importance of parent's loving involvement in children's formative years. Lately, I'm being nagged by people that frowned upon my reluctance to send my oldest, Taylor, to pre-school. He just turned two yesterday! They've been pestering me from a few months ago. Just because other parents decided that they want to send their babies to childcare like it's a norm, I don't have to conform now, do I? I'm not a herd, and I don't want my children to be one, either. At one point, in my high emotional state, I told them that at this point of age, all that can be learned is how to exchange germs. I know it's too brash, but I feel fed up sometime. Some institutions even offer tuition for one-year-old. I almost blurted out, "Are you nuts?" to that door-to-door salesman. Do I look backward, that I can't even educate my one-year-old? Not to boast, but my Taylor can read alphabet and few numbers. More than what I achieved when I was his age and more than a lot of his peers that I know. Taylor will be more than okay. Amen.

Now this breaking news about the abusive teacher just reaffirm my concern.

If even under my own watch Taylor managed to hurtle himself from his bed, when I just left him for an-honest-to-God mere 2 seconds, how about these people who are nothing to him? Would I then have the right to scold these people for neglecting my son? Taylor is not totally cooped up at home. He's a student in our church's Sunday School system. He has his own peers. Even Taylor's Sunday School teacher already suffered the brunt of Jon's unhappiness when Taylor came out from the class with scratches on his cheek last week. Taylor never cried and nobody saw anything. Yesterday some of the teachers paid a lot of attentions to him, not wanting to miss all his antics. These are the responsible ones. But what if Taylor encountered the one that's in the news? And Taylor wouldn't be able to tell me what's going on? Such despicable event!

I think four is a reasonable age to send my children to school. Three years old maybe suitable, too. I will wait and see. But not before that age!

I'm not claiming that I'm the best mother. I even find myself lacking more often than not. But at least I know that my children are safe and sound. I will hold them as long as possible by God's wisdom. They are too precious, my two little blessings.

Inevitability

It's like fingering through an epilogue. Things that we know have become more and more fickle.

I love reading books. I even inspire to write one myself. And as much as I appreciate the advancement of technology and its practicality, I'm kind of sad when I witness and read about how book stores start to go under one by one. First, it was the book retailer Borders closed its branches here, and then the spacious fixture at our family's hang out Vivocity Mall, Page One. In Singapore, where most immerse themselves in their small confinement of their iOS and Androids, showing off their latest reading gadgets is more important than holding a real book. It has slowly becoming the thing of the past. Maybe soon books will become obsolete like those scrolls or sacred manuscripts. I would miss that new book smell, or the cozy ambiance of being surrounded by books, and the wonderful art of book covers.

It was only last Saturday, I watched You've Got Mail for the umpteenth time.

It was one of my favorite movies. My bag of chips. I made a remark to Jon that Hollywood doesn't make this kind of movie anymore. And although it's not his first time watching it, this time Jon really paid attention and actually appreciating some aspects of the story.

The premise of elephantine book chain retailers (resembling Borders and Barnes & Noble) overtaking the smaller 'mom-and-pop' type of bookshops, brought me back to the time of enjoyable visits to the Barnes & Noble's branch near my Jamieson house in Portland. Although I didn't always buy the books, the experience was something that I would not want to miss. They have these 'vintage' book plates that always halted me from going home empty handed. I still have a few boxes of them.

Oh how things have come full circle.

In the movie, Kathleen Kelly (played by Meg Ryan), owner of the fictional children book store "The Shop Around The Corner" reminisced,

"People are always telling you that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something you didn't want to happen at all... has happened. My store is closing this week. I own a store, did I ever tell you that? It's a lovely store, and in a week it will be something really depressing, like a Baby Gap. Soon, it'll just be a memory. In fact, someone, some foolish person, will probably think it's a tribute to this city, the way it keeps changing on you, the way you can never count on it, or something. I know because that's the sort of thing I'm always saying. But the truth is... I'm heartbroken. I feel as if a part of me has died..."

This movie was released in 1998. And less than a couple decades later, the chain retailers that supposedly make sellers like her miserable, suffering the same fate. It only feels like yesterday when I was charmed by the brick-and-mortar stores...

And how about this virtual grocery shopping in Korea? The idea is good and innovative. But with all these conveniences, I'm afraid that people will become more and more individualistic, cocooned inside their own homes, while everything is catered to them. As much as I don't like crowded aisles, grocery shopping is part of our family's pastime. All these innovations have their perks, claiming to make our lives more practical. In the meantime, people become more and more workaholic and individualistic, just so that they can afford such perks. Before long, there's nothing else to enjoy but a banal existence. Another example is on another of my favorite rom-com The Proposal.

The opening scene showed Sandra Bullock, playing a successful workaholic, exercising in the seclusion of her own house by riding a bike with a huge screen of pretend forest in front of her. When she's faced with the real task of bike riding through the real woods, then the skill that she thought she has, rendered useless. It's just like when I thought playing race car in the gaming arcade would make me capable of driving a car. And although I'm not an outdoorsy person and practically inactive, once in awhile, amidst the heat, humidity and annoying bugs (among other things), I can appreciate the change of pace in my day-to-day life. The virtual world is good, when it's applied to gaming console, I suppose. But not as a replacement of the real experience.

Are we at the last page of an era already?

About Getting Older and Being A Parent

Yesterday, my husband and I were in conversation about his decade younger colleagues. They’re inferior to him in term of corporate governance; however, they’re brazenly behaved condescendingly toward my husband. They may be university graduates, but where my husband lacks in paper credentials and vocabulary, his working experience would have done justice to why he is where he is.

As much as I told my husband to brush it off, I can’t help myself to ruminate. Singaporeans may boast that English is their main (mostly) mean of communication. But there are times and again I wonder if some truly grasp the real meaning of the word before using it. Some locals love to use the word ‘Revert’ in their corporate correspondence rather than the plain ‘Reply’ or ‘Return’ for example. As if by using big words, they sounded cultured and lofty. Unknowingly, they’re discrediting themselves. Under the corrective authority of my ex-boss who’s British, I learned that using big words and jargon without knowing the true usage and meaning could mean the difference between eloquence and foolishness. I myself am not immune from lack of understanding of English. It is my second language. Although I grew up in States for a good part of my life, I don't have the authority to claim proficiency (as probably proven with this post). Albeit my brief stint as a 'chief' editor...

Anyway, this twenty-something executive, imagining himself as an auteur, was unhappy when my husband corrected his choice of words for company’s collateral. True that his choice of words may not be wrong, but context wise it may not suit. He argued with my husband and practically called him too square for not accepting his “metaphor”. Well, metaphor or not, you have to think about who’s your reader. When Singlish is your first language, just stick with what you know, before you hurt yourself. He continued his diatribe and ungraciously rambled on just because he wanted to have the last word. That’s another thing that irked me. Once, my husband had an intern who graduated from a known UK university with an English degree. But when my husband corrected him of a few mistakes and wrong choice of words, this guy graciously accepted. Meanwhile, this current executive, graduated from local university, lack the mannerism of an educated gentleman. Even if the choice of word is the best in the world, when the superior already given the reason why not to use it, one have to weigh in that suggestion. So I told my husband to be the better person and dust it off. It’s like history repeated itself, when I have the déjà vu of hearing my elders said such thing and us as the younger ones ignoring it. But we’re talking about a couple decades of age difference between us. And now this… Gosh! We’re not even 40!

About Parenting…

I never think myself as an overachiever. So now, although I have my set of rules, in terms of parenting I think I’m one of those who applied laissez faire to my children’s upbringing. So in some days I feel a bit perturbed when I read about my peers’ children’s accomplishments thru the social media platform. It’s kind of sad to think that, now, I can’t even hinder myself from this peer pressure, because although I’m secluded in my own room, I’m even more vulnerable to other exposures through internet.

When I was little, my mother only knew that I was not a ‘prodigy’ through an actual gatherings and school results. I could feel her disappointments whenever she started comparing me to other children. I was upset, because I feel it’s not my fault that I’m underperformed. To me, I live the best way I could, and I still think I am. Perhaps if I was not being patronized too much growing up, I would have the guts to take charge in this world. Que sera sera...

Now I realized that in a sense, perhaps all these disappointments of my lack of achievements could have stemmed from my parents own lack of effort in raising me up. My peers at the time were taking piano lessons, language lessons and were being force fed with iron clad discipline regime. I couldn’t even last my organ lesson more than three months, my Mandarin lesson almost nonexistent, among other things. Growing up, I dabbled on German, Spanish, Japanese and Korean. Through it all; I only manage to blurt a sentence or two. My concentration is too sporadic to only focus on ‘one’ ability. I am easily bored and yet I’m greedy with information. I feel like a walking Wikipedia: only know a portion of something (that may not be completely correct) and share them when asked. Worse, I’m way lack in references.

Now I sat in front of the computer, blanking out on what to write, and yet I want to say a lot. I have at least two complete novels in my head, but I can only typed chapters of word vomit unto my Word doc. I feel envious at others’ accomplishments and their children's, and yet I’m wasting time typing this. I have peers who are so active with their social media and still have time to work and play with their children. What’s wrong with me?

As if my voice is heard, after I finished with my ramble above, a couple hours later, I stumble upon this Yahoo! article: Facebook Lets You Down

Postpartum Lullaby

Another Christmas passed. My daughter finally arrived a couple weeks ago, and with her birth, we decided that our quiver is indeed filled. A son and a daughter within these two years. We are blessed indeed.

I was in the hospital room by myself, recovering from my caesarian section, when I woke up to my iPhone's US Christian radio announcement of yet another shooting and this time the victims were children. Soon after, the radio played Mercy Me's Joseph Lullaby. Great.

Highly charged with maternal hormones, current world events (especially the Newtown elementary school shooting) and Joseph Lullaby, my postpartum depression realizes itself as I become weepy. If I were still in theater and to be cast as a mother, I believe I can make a more believable mom on stage than before. I can feel the pain of those Newtown parents who lost their children. And as I enjoyed my son, Taylor's adorable antics and my little Skye's constant smiles and newborn fragility, how I wish I can upload my brain to Youtube, so anytime I want to reminisce, it's just a click away. And the Joseph Lullaby's lyric can't help but make me think how short these precious times are.



Merry Christmas my precious ones. Mommy love you very much...

Writing a legacy

One of my ex-church mates posted a Youtube about 'forgiveness', inspired by a journal entry of Mary Karen Read, one of the victim of the 2007 Virginia Tech Massacre. Many sources (that I roughly googled) said that it was her last entry to her journal, about a couple of months before her death. She wrote, "When a deep injury is done to us, we will never recover until we forgive." Sometimes I would just wonder, how would these people manage to write something, that are meaningful, somewhat if not related to their untimely end. It's like they get hints that the end is near, but were spared of the anguish of knowing it. I believe she's not the only one. I just can't think of anyone else at the moment. Aside from writer's block, just to be inspired to write anything that could mean something is tough. Even if I want to pour my heart out it might sound like Shakespeare on acid. Or like Pollock's painting, lots of splats of words that may look more like colorful bird poop.Or atonality music like Schoenberg's that always made me failed to recognize in my music classes. A bit tough to identify and yet it has character that is original and survived as a legacy of its creator. I wish my gibberish can be more meaningful. Even to myself.

Little jumping bean

Yesterday I went to my first OSCAR test for baby #2 (we haven't really decide on a name, yet, although I have a candidate). I went with my mom. After a long wait, it's my turn to be ultra scanned. We caught the baby on its playing time. It was doing jumping motions, as though playing jump rope with its placenta. It was a cute sight. But that meant I have to walk around and wait for another 20 minutes (plus 40 minutes queue) and drank a glass of water. My bladder wasn't empty to begin with. After about 20+ minutes waddling, I asked the nurse if I can get get scanned, since my bladder wasn't co-operating. Well, my paperwork was buried inside the list of other names who probably doesn't need to pee. And yes, they didn't, they were waiting for their first scan. Some system this is. After pleading several times, the nurses moved my queue. On the second try, the doctor asked if I could hold it a little while longer. I said, most definitely no. And she said we have to plead with the baby to work with us. And soon, my baby turned. Although it only about 6 cm in length, you can see its perfect little hand and fingers waving on camera. It's just a little miracle.

To Write Again... Or At Least Try

It has been one year and a half, give or take, since my last post. Things happened, happy and sad. It's life. Within that window of time, I lost my dream job, I became a mother, I was fatherless, and now I'm in my second month in my journey to be a mother again. Life with God is just so full of surprises. How can I explain to myself seven years ago, that I will be blessed with two children, when at that time, my reproduction system was in jeopardy? How would I calm myself as I was crying at night, heartbroken and worried that I would end up unmarried and if I do, childless? I still remember as the year rolling to 2005. I finished watching all the fireworks on TV, I stared at myself in the mirror in my toilet, ruminating: What will become of my life. I was going to be thirty and yet, I was single, with no career or anything to be proud of and overweight. I felt alone, overpopulating the world with my existence and downright ugly. Well, I guess, I'm not everybody. I should have known that I am no standard. Most of my school mates were either married with kids or married to their jobs. I still clung to the hope that I can be that next 'Christina Aguilera' and I collected clippings of celebrities. And as the year 2005 rolled by, my life had stream rolled itself to many milestones. I did remember that God had assured me that everything will be OK. I left my home that summer 2005, uncertain and crying in the airplane alone. I was diagnosed with a huge fibrosis in the fall, operated on, recovered. And toward the cusp of 2005 I met a friend who would become my husband. Now with my second baby inside me, I felt as though I was being speed up in life. Me, who are not fond of kids, are blessed with two - my first one is very cute to boot, that I couldn't stay mad at him for long when he's throwing his best to annoy me. I couldn't do that to other kids or babies... I still can't. It's like God knows my weakness when He gave me Taylor. Taylor is really tailored to fit me. People said that because he's my son that is why I find him irresistible. Perhaps. But I'm still very biased to say that he is just the cutest, full stop. If all these are not God's grace, I don't know what's this. Be writing again... Have to feed the baby in my tummy...