Birthday Wishes

Birthday celebrations has always been a hassle, ever since secondary school days. This definitely has everything to do with the misfortune of my birth date falling within the exam season. And not just any exam season, but the exam season. The dreaded final lap where your past misdeeds in class finally catch up with you and the "Make it or break it!" signage looms ominously overhead without respite.

It wasn't so much the fact that you can't exactly celebrate the day but truly, the cruelty is having to work twice as hard on that day. Besides bemoaning your parents for not conceiving you on a more considerate date, you also desperately looked forward to the day where you can progress from a phase plagued with examinations to another where your life no longer revolve around semestral assessments and that you may finally celebrate your birthday in a dignified manner.

It must have slipped my mind then, the year I pledged myself to the Ministry of Education that I would uphold honour and integrity in the discharge of my duties as a teacher. The second phase of life I was so looking foward to, now entails roughly 200x the amount of examination preparation required in phase one, within the same cursed season, on an annual basis.

Two years sped by without many distinctive memories of how the special day was spent. In the next couple of years, the day was only remembered after it was past. Five years in the service, the day ceased to be special.

But over the years many have tried to put the day together for you. There's your parents, guilty as charged though they were, appealed to you to travel home to have a bowl of the customary mee sua with hardboiled egg. ("Sorry Mum, but paper is really due in a day, can't I trade up for an angbao instead please?"). There's the group of best-friends-forever-colleagues who assured you they have your birthday in mind all the while, and they really have prepared a present for you, when you can see that they are up to guts level in papers and marking. You mumbled some ineffectual "It's ok, don't worry please!" wishing they'd just forget the inconvenient day. There is hubby-dearest too, who'd bravely attempted to keep up with the birthday cake cutting and candles blowing affair. Apart from forgetting the candles on one occasion, and leaving behind the cake altogether on another, killer-looks stating "Stay away! Papers in progress. Grrrrrrrr!" must have finally taken their toil on the poor man, for him to despair and humbly surrender by the 4th or 5th year. There is also the particularly sweet little boy who could be coaxed into singing you a birthday song over the phone, which, more often than not, only accentuates the loneliness on this day.

And then came the students.

Students: a species definitely not of the human race, possesses none of the intellectual capacities nor restraints commonly acknowledged as virtues in humans. Before morphing into adults, they appeared incapable of receiving instructions that include terminologies such as "NO", "DO NOT" and "NO WAY". That first year you were caught off guard with their enthusiasim and proffered 4kg fresh fruit cake. Upon recovery, you thanked them with a stern look and admonished them with a "please don't do it again." This second year they turned up with what appeared like twice the number of students and two cakes. As 40+ students belted out a raucous version of "Happy Birthday to You!", you just didn't know what to say. There is something incredibly touching about a bunch of students sneaking off to get cake for your birthday. It gave you belief that you might have done something which meant something to them afterall. This something might not bring them every success in life, it might not stretch them very far, but while it lasted, it was enough for a couple of kids to dash out on a wet afternoon and bring back a cake for your birthday.

28 September will always be a beautiful date to Mrs Soon because You have been very good to her.

Thank you class.

Power Up

Ah! The beguiling smile that belied the sly look of triumph Babie Z flashed when Mumie's back was turned. Success at last! All the extra effort put into finishing his writing, polishing off every grain of rice during dinner, arranging of toys after playtime and meekly surrendering to bedtime early had finally paid off! Babie Z is here to meet his superheroes in person!

I remember Dadie's worry when Babie Z was around 3 years of age and madly in love with Strawberry Shortcake. Pink was his absolute favourite colour and he would choose pink frilly dresses for himself if given any choice at all. He could not bear to watch any movies that involves the slightest hint of bloodshed, screams or gunshots. He repeatedly shut off the DVD player in the middle of Spiderman, X-Men and Transformers. Any cartoon that does not include girls or flowers are not worth paying attention to. Dadie was deeply troubled by the lack of masculine traits in his only son but thanked god that Babie Z's feminine interest stopped short of Barbie dolls. Our worries were finally allayed one finest day when dear sister-in-law Shirley pointed at her boisterous son, JingJing, and told us he once cried most pitifully for a pink Cinderella dress.

Still, Dadie's look of relief was priceless when Babie Z began to show interest in automobiles and such. Seldom an indulgent father, Dadie never denied Babie Z any of his requests for toy guns, cars, swords, balls and the like. When Babie Z first shouted,"Power Ranger! Power Up!", Dadie bought him the vcd immediately. But Dadie's happiness took a brutal thrashing when Babie Z announced that he wants to be the Pink Ranger "-_-

Naturally, Babie Z's overly worrisome parents had to set things right by informing him that Pink Ranger is a GIRL. Dadie goaded Babie Z most mercilessly by asking him, "Do you want to be a GIRL?" in tones that implied in no doubt at all that GIRLS must be the lowest of all living species. Still, a rather unperturbed Babie Z relied in all confidence, "No one will know because she's wearing a mask." Well, defensively-speaking, I thought that was a pretty intelligent remark for a child of five. MY child of five.

Mumie encountered her first tricky task at the Power Ranger Show when Babie Z adamantly refused to sit on the ground. He insisted that it would "dirty his shorts" and kept himself standing at a spot with a far less advantageous view. This streak for cleanliness (which I'm secretly rather proud of) has always been a sore point with Dadie, who ceaselessly accused me of "corrupting young unknowing minds" (I am the irrefutable clean-freak of the Soon family). However, as the show was kick started by the cheeky emcee, Babie Z grew restless in his unfavourable position and began to move his way into the crowd of kids and parents for a better vantage point- much to their annoyance. Despite my many gestures and pleas (and threats), nothing could entice Babie Z to sit! Fortunately for both of us, the kids were soon overwhelmed by the appearances of the Rangers in their respective kungfu stances and started to stand up themselves .

It seems like every kid knew ALL about Power Rangers Operation Overdrive when they enthusiastically yelled back answers like, "Okto Channel!", "Saturday!" and "10.30a.m.!" to the host's questions. Babie Z appeared rather subdued in their midst and often look towards me as if for some sort of assurance. Not once did he raise his little arm to volunteer for any of the games either. Even though he was looking forward to the photo-taking session (every $30 spent within Bukit Panjang Plaza entitles you to a photo-pass which allows a maximum of 4 kids to take an exclusive photo with the Power Rangers; and of course Mumie dearest had the receipts ready since a week ago *_*), he appeared hesitant as his turn approached. Too shy to request that he stand next to his favourite Pink Ranger (I was too busy focusing the camera to be of help there), he meekly stood in the directed position infront of the Red Ranger and struck a pose for Mumie after several words of encouragement from the host.
Nonetheless, the experience must have been an enjoyable one because Babie Z immediately asked if we could return on the following day for the very same show. Despite my aching limbs from carrying the groceries while standing for a 1h 15min ear-spliting show, I agreed, partially because I do love his shouts of "Hurray!" and partially because I felt the exclusive photo was rather poorly taken. And of course, once again in my possession, was a receipt for purchases worth $30+++ ^_^.

The following day saw Mumie very much better prepared from previous lessons. Not only did I brought a clean plastic bag for Babie Z to sit upon, I was also armed to the teeth - or rather Babie Z was, sporting his favourite weapon - Power Ranger Drive Lance. This was the weapon carried by the Red Ranger, even though what he really wanted was the Pink Ranger's weapon. Once, we had this futile island-wide-high-and-low-search in all toys merchandises outlets for the Pink Ranger's weapon (without even knowing how the weapon actually looked like), before Dadie finally arrived at this truly ingenious realisation: Power Rangers are designed for boys primarily right? Most normal boys would not be caught dead with a girl's weapon right? Hence, isn't it terribly unlikely that manufacturers will produce girls' merchandises for a boys' predominated market? Having coming to complete agreement on that, we continued the hunt no more.
I could not say for sure, what was the exact cause for Babie Z's surge in confidence on this second day. Perhaps it was the clean plastic bag which allowed him to sit in comfort throughout the entire show, or it could have been the envious looks cast by other kids at his Red Ranger Drive Lance, or the simple fact that Babie Z already knew what to expect since it was a repeat of the previous day's performance; whatever it was, Babie Z was surprisingly spontaneous and participated most enthusiatically in the sing-along and follow-my-gestures activities. He even surprised me by shooting up his little hand to volunteer for the puzzle game on stage. I felt it was really too bad my intelligent boy's hand was missed by the emcee *sniff*. Having been brusquely overlooked thus, Babie Z did not raise his hand again, but still managed to enjoy all the kungfu sequences by the Power Rangers.

Babie Z gave me a rude shock when he decided against the photo-taking. I managed to half-drag and half-coerce him (with a multitude of interchanging threats and sweet promises) into the queue only to have him refusing to carry the Drive Lance for the picture. What was Babie Z thinking about? To have carried the toy all this way and not use it for the photo shooting? It's incredulous but I had to live with it or wind up with no photo shoot at all. I must have appeared pretty silly juggling the weapon and the digital camera at the same time. I was pretty sure the Power Rangers were sniggering beneath their masks!

We lingered till all the performers had left and Babie Z was suddenly enthusiastic about taking pictures with his Drive Lance again. Babie Z was just beside himself with delight to find himself near his favourite ranger at last!

On the way home, Babie Z was rather disappointed to learn that was the last performance. When asked once again on his refusal to bring his Drive Lance along for the photo-taking, Babie Z eventually answered,"How can I pose if I'm carrying the gun?". Oh well.

Babie Flash !

Only Love

Babie Z had his first Sports Day on a bright Sunday morning on 25 May, 2008. He wore his favourite, soon-to-be-undersized Puma sneakers and told us 'he would be winning no matter what'. The event was held at the outdoor auditorium of the Bukit Batok Community Centre which was soon overcrowded with parents vying to snap pictures of their kids. Dadie and I were puzzled and somewhat dismayed that Babie Z had to line up with a row of N1 kids while all his classmates queued 3 rows away from him. By the time the kids gathered for their warm-up workout, Dadie had a simmering anger as Babie Z was surrounded by wailing N1 kids who refused to participate. Dadie was all for taking him home to spare him from 'further humiliation'. But I was curious about my son's behaviour in an akward situation and felt Babie Z could have interpreted the day's events rather differently from his overly protective parents. Other than ignoring his teachers' efforts to engage him in the stretching exercises and appearing rather bored, I thought Babie Z handled himself rather well.

Babie Z was assigned to "Passing the Torch" race which lasted all of......1.5(?) minutes. While I was busy elbowing and joslting other parents, Babie Z sped by, too fast for the shutter of my camera. Oh well. The outcomes of the races were unknown but all the kids were sheparded off towards the prize table to receive a medal each. Babie Z was terribly proud of his accomplishment and we were simply pleased that our son is pleased. Babie Z refused to relinquish his medal, insisting it is a 'very important item' and needs to be worn all the time. I only managed to take it off him with a MacDonald's Big Breakfast bribe.

Later that night during dinner, Dadie suddenly mentioned he was still nursing an acute discomfort over the morning's events. I sensed he wanted to pursue the matter by demanding an explanation from the Principal as to why his son was treated differently from the rest of his classmates. The unfairness of the arrangement had marred his fatherly pride of watching his son's first race. The situation was rather tricky. I could not possibly deny my own heartache, yet Babie Z had honestly not suffered any wear for the worse. I could not say I can understand what the centre's rationale was, but I could give a pretty good guess what their responses would be like. (Probably somewhere along the lines of "constraints" and "limitations" and "seek your kind understanding".) I did not believe any sort of actions would improve the situation but I was in no doubt that Babie Z would be affected if Dadie chose to seek justice in his own sense of the word. I asked Babie Z (happily stuffing his face with food) if he was happy with his Sports Day and he beamed at me. Of course.

A child perceives happiness without adhering to standards that only exist in the world of adults. It is by the imposition of our own principles that their world becomes distorted. Devoided of an adult's judgement (or rather misjudgement?), a child can derive so much more indulging in every little thing. Parents want the best for their children but this pursuit can sometimes be a double edged sword. Dadie must learn to accept Babie Z's joy for the simplicity of it. Whatever bitterness we feel is ours alone and it should suffice that Babie Z is untouched by it all.

The fact was, Babie Z was still relishing the memory of the Big Breakfast treat till the moment this Blog is published. Aren't we terribly typical, so eager to reward our son for the slightest acheivement? (Never mind that the original intention was to make up for what we thought was a rather lousy Sports Day). I guess parents spoil their children for rather similar reasons: immense adoration(a-ha!), weakness in refusal(uh-oh), guilt over neglect(tsk-tsk-tsk). I pander to Babie Z for fear of regrets. It is unbearable to lose each other knowing the other's last request was declined. Be it a tidbit, a ride, a show, a treat or a new toy. It is too small a price to pay for the companionship of my one and only Babie Z. Mothers with children pinned under the debris of the Szechuan earthquake must have so many regrets they cannot recouncil with. I love Babie Z everyday with a ferocity like it is the last I will see of him. Not raised in a family with a culture of expressive love, I did have some reservations in my earlier stages of motherhood. Babie Z initiatedthe family practice of smacking kisses. Our favourite game begins with the simple question," How much do you love Mumie?" to which he would reply, "I love you ten!". Mumie would 'up' him by claiming,"But I love you a hundred!" and he would retort,"I love you a thousand!". To date, Babie Z had already hit an all time high of ten million. Never, had even a shadow of doubt ever crossed my mind, that I only existed because of Babie Z. I might be Babie Z's caregiver but he, Babie Z, sustains my very life itself.

First Born

Mumie realises she shouldn't have waited till you are nearly 4 years old before she begins to keep an account of your growing up years. But then, Blog had only come into existence shortly after you were born. And Mumie, being Mumie, needs at least a year or 2 to catch on with what's "Happening" and what's "In". And then another couple of years to figure out how it works. Please enjoy this even if it doesn't turn out very well. This is all of Mumie's blessings and where I share my biggest pride in life.

It would be an injustice to post your earliest pictures here, as they did not honestly reflect the best in you. I remember clearly the beet-red little face, prominently high forehead, deeply etched double eyelids and impossibly dark glossy pupils that seem overlarged for your puffy eyes. There was no mistaking whose eyes you took after. You looked exactly like the miracle that you are. It is not always true that all babies are adorable and mothers naturally find their own babies best. I understand that you are no Poster Baby, but surely the many aunties (both relatives and friends alike) who ceaselessly fawned over you are more sincerely delighted than merely polite. In the many months to follow, you became such a hearthrob that everybody forgives you for being a little rascal. Very few people could deny you of your wishes even though you were not the friendliest baby and you were fast on the Spoilt Brat Track. Even though Mumie could not afford many of the luxuries other Spoilt Brat Babies enjoyed, you were showered with genuine love and always royally protected. Three months saw you as a chubby, well-fed little fellow with a fluffy head of hair. Always seeking for attention, I hardly put you down or leave you alone for a full hour. Not easily ready with your smiles, you nonetheless charmed your way through by welling fat tears in those cunningly cherubic eyes.

At 4 months, adorable as you are, has begun to earn a fair share of spankings. Going through the rites of hair shaving and dressing up in the slightly undersized customary costume (a heirloom from Dadie) was no mean feat. I could only get a single clear shot of before you start brawling in your walker. Around this time I began to intensified my coaching of the single utterance "mumie". You started teething but contrary to all the horror stories of midnight crying fits other mothers used to tell me, I was barely aware of your little molars sprouting within your rosy cheeks. You could hold your own milk bottle and you faithfully stuck to your formula, progressing from Enfalac to Enfapro. You had ceased to regurgitate milk 7 times in between feeds and you enjoyed your Nestle rice powder gruel. You were such a Dadie's boy, capitalising on every chance you have to wrangle favours of all sorts from him. Young as you are, you knew Dadie never would have the heart to deny you of anything or blame you for any of your mischiefs. Mumie is much sterner stuff and definitely a lesser bundle of fun.

At 5 to 7 months you had almost outgrown your bathtub. Still, you were unable to stand for your showers. You were always drooling, and the front of your little shirt was always wet. You smelt so bad! But it was a scent I so dearly loved. Dadie would so often look at your pictures and exclaim:"I fear from my son's looks, he'll grow up to become a genius!" Very often then you would try to enunciate the word "Ma-gie", and your semi-toothless grins were priceless. Your choice of games and toys were exceptional, deriving most of your joys fiddling with my handphone, ignoring the host of rattles, musical instruments, balls and such. You had a morbid fear of soft toys and generally, anything with fur on it. I attempted to give you an early start in education, by introducing you to the alphabet chart which I put up against a low shelf, to make it accessible to you. The plan was duely thwarted within the day, when you insisted in plucking it off to wipe the floor with. You were so fond of chewing on your pacifier, I had to get you a new one every so often. I would have weaned you off if not for the protests of your ridiculously doting Ah-Mah.


You were truly more beautiful by the day. You were such a pleasure to watch and you brought joy to many. You became a familiar face within the neighbourhood which many look forward to see. From the auntie at the porridge stall, to the uncle at the bakery, you were such a sweetheart to all of them that Mumie would receive little treats and extras very often in her marketing. Mumie seldom brought you very far but you enjoyed all the "gai-gai" trips to the marketplace just a few blocks away from home. It was a chore maneuvering your bulky stroller along the narrow alley ways and it always hurt my back to carry you in the stroller up and down stairs. But still, it was so little to do for you.

From 8 months till your first birthday, it was a trying period of time. How could Mumie not be anxious when other babies had begun to take their 1st steps already? Mumie could only fend off those pressing questions of concern and feign an air of confidence that did not quite reach my heart. I read intensively on toddlers' intellectual and physical growth stages and was reaffirmed repeatedly that every child develop at a different pace. Still, it did little to curb the slight twinge that ran through Mumie's gut every time I saw another younger baby stood on two feet. I know I should have the ultimate faith in your eventual success, I should not doubt or hold reservations as to the abilities of my wonder boy. But in time to come, Mumie has learnt from other mummies, that trepidation and foreboding are natural extensions of a mother's love. Stories of infant mortality strike fear easily and many were the nights when I would place a hand over your heart to assure myself you were still with me. You are such a lavish gift to one as insignificant as me, I dread the day destiny might realises its mistake and undo this miracle.

Your first steps occurred between 9-10 months and by your 1st birthday, you owned your first pair of shoes, even though you were yet to be a proficient walking toddler. Following the tradition of most Chinese families, we conducted "Dor Zhei" for you. We placed a pen, a pair of scissors, a calculator and a fried chicken drumstick some 1 metre in front of you and fully anticipated you to make a beeline for the drumstick for you were such a little glutton then. To our surprise, you crawled at incredible speed and grabbed the pen instead. Ah Mah and Ah Goong were of course beside themselves with delight, as it signifies your future endeavours to be of the scholarly type. Coincidentally, Mumie picked the same item 25 years ago! No doubt you seem to have second thoughts and tried to grad a few more items as well, you allowed Mumie to capture a few shots of you holding on to the pen. It was truly priceless. Your 1st birthday bash was held at Hotel Redevous where many aunties and uncles took turns stuffing you with ice-cream and other delicacies. You certainly enjoyed being the centre of attention but the party lasted past your bedtime, and you were sleeping like a little log by the time we were home. You slept through your entire wipe down and nappy change!

Some 2-3 months after your birthday, after much encouragement and goading from Ah Mah and Ah Goong, one day at the void deck, after watching a younger baby girl totter past you, you suddenly decided you are ready for your first unsupported step. You told Ah Goong, through more mimickings than speech, to release you from the stroller, and bravely completed 3 brave unguided steps. Henceforth, you were always eager to show us your baby steps. I seldom saw you stumble, your earliest steps were smooth and sure. If was as if you had a late start to ensure that you would get it right the 1st time. I wanted very much then, to ask you if you were afriad to fall. Did you not believe that Mumie would always be there to catch you and wait for you? Or was it your way of telling Mumie you wish to be an independent little boy?

You absolutely hated cutting your hair as a baby all the way till you were 3 years old. Hair cutting is a chore which Dadie and Mumie would put off till someone mistakes you for a little girl. We seldom bring you to the same hair-dresser twice as it was such an embarassment. You would refuse to sit in the chair or allow them to put a wrap around you. Their attempts to pacify you with candy never works and your wailings tend to make them nervous. Many of them usually politely request we bring you elsewhere on the next visits. Finally we found a hairdresser who was an expert with difficult toddlers and a good match for you. To your dismay, you realise your tantrums had little effect on her, neither could you wriggle your way out of her iron grip. Still, it was heartwrenching at times to hear you sobbing your little heart out in the hair-dressing chair. Very soon, you grew a little sharper. You would avoid taking the path that lead to the hair dressing salon altogether and would either run away or put up a colossal tug-of-war with Mumie. Dadie worked around this problem by buying a hair-dressing kit. To my surprise, you were only too willing to have your hair cut by Dadie. It caused you much discomfort as Dadie was not too handy with the shaver , and even though he did not injure you in any way, there were times you whimpered in pain. Your hair was rather badly cut on that occasion, with uneven patches. Still, when you look at yourself in the mirror, you pronounced yourself "handsome" and insisted you had "fun". Mumie mopped the floor several times for a good 2 hours and Dadie had not voluteered his hair-dressing services ever since.

Being a year end baby had much disadvantage in age as Mumie soon come to realise. For babies and toddlers, even a few weeks apart in date of birth can mean a humongous disparity in age. You were due to to enrolled in N1 in the January of 2006, as that is the year you turn 3 years old. But being a December baby meant you were much slower in speech and motor skills as compared to your peers who were borned earlier within the same year. It was a difficult decision to make, to enroll my first born baby with barely 10 words in vocabulary and untrained in toilet facilities, or to delay you for a year and risk your falling behind his peers. Eventually I chose to delay your enrolment for one academic year, making a silent promise to myself that I'll help you with all the neccessary catching up in future. I was very much taken aback to be informed by the Principal of Sparkletots Bukit Batok that all students must be enrolled according to the year in they were born in and that parents, in general, do not have a choice of accelerating or delaying their children. Hence, even though you had never attended N1, the only available option was still to put you in the N2 class, to be with all the toddlers who were borned in the same year as you. Overnight, all my misgivings and trepidations multiplied three-fold.

Both Dadie and Mumie took leave from work for your first day in school. Mumie had spend some time selecting a Mickey Mouse school bag and a Pooh water bottle with you. Mumie painstakingly labeled all your stationery items, down to each individual colour-pencils in the 24 piece pack. Dadie was worried that you'd cry and put up the 'leg-clinging' act so we decided he would make a break for it as soon as we arrive. There was mutual consent that Mumie could be relied upon to act in a rationale manner inspite of tears and squeals. We arrived at the centre shortly before 1 p.m., as we only signed you up for half-day sessions. All the kids were preparing to take their nap and all lights were dimmed. Dadie and I look exchanged uneasy looks the instant we stepped into the class and heard the drone of kids' muffled sobbing. It reminded me instinctively of the children's ward in a hospital. It was that eerie. We stole a hasty glance at you. You allowed the teacher to led you by the hand and examined the cot showed to you with great curiosity, completely undisturbed by the persistent wails all around you. You proceed to settle down in the cot and join your new found friends in an afternoon slumber. Dadie and I sat at the side keeping an eye on you, expecting you to have a change of opinion about your new environment anytime. But you paid no heed to us and continue to study your new surroundings with unwavering interest. After some 15 minutes, Mumie decided on a bold move and suggested to Dadie we should leave you there for a while and return slightly later to check on you again. Dadie left first to avoid the expected confrontation. You barely looked at me when I walked up to say goodbye. You wave your little hand and nodded that you understand Mumie will be back later. You showed not the slightest hint of uncertainty, only eagerness in this brand new experience. The confrontation Mumie and Dadie had planned to overcome never occured. Babie Zidane's first day of school was perfect to the t. It was not without amusement when I walked out of the centre, recollecting with Dadie all the strategies we had discussed for days on pacification and being firm should you put up a fight at our departure. To this day, I still see the back of your little head and the little limbs stretched out on the cot. I remember clearly too, the undeniable ache in my heart that was a mother's pride at her baby's first attempt at independance. Only mothers understand how it feels to know that their kids are without a kin in an unfamilar place, to try napping without their favourite blankie for the very first time. There is mild regret that this day heralds the first step Babie takes away from Mumie, which will only be followed by many more in all the years to come. This journey of literacy, numeracy and life, might lead you away from the shelter of Mumie's love, but if you follow it true and good, you will discover so much more.

For dearest Babie Zidane, fall in love with life. Life is beautiful only because you are.