For E.S.E.

Bookworm

2008-12-09T21:41:00.002+08:00

"A room without books is like a body without a soul" ~ Cicero

My dearest E.,

You've developed into a regular little bookworm, just like your mother. As I write this, you're leafing through your hardcover Tinkerbell story book, talking to yourself, telling yourself the story I had told you over and over again. You tell a story with such earnest devotion, throwing yourself into Tinkerbell's character, intonating in your voice the high squeaks she is wont to make.

You love your Glitter Books collection, a birthday present from Uncle James & Aunt Christine- every night, we read through the Little Fairy, Little Mermaid, Little Princess and Little Dolly together- we count the bluebells in the pictures, the fluffy blue and pink sheep, the little snowflakes falling across the meadows, the friendly frogs by the pond where the Little Fairy lost her magic wand. We lie in bed together, hair fanned out on our pillows like sunburst, as we rub noses and I tell you (again) the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Sometimes, you interrupt me, telling me what happened, and I can only smile with happiness, because you remember these tales with such vivid clarity.

You are a book-lover, a soul of wisdom blooming in your little mind and body. You marvel at my book collection- once day, my bountiful collection will be yours, and yours to keep... I cannot wait to pass them down to you and I know that you will enjoy them as much as I have.

I am so proud of you, my little munchkin. You never see me watching you quietly as I do, when you read your books, and tell your stories to your toys. I smile, inside and outside, my heart aches a little bit, overflowing with the love I have for you.

Let the words nourish you, my sweet one. Let your imagination run wild in lands far beyond what we see. Be not afraid to dream.

Another year older

2008-10-24T20:32:00.002+08:00

"Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you" ~ Traditional nursery song

My dearest E,

It's your birthday tomorrow- the 25th of October. I cannot believe it has been 3 years since you arrived. I'm amazed, just looking at you now. You're practically grown-up.

I've planned a little party for you, with your favourite cousins, Maya & Leia, and your favourite squeeze, Gavin, your Godpa's dearest son. Along with your grandparents, your Uncle James & Jerry, and Aunts Christine & Joanne. And all Mummy's and Daddy's closest friends- your Godma & Godpa, Aunts Shen, Eileen & June and Uncles Calvin, Paul & Eugene. A small party, to be sure- but what fun we'll have. And I'd rather have these people, as I'm sure you will, than any other people in the world.

Because they're family.

Happy Birthday, my princess.

Head full of thoughts

2008-09-08T11:46:00.003+08:00

My dearest E.,

My head is full of thoughts, of things that I want to tell you. And I say to myself, I need to put all this down in writing so that you'll remember them. But I never have the time. My life is such a roller-coaster ride these days. I'm happy because I feel fulfilled. My work has picked up tremendously, resulting in later nights at the office. Longer days, away from you. It makes me sad, but it also makes me want to strive harder to become better at what I do, because it means a good life for you if I do better.

I'm no longer the young starry-eyed girl I used to be. I've become a career-driven woman, ambitious to a certain extent now that I've found happiness at the work place. I want to achieve so much more than I already have. I want to be made a partner of the firm I work in because that is the next natural goal for me. But to do that, I need to prove myself worthy- that I am not only intelligent and good at what I do, but that I also want to grow with this firm- and I do want to grow with this firm. It niggles at my heart and some days, it gets a little painful, knowing how much I love where I am, and the people I work with. Some days I can't believe I've found a place like this where I am completely stressed-out, but oh!- so completely happy, too. And my personal goals for achievement will lead us, our family, towards a better, more comfortable life. I know that. It'll just take some time.

Maybe I want to tell you I'm sorry. For sometimes not being there when you come home to our house. For not putting you to bed and singing you your bedtime songs. For only spending half an hour with you in the mornings before I rush off to the office. I'm sorry. But I've promised you, and I've kept my word- that my weekends are all yours. No work, no crazy rushing-around. Just pure, unadulterated, happy times with my baby. And what happy times they are!

You leave me breathless most times. You tire me out because you're just so active, you want to do so many things! I don't have the heart to say 'no' because I love you, because you deserve to be all that you want to be. What an individual you've become! You will be 3 years old next month, I can hardly believe it. Has a year almost flown by?

Your father and I have registered for you to begin your early education next year. A beautiful, spacious and airy school called Peter & Jane in Mutiara Damansara, a stone's throw away from our home. You've been there twice, and went into raptures about "my school, Mummy!" You were so happy. I know you'll be happy there. Next year, you will be in nursery for half a day. And I promised myself that I would be there your first week of school. Maybe I'll keep out of sight, maybe I won't. I'm sure you'll fare fine, like you always do, you brave, independent girl!

But this just means- you're growing up. No longer a baby. But I'd still like to think of you a being that, my little baby. You'll always be my baby. Even if you're 30 years old. Please don't grow up too quickly.

Unhappy

2008-07-19T03:13:00.003+08:00

"If there must be trouble let it be in my day, that my child may have peace" ~ Thomas Paine

My dearest E.,

It is a beautiful, warm night. Or early morning, if you will. It is 3.15 a.m. and all I can think about is how you fill my life. May I tell you this, my sweet? I am unhappy. As unhappy as I've never been before. My worries and troubles- you are too young to understand them. Perhaps someday when you are older, I will tell you about them.

So I am unhappy.

But I thank God for you. In my unhappiness, there is a ray of light, a beacon of hope, and that is you. And in my unhappiness, I persevere and trudge along willingly, because there is you, and it is you that makes me complete.

If the oceans may tear us all apart, remember this: that you have a home with me. I love you. You are my heart. My life-blood.

I am unhappy. But I am rational. I am responsible.

Above all, I am strong in my love for you. That, alone, is enough to sustain me in this horrible journey I take. Forgive me for the things I do- because they are only for your good, your betterment in life.

In my unhappiness, you are the only thing that could ever be. You just are.

You leave me speechless

2008-03-18T15:31:00.002+08:00

"Much silence makes a powerful noise" ~ African Proverb

My dearest E.,

Do the Heavens wonder why you leave me speechless, with my heart overflowing with untold love and joy? You silence me with your words, your powerful eyes, your beautiful nature. You silence me when you say things like, "I want some cultured milk, Mummy."

Or when you see me writhing in pain as I suffered from a stomach illness and diarrhoea a few days ago. "Mummy has tummy ache. Mummy go see doctor. OK?"

Or when you twist and turn in bed beside me in the middle of the night and I feel your little hand gently caressing my cheek when you whisper, "I love you, Mummy. Mummy, hug me pleeth." (You speak with a little lisp).

But most of all, I am speechless when you are simply there. And I know that you love me back.

Updates

2008-03-10T17:11:00.003+08:00

"Have something to say, and say it as clearly as you can. That is the only secret" ~ Matthew Arnold

My dearest E.,

In the time I had last written in these pages, many wonderful things have happened.

Christmas, the New Year and Chinese New Year came and left with much fanfare, with much cherished time spent with family and friends.
I self-published my first book. Although I've only ordered 1 copy for my own (I'm not quite ready yet to unleash it to the general public), it's a wonderful thing to see your work in print. It's a piece of non-fiction work called "Along Came Emilie". No stars for guessing the source of my inspiration.
I received a considerable salary increment and a generous bonus. Alas, I've spent it all!- or have I? I've tucked away a tidy little nest-egg for my sweet little baby. And blew the rest on Coach and Louis Vuitton handbags....
We bought a new family car.
We went for a lovely holiday in the beautiful island of Langkawi. Sun, surf and sand, with lots of sleep and relaxation, in the company of friends, both old and new.
You learnt to speak, oh-so-wonderfully, with a widened vocabulary of words
I discovered Philip Pullman's "His Dark Materials" trilogy and found new heights of my love for books and reading
You discovered the magical world of princesses, fairies, unicorns and Strawberry Shortcake and I got the opportunity to re-visit my favourite ballets and fairy-tales
Your godma bought me a beautiful Tiffany & Co. ring for my birthday (which, incidentally is 2 weeks away, but she liked the thought of giving my gift to me earlier)
I fell in love with you all over again, every single day, more and more and more....

Baa Baa Black Sheep, how are you?

2007-11-09T17:57:00.000+08:00

"Baa Baa Black Sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full!" ~ Traditional nursery rhyme

My dearest E.,

This morning, as I dressed to go to work, you played with the new pink hair band I had bought for you, the one with a little clip-on teddy bear decorated with shiny crystal bits. You placed it in your hair, grinned at me and said, "Nice, Mummy!" I chortled as I got dressed.

And then, as you stroked your teddy bear and put the hair band over its head, I heard you singing, "Baa Baa Black Sheep, how are you? Yes sir yes sir, woo woo woo...." I hid a smile and continued to watch you. And you continued to sing those words over and over again. Your father, who was also dressing for work, winked at me and we both shared a happy smile, watching our little daughter sing and ask a black sheep how it was.

A year has passed

2007-11-09T17:06:00.000+08:00

"Old Time, that greatest and longest established spinner of all!.... his factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his hands are mutes". ~Charles Dickens

My dearest E.,

I can hardly believe that almost a year has flown by since I started writing in this blog for you. When I began, I wanted to be able to leave behind for you, lessons I had learnt in my life, changes I had gone through, my thoughts and hopes: these all were written as a means of instructions or guide, call it what you will, to you. And most of all, I wrote these entries in this blog because I wanted to, because you had given me such great inspiration to write, to release the feelings that lay quietly within my heart. Because I wanted you to know how much I love you.

Not too long ago, someone gave me an idea that I should publish all that I have written here. I've played with that idea quite a fair bit, honestly. I think I like the idea of having a book written just for you, which I can share with other mothers and people who'd maybe enjoy reading it. I know, these are thoughts which are extremely intimate and personal perhaps- but I'm not afraid of sharing my love for you. I really am not. I like the idea that one day, after I am dead and gone from this world, that you will have this strange little book I've written for you, and that it will give you comfort to "hear" my words ringing permanently on the ink-printed pages.

I don't expect that you will turn out like me. Quite the contrary. I think you have the makings of a very special individual person.

Perhaps this is where I should stop writing.... and start talking to you more, because you are 2 years old now, I can speak to you and your level of comprehension is clearly more advanced than it was a year ago. Or perhaps I will do both. Continue writing in this blog while I teach you things about life. I don't want to embarass you, though. I don't know if you'll be embarassed someday- what was my crazy, demented mother thinking, proclaiming her love for me to the world, telling strangers how I grew up and what I did as a child, even worse, my mother confessing to all her little failings! I chuckle a little as I think of these thoughts racing through your head, perhaps in 12-15 years down the road.

But time is very precious, my sweet. Soon enough, you will no longer listen to your old mother. You will have ideas of your own, thoughts independent from mine. You will no longer be dependent on me for your survival. So let me indulge in this just once. Let me say the things I need to say, want to say, to you.

What a wonderful year it has been, my sweet pea. And again and again- I'm ever so thankful, ever so happy, that you are my daughter.

Talk talk talk

2007-10-26T18:41:00.000+08:00

"Sometimes when I'm talking, my words can't keep up with my thoughts. I wonder why we think faster than we speak. Probably so we can think twice" ~ Bill Watterson

My dearest E.,

You talk! Terribly adult-like. You form funny little sentences. You learn funny new words. Your voice is tiny and cute, just like a baby's should be. Sometimes you talk and talk, and I don't understand what you say. You nod and say "OK", "Alright!". Sometimes you say the bad F-word, or something you say "Shit" but we pretend we don't hear you, and then we fervently pray that you won't repeat it. You're like a sponge, absorbing things around you at a pace that I cannot keep up with.

You pay me compliments. You told me, "Nice, Mummy," when I put on a new red blouse for work. And smoothed the front of my blouse as you leaned into me to kiss my cheek. You wag your finger at me and say "Shame, shame!" when I undress in front of you. You tell me what you want: books, TV, your milk, food, TOYS. You love your toys and books. You want me to read to you all the time. And you talk and talk when I do.

You are ever SO precious. I don't care if you talk and talk and talk and never stop.

Being Busy

2007-10-26T18:19:00.001+08:00

"Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans" ~ John Lennon

My dearest E.,

Yes. Life has indeed happened to me. In the times that I've been busy of late, I've experienced great work stress: great but strangely fulfilling, leaving me with the notion that I am somewhat important to my work organization. I've experienced illness and recuperation. I've experienced a little free time. I've had the opportunity to plan and celebrate your birthday with your little friends and our loved ones. Yes, E., you are now the grand old age of 2 years!

What a wonderful fun birthday party we had for you. Friends and family crammed our tidy little house (which wasn't so tidy after the party), a 40-odd-strong crowd whom I had to cook for (yes, cook! All by myself!). There were balloons and gifts, laughter and merriment. I put on your sweet indigo & red sailor dress for you, you looked a dream. And you were a gracious host, sharing your toys and happiness with your other little friends. I was a flurried host, making sure everyone had enough to eat and drink, entertaining our guests as they thronged at our gates and flooded our tiny living room. It was raining, but it couldn't be more perfect. And at the end of the night, when our guests had gone home, I sighed contentedly and dragged myself to bed, tired out with the events of the day.

Did I have any idea then that a dark event would overshadow our happy celebrations? Of course I didn't, but it was a sign of things to come when you fell ill the very next day, vomiting and purging. You spiked a high fever, sending the alarm bells in my head ringing, and your father and I frantically rushed you to the nearest paediatric clinic we could find open on a Sunday morning. The diagnosis: you had a stomach virus, a rather nasty one which had been making its way around our abode and general public, infecting people like a nasty plague. It was no coincidence that both your father and I had suffered a bout of it the previous week, and that at the time you fell sick, your uncle, my brother, had been hospitalized for the same illness. It came to my knowledge that many more people we knew had suffered the same illness quite recently.

My heart bled as you grew weaker, your cries louder, your need for comfort greater. You were small and tiny, your body hot to the touch, your cheeks flushed with the fever and illness ravaging your body. Your father and I rushed you to the hospital, and you were immediately admitted and placed on IV drips. Did I cry when you did, when the kind old doctor, who had not intended to hurt you, drew a line in your vein for the IV? Your father couldn't bear to look, but I did, and as you cried, I kissed and kissed your tears away, wishing that I could take away your pain. And in the hospital we spent for 3 long days.

Do you know what it feels like- to be helpless and watch your child suffer and cry from an illness? You were delirious in your sleep, whimpering for me, wanting to be close to me all the time. I stayed beside you, slept beside you, held you in my arms, all the time praying for your speedy recovery. The pain that hit me, and still lingers within my heart, to see you in that frail state, has not gone away. I suspect that it never will, because my eyes have been opened to your pain, emblazoned forever in my mind.

And so, this is life. When we are busy doing things, we live our lives. Good things and bad things happen to all of us. Your illness was a bad thing, possibly the worst thing that has happened to us. I am thankful that it has passed. But with it came a good thing: I know you're only a little girl, only 2 years old. But in your time of illness, you knew that I would be there for you, to love you and care for you. I hope you will carry this knowledge with you for the rest of your life.

Of drugs & such

2007-09-04T18:03:00.000+08:00

"In the course of history many more people have died for their drink and their dope than have died for their religion or their country" ~ Aldous Huxley

My dearest E.,

I am not talking about the drugs that you take when you are ill, or the drugs you take to try to keep yourself healthy (like vitamins). Let us face the truth: that we live in an age of pills, prescription, legal or otherwise. And I need to tell you this because it is important that I do, that you value your life for what it is worth, because it is a wonderful life that has been given to you- and I hope that you never ruin what you have for an addiction to drugs or alcohol.

You don't want to know that your mother has done some bad things, but I will tell you this because you are my daughter and I owe this to you: that I was once addicted to nicotine. I smoked for several years when I left secondary school. I smoked throughout the whole of my 20s. I smoked for 12 years, until I got pregnant with you and stopped. And started again a few months after you were born. I am clean again now. And I hope to be for the remainder of my life.

Have I done drugs? Yes, I have. Marijuana. I was 18. And that was where I drew the line. I admit, had my resolve not been stronger, I may have ended up abusing even more illegal substances. I was able to stay grounded, because I thought of my parents, and how upset they'd be if anything happened to me, if I became a junkie, if I became an addict. I was a party girl, I had cool friends. I now know that no matter how cool my friends had been, how they told me I was cool, too, that it was ok to be doing drugs, they were wrong. It's never right to be using substances. And drugs are the worst, because they don't react the same with everybody. We're all special, we're individuals with different body systems. What is ok for someone may not be ok for you. Your body may react very differently.

Have I done alcohol? Sure, I have. I've had drinks, and I've got drunk heaps of times. I was young and carefree. I was never an alcoholic, though. And I always remembered my father telling me not to drink and drive. It's very important. Even though I knew my father would beat the living daylights out of me for leaving my car in a strange place overnight, I got a sober friend to send me home once when I knew I had drunk too much to drive carefully. Now I have the occasional glass of wine, a shot of whiskey, some beer. On special occasions. I don't like alcohol much these days. I'd like to think it's because I'm growing more mature, and perhaps, more responsible? And I ALWAYS watched my drinks, whether I was in a club or even if I was in the company of friends. Be very careful with your drinks.

I read a very sad, horrifying story in Readers' Digest, about a wonderful girl who was fun, loving and popular. Her parents, teachers and friends adored her. She had good grades, she was generous and kind, she was a good daughter who got along well with her parents, and she had friends she loved to hang out with. But she made a little mistake one day which cost her her life. She took an Ecstasy pill when her friend offered it to her. Perhaps she was thinking, it's only one little pill. And everyone said it made them feel good after they took it. That one pill killed her because her body could not take it. She died, and she was only 16 years old. I wanted to cry for her parents. And it scared me when I read that story, because that girl could be you someday. And for the life of me, I want to protect you forever, but I know that I can't. So, you must protect yourself.

I know, that when you are a teenager or young adult, growing up and finding out things about yourself, other people and the world, it can be a great challenge, and you find yourself confused about many things. But the world can be a beautiful place if only you allow it. Success will come to you if you work hard and allow it into your life. I hope this doesn't happen- but the likelihood that it will is almost a surety: that you will someday become secretive and sullen, and do not want to share your life with your parents. Your parents may seem annoying, over-protective, cloying. Nothing is ever good enough for them. You want to break free. You're growing up, you're not a baby anymore! You want to make your own decisions! I have been there, my sweet one. I have been in that place. And I realize now, that I needed to be there to become the person that I am today, and because I had been there, I am now more responsible and appreciative, loving and kind, and because I had been there, I know now how immense a parent's love is. It is a wonderful thing which surpasses everything in the world, I know this for a fact.

It was probably my parents' love for me, at the back of my mind, that kept me firm in my beliefs, in not giving in to extreme peer pressure (I did cave in to peer pressure, to a certain extent) and to do the things "all the kids were doing" in my time. Sex, drugs, rock & roll and all that jazz. I'm not perfect, I wasn't exactly Ms. Goody Two-Shoes. I was rebellious, but not so rebellious that I would've ruined my life.

It was also at this time that I realized, that the old adage about how children were exactly like their parents, or copied or imitated their parents by example, was far from the truth. My parents were good, exemplary people who showed me good examples, they were role models who taught me how to be a compassionate generous person, who showered me with love in the hopes that I would be a cheery, lovable person who would shower that love onto others. So where did they go wrong, if indeed it is true that children follow their parents by example? I cannot see a single thing that they have done wrong, except to give me everything I ever wanted. My parents did not teach me how to consume alcohol, or drugs. My parents did not teach me how to pick up a cigarette and smoke. My parents did not teach me how to have sex with a boy. So how did I learn all these....? I gave in to peer pressure.

I was nothing like my parents, I behaved like a shameless hussy, and I was ashamed, but only much later. Which also serves as a notice to me, my sweet E., that regardless of how I bring you up, that you may, someday be compelled to conform with your surroundings and your friends. And the only hope that I have for you, if that ever happens, is that you know where you stand, that you must judge the right from wrong, the docile from the extreme, and that you will always be careful and look out for yourself. And know, no matter how embarassed you are to explain to your mother that you'd had sex with a boy, or that you smoked a cigarette, your mother will forgive you and love you anyway, because she knows what you're talking about.

Your mother wants you to be a good, honourable person, to have the same values she was brought up with. Your mother knows that the teenage years and your early adult years can be trying, but that you will pass that phase and it will shape you into a better person if you would allow it to. Your mother wants you to be strong and firm in your beliefs, so that you will never ever have to doubt your worth as a person: know that you are special and wonderful, and if the people out there cannot see that simply because you want to hold on to your values and/or beliefs, then they are just not meant to be your friends or people deserving of your love.

Your mother wants you to know that she loves you unconditionally, and that if she ever shouts at you, or is angry at you, it is only because she loves you. And there is nothing to be ashamed about, ever, because you are your mother's daughter. You are special.

Even in adversity.....

2007-09-04T17:57:00.001+08:00

.....you smile at me and say "Mummy" first thing in the morning, and kiss me on my lips.

.....you twirl your finger around your Snow White night-dress and pretend to do a little dignified dance.

.....you offer me your hugs and cuddles, you know I feel sad that you are ill.

.....you cry out, "Toys!" at the little toy store in the hospital.

.....you tell the hospital nurse, "Ok! Ok! Ok!" and you cry a little, after she pushes in a suppository to make your fever go down.

.....you are brave and clever and such a good girl, I love you so, and I am sorry that you are ill.

Walking and talking

2007-09-04T17:41:00.000+08:00

"Sometimes I forget I have ears and then my hands go up there and I'm like "hey what are those!"" ~ Baby Bob from the TV Series, Baby Bob (2002-2003)

My dearest E.,

I like to watch you, walking and talking. Sometimes, you look like a cute little walking doll, fixed in her focus, inert on talking, forming words in your mouth, testing them and rolling them off your tongue. I have to admit- sometimes I don't understand what you're saying, even though you're talking to me, oh-so-earnestly, with your eyes lit up and your head nodding. And I pretend like I understand, until I realize that you intend for me to do something for you, and I have no idea what it is. Then you scowl at me, but laugh after that, and move on to something else to talk about.

You talk the moment you wake up in the morning, hair all messed-up and puffy. But you smile at me and say "Hi!" first thing in the morning. I'm still amazed that you rarely cry when you wake up in the morning. You just look so happy to be awake. And then I go about brushing my teeth, brushing your teeth and washing your face. And then I take my morning shower, with the door open so that I can watch you, and you talk and talk, playing with your soft toys, or with things fished out from my handbag.

You sing Baa Baa Black Sheep quite well now, although sometimes you have a little problem pronouncing words. But that's all ok, little babe. You will learn as you grow older. You like Row Row Row Your Boat, too, and This Old Man. Sometimes, you hum when you don't know the words, or what sounds like the correct words. You're such a musical baby, oh, I forget, you will be 2 very soon. No longer a baby. A toddler. A little girl.

You talk all the time. You never stop. You're always busy, talking and walking and doing things around the house. I love watching you do this. I could watch you all day.... But I remember that I have to talk back to you, too, otherwise it'd be rude, because you're talking to me, and all I can do is stare at you with a silly smile and contented happiness in my heart.

The sight of you

2007-08-17T17:58:00.000+08:00

"Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart" ~ Kahlil Gibran

My dearest E.,

Yesterday, I laid eyes on you after 2 whole days of solitude and loneliness without your presence, your wonderful smile, your kindly eyes. I was at an event organized by the senior partner in my office- and your father was to pick you up and bring you to meet me there. The sight of you, it took my breath away, my heart was full with emotions. When I glimpsed you sitting in your stroller, your father standing behind you, my heart melted and I wanted to run to you and shout with joy.

Run, I did- but I was dignified enough to hold you close to me, breathe in your scent deeply and kiss you incessantly. And when you hugged me, your arms around my neck, I wanted to cry for joy, that you were home with us. And I lifted you up, into my arms where you belonged.

The light of beauty in your heart- which shines through and is magnified a thousand times on your physicality: that is what I missed most when you were away. If I could have things my way, all my way, I would never want you to be apart from me, ever again.

And we walked together, mother and daughter, and I found myself walking taller, prouder, that my beautiful, sweet little babe was walking beside me, charming strangers, smiling coyly, well-behaved. Pretty as a picture. My baby.

Your birthday is coming!

2007-08-14T17:50:00.000+08:00

"Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time" ~ Jean Paul Richter

My dearest E.,

It is now August, and I am very excited, because your birthday draws nearer (it is in October), and I can't wait to start planning for a little party for you!

We threw a big party last year when you turned 1, with much fanfare, expense and with many guests. How long ago that seemed-you were so much smaller and you could barely walk. This year, for your 2nd birthday, your father and I have decided on a small, intimate affair: a party at our home, with home-made decorations and food: yes, I will cook and prepare a scrumptious meal for your guests!

When you come to my age, birthdays are no longer a big deal: age is just a number. But when you are a child, make the most of your birthdays and parties, because it will be the most wonderful times you will remember when you are an adult.

Miss you like hell

2007-08-14T17:37:00.000+08:00

"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell" ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

My dearest E.,

I am a weakling, I know I am. I am also a crybaby. Last week on Wednesday, your father had fallen ill with exhaustion . The task of caring for him, of course, fell on me. I was also exhausted because of the lack of sleep, and the decision was made for you to stay over with your grandparents to enable us to recuperate.

I don't have to tell you how terrible I felt that night. Your father and I decided to have a quick dinner outside, and as I sat at the booth there after we had ordered our food, and your father had gone to use the gents', I took out my mobile phone and watched videos of you on it. And felt tears pooling in my eyes when I looked at you. Those lively, carefree, sweet pictures of you. And felt that huge void in my heart. The tears came, faster and faster, I hadn't enough tissues to wipe the streaks that crossed my face.

I wanted to cry and bawl out loud, but I didn't. I continued watching my favourite video of you, dancing to my rendition of London Bridge and Baa Baa Black Sheep, and the tears continued to fall silently into my lap. Your father came back from the gents' and thought something terrible had happened.

And indeed, it was terrible for me, sweetie, to know that when I went to bed that night, you would not be lying beside me, and I would have no one to sing The Sound of Music to.

That pain of missing you filled me throughout the night, I barely slept, and the next day, and finally, when I laid eyes on you on Wednesday evening, my world was complete again.

Today, you have left to go to Port Dickson with your grandparents. I know that I will feel that terrible void again when I go home, so I intend to busy myself and go to the gym with your godmother and Uncle Calvin. I try not to think of your empty bed, with your sweet baby smell lingering in our room. I try not to think of your arms around my neck as you hug and kiss me good night.

You will have a wonderful time in Port Dickson, I know you will. But it doesn't help that I feel this way, and I'm glad, though, that you have no way of knowing now how I truly feel when we are apart. Because mothers are supposed to be strong role models for their children. And I certainly do not want to fail you and be a weak role model, simply because I hate being apart from my beloved daughter.

Bedtime Lullaby: The Sound Of Music

2007-08-03T16:20:00.001+08:00

"The hills are alive with the sound of music...."~ Rodgers & Hammerstein II

My dearest E.,

The Sound of Music (TSOM), one of the greatest classics of all time, is a cinch when it comes to getting you to sleep. Three times, I'd sing this to you during bedtime: the first time, your eyelids start drooping, but you continue to twiddle about with your blanket, the second, your eyes are closed, you suck on your Minnie Mouse pacifier vigorously and you turn your body inwards closer to mine, the third, your pacificer drops out of your mouth and you breathe quietly, sleeping like an angel. I tell you, I have smiled and have not stopped smiling on the day I started singing this song to you, and realizing how much you loved it. And how easy it is to get you to go to bed once I start singing.

TSOM was a movie musical written by Richard Rodgers (music) and Oscar Hammerstein II (lyrics) and the 1965 production of the movie musical starring Dame Julie Andrews, one of my favourite actresses of all time, and Sir Christopher Plummer, shot to phenomenal success. The story of TSOM was taken from a book written by Maria Von Trapp entitled "The Story of the Trapp Family Singers". The songs featured in the movie musical have become amazingly popular classics. I can bet that there isn't a person who cannot sing the first opening lines of TSOM. And then there are songs like Edelweiss, My Favourite Things, So Long, Farewell and the Lonely Goatheard (which has been "borrowed" by Gwen Stefani in her song, Wind it Up).

Here are the lyrics to the Sound of Music: I promise that when you are older, I shall buy a DVD and we shall watch this beloved movie musical together.

The hills are alive with the sound of music

With songs they have sung for a thousand years

The hills fill my heart with the sound of music

My heart wants to beat every song it hears.

My heart wants to beat like the wings

of the birds that fly from the lake to the trees

My heart wants to sigh like the chime

that flies from the church on a breeze

To laugh like a brook when it trips and falls

Over stones on its way

To sing through the night

Like a lark that is learning to pray

I go to the hills when my heart is lonely

I know I will hear what I've heard before

My heart will be blessed with the sound of music

And I'll sing once more.

Of friends and friendship

2007-07-23T11:15:00.000+08:00

“Surround yourself with people who will only lift you higher” ~ Oprah Winfrey

I felt compelled to write this because these people, your friends, will be one of the most important features in your life. Like family, friends occupy a special place in your heart. But there are many types of friends. And eventually, as you grow older and wiser, you tend to weed out the fair-weathered friends, the insincere, the ones who use you because they have ulterior motives, the ones who call themselves friends only in name and then utter half-truths or dishonest things about you when you have your back turned. I’d hate to say this because friendship is a wonderful thing, once you have discovered its true meaning: but along the way, you must keep your guard up. There is a certain measure of distrust that you must employ for self-survival. And your true friends will remain.

You will meet people from all walks of life when you grow up. But keep yourself grounded, your feet firmly planted on the ground. Do not discriminate by gender, race, colour, social standing, etc. Open your heart (carefully) to those who open theirs to you, but learn to take all colourful accounts of life from others with a pinch of salt. Believe what you see with your eyes, not what you hear with your ears. Learn to trust your instincts and listen to your inner voice. It is, as I have discovered, one of the most effective survival methods you will come across.

Oh, I know many people, E. I have many “friends”, but when I say friends, I mean people that I know. As I grew older, and the people who were once close to me drifted further away from me, I learnt to see only those who remained, notwithstanding the circumstances. I have a handful of good friends, people I trust and love and whom I can count on. People for whom I will sacrifice my life and liberty, because they will sacrifice theirs for me too. I have a childhood friend from primary school- she is a true friend to this very day. Our friendship has spanned a course over 20 years. She lives abroad now: a small woman with a truly big heart, who has given up her luxurious life in Malaysia to do God’s bidding in poverty-torn Aceh. A woman who has given up the comforts of living to serve the noble quest of rebuilding a nation torn by the December 2005 tsunami. A woman who, in all the years I have known her, powered God’s words on our earth. A woman who loved me and understood me, despite the vast ocean of difference between us. And when she returns to Malaysia for a break, we meet up and catch up on old times, as if time had stood still and things had never changed. We pick up where we’d last left of.

And then, when I started work in my early twenties, I met a group of people who were destined to be my friends forever. Or so, I'd like to think. It's been over 6 years since we met that day when I was a fresh-faced graduate all ready for work. Some dropped out of the "group" but a few of us stuck by together and saw each other through break-ups, weddings and children, amongst others. I avoid using the word "best friend" because inevitably, when once journeys through the roads of life, one meets a special someone who will, at that point, be the "best friend". So one tends to interchange "best friends", depending on whom one is closest to at that point of time. But I have good friends, are they all my best friends? So I adopt the Hollywood, diva-like term to these people, they are my BFF.

The years have passed, but my friends remain. In particular, your godparents. Extend the circle a little more, and we find partner, spouse and friends of your godparents. It doesn't matter that we're all a little older, or that we don't go on holidays together anymore (because we have children now!- and let's face it, a parent must first consider the needs of the child: comfort, food, convenience, healthcare facilities- before deciding to go on a holiday), or that some of us meet each other once every month or so. Some have moved abroad to work: Singapore & Australia. Some have found new passionate adventures, like rock-climbing, which the others, unfortunately, through some measure of constraint, are unable to participate in. Some bond because we're mothers hoping to achieve financial freedom.

And you, the apple of my eye, has become the apple of another friend's eye. He who loves you with unbridled attention, who seeks to ensure your every comfort and need, who gives in to your every whim and fancy. He who bought a pair of swimming shorts just so that he could be one of the first people to be with you when you first took a dip in the pool. He who cares for you like a father cares for his own child. He is one of my dearest friends.

We will all be friends until the day we die, and simply because we have shared with each other the most significant events in each other's lives. This is the kind of friendship that I hope you will experience someday. These are the kind of people I hope you will surround yourself with in your life. Because they will lift you up and stand beside you, no matter the circumstances. Love these friends like you love your family. In more ways than one, they will become your family too.

Relax, take it easy

2007-07-17T10:53:00.000+08:00

"Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths, or the turning inwards in prayer for five short minutes" ~ Etty Hillesum

My dearest E.,

Let me share a brief folly of mine with you, a folly caused of my wanderings into unchartered regions- the information technology area and all things connected thereto. Last week, I thought that it would be great to have my own domain name and own domain host. Big ideals for a little person. I had an inkling how I would go about it: after all, the Internet is almost endless when it comes to information and knowledge. I knew I'd find some instructions on how to go about my task. The full account of my experience is recounted here.

But what I wanted to share with you, isn't so much about my experience. I want to share with you what I received out of that experience, and I don't mean tangibles, like a website with my own name, or content in a blog written by me. I received a valuable lesson: and it wasn't the first time that this lesson was being imparted to me. Many years earlier, my parents had tried to guide me through this lesson. I must've tuned out along the way, and only remembered this recently.

Relax, take it easy. It is that simple.

What do you when you're faced with a problem? Don't rush headlong into it. Don't allow yourself to panic and lose your breath or start hyperventilating. Don't allow the force of negativities to surround you. Don't berate yourself. Don't ask how the problem came about excessively (except maybe once, so that you can find a solution). And the most important don't of all is, Don't Panic! You will ask me, how can I not panic, not worry, not be distressed. But this is possible. A problem is usually exacerbated by excessive panic or worry. In that distressed state, your mind is clouded, your judgment becomes questionable and your focus is unbalanced. You want to find a solution immediately, so you don't see the little things that will help you reach your goals. Perhaps your heart will start beating quicker, the adrenaline will course through your veins like a flooding river- these physical traits will only serve to bring your mind to a snap-close, and however hard you may try to pry it open, it stays shut. Because you have been traumatized.

My mother taught me long ago how I could simply take deep breaths to calm myself down. I even did a whole meditation course on that. I did yoga. I learnt to breathe. Along the way, I forgot all that I had learnt.

The world will not come to an end simply because there is a problem, whether caused by you or not. Life will go on. And so you must as well to make do with the circumstances presented to you. A long, deep breath taken slowly and calmly (close your eyes if you prefer) together with a minute or two of silent contemplation and emptying your mind completely, will not only ease your mind, but also fill your body with oxygen, funnelling through to your brain, and releasing positive energies throughout your system. A long deep breath serves you better than a solid minute of panic, shouting and running around.

When you breathe, you can rationalize, seek creative solutions to problems. Open your mind to possibilities, make necessary judgment calls. What has been done, has been done. Often, the mistake is to dwell on why a problem cropped up, the cause of the problem, the perpetrator of the problem, etc. When your thoughts are focused on the past, you cannot look towards the future for the solution.

I confess that my thoughts initially were jumbled, panicky. I could serve no purpose. I couldn't find solutions, even though it was right before my eyes. Because I had allowed myself to become over-consumed by the alleged loss of my blog content (and that, was one of the most horrible things to have happened to me). Only when I had finally decided that I was going to let it be, did the solution, like a flash of brilliance hit me. And I solved my problem.

Apply this lesson to everything you do, sweet cakes. Exams, work, love, relationships and most importantly, life. I promise you: although you may not always find solutions to your problems, you will be comforted knowing that you had done all your best with a clear and conscious mind.

Being Ill

2007-07-11T16:13:00.000+08:00

“I enjoy convalescence. It is the part that makes the illness worthwhile” ~ George Bernard Shaw

My dearest E.,

There is no rest for the weary. Your father and I fell ill with the viral flu over the weekend. At first, the illness crept through us quietly and steadily, showing no physical signs of mutation, or that we would become worse for it. We had a wonderful weekend as usual. But come Monday, the illness ravaged our bodies, played with our minds, and we were consumed with lethargy and weakness. Afraid that you would catch the illness from us, we left you in the care of my parents, hoping that you would remain fit and well whilst we floundered at home to take care of ourselves. I called in sick and stayed in bed a lot on Monday and Tuesday. Short trips to the doctor’s and to buy meals were inevitable. We also popped by for a short hour on Monday and Tuesday night to look in at you at your grandparents’. We have prayed that you would not be infected with the flu virus that has been going around.

There is no time for convalescence. It is Wednesday and I am back at the office, working at half speed despite the workload that has built up while I was home nursing the illness. My head is heavy and my throat is slightly sore. My nose is clogged with semi-dried mucus which I have to clear loudly in the bathroom. My body still aches. I am sick and tired of having to take my antibiotics. I am lucky, though, that my thoughtful colleagues have tried to help me with the work load, and covered for me in some of my work duties while I was home. It is hard to find people like these.

It transpired that my boss’ wife and another colleague’s wife were also stricken with the viral flu. It is at times like these, when I am ill, that I wished I had taken better care of myself. I glanced with a little guilt at the almost-full box of Redoxon Vitamin C effervescent tablets sitting on my table. And when I opened my drawer to take out some stationery, my bottle of Blackmores Multi-vitamins stared at me from within. A few sachets of organic powdered health drinks were sadly chucked and relegated to a dark corner of the drawer, too, where I finally dug them out from hiding.

Work has been slow, because my brain is a little slow and woozy today. I gorged on a bacon sandwich for lunch, and not too long after, a clean and crisp ham sandwich. Gorging myself on empty carbohydrates and fat-filled pork also means that I am now a little sleepy and disoriented. The new table clock I bought from Ikea points to 4 p.m. It seems like an eternity before I can get off work and go home. I am dying to have you in my arms again, after 2 whole days of not being with you. If circumstances permit, I want to bury my face into your face and neck, breathing in the scent of your baby sweetness. If my voice allows me to, I want to sing “The Sound of Music” to you and watch you fall asleep after the first verse.

I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.

I hate being ill, because it means that you have to be away from me. I will myself to get better in the next few hours, or risk leaving you at your grandparents’ for another night. I will probably cry this time if I do again. The tears have been dammed up within me the past 2 days, because it is for your own good. But tonight, I may have to break the dam for fear that it will consume me.

Your little bed is empty beside mine. I have tucked Mr. Bunny and Ally under your fleece blanket. Last night, I heard the tinkling of little bells, they sounded like the little bells on your gold anklet: I forgot that you were at your grandparents’, and I automatically reached out to stroke you back to sleep, and my hand fell through the silvery beams of moonlight drifting in from the window.

Nothingness. A flat, smooth bed. Unslept in for the past 2 days.

I sleepily took Mr. Bunny and held him close to me, the bells sounded again and then I remembered that Mr. Bunny’s head would tinkle everytime he was picked up or moved. An in-built bell in a toy bunny’s head. My. Bunny had your baby scent all over. I fell asleep, dreaming of rabbits, babies and toys.

The auditions

2007-07-11T16:09:00.000+08:00

“When you are modelling, you are creating a picture, a still life, perhaps something like a silent film. You convey emotion but you are only using your body” ~ Helena Christensen

My dearest E.,

Your father and I, when you were born, had, and still do have, the highest hopes and dreams for you. You must know that we do not intend, in any way, to push you into a specific direction, a direction which, through some reason or other that we were unable to pursue ourselves, we now hope to channel you through. What I have learnt since becoming a mother is that children, even your own, are people with free will and spirit which should not be stifled with. What I can gladly do, is to guide you and offer options. At the end of the day, and above all, you will decide for yourself your goals, your aspirations and your wants out of life.

In my head, I have visions of you becoming a pro-golfer like Michelle Wie, an accomplished tennis player like Maria Sharapova, a squash queen like Nicol David, a supermodel like Gisele Bundchen, a Nobel Laureate like Wislawa Szymborska, a United Nations ambassador like Angelina Jolie, an activist with a heart like Oprah Winfrey, a soprano like Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, and the list goes on (these names may mean nothing to you when you’re older and reading this, but I can assure you that these are some of the world’s most powerful women now as I write this!). As I revel in these images in my head, I hope to be able to provide you with the push in these directions. Conveniently, I forget that you may not agree with my choices, and certainly, someday in future, we will most likely squabble over this.

But because you’re still a teeny-tiny little baby girl (and I will always see you this way!), your father and I have taken the liberty of taking you to various casting agencies to see if you could have your fortune made by the sheer beauty of your looks. As a result, you had been shortlisted once for a TV commercial, but the idea of using a baby in the aforesaid TVC had been scrapped (I know because the Assistant Director is none other than our friend, Eugene!).

Let me first tell you, my sweet, that I do not (I stress) see you as all beauty and nothing more. Indeed, I see you as everything beautiful and sweet, both in countenance and personality and hence, thought it my duty to expose you to the world (ahem!). Over the course of the last week, my heart fluttered several times over the 2 phone calls I had received from casting agencies. Both sent a clear message: the agency had clients who loved your pictures and had shortlisted you (you!) for their TV commercials (one was for AnMum, another was for Astro), and that you were required to attend a short video-casting session for them to make their decisions.

So we dressed you up in your Sunday best and trotted you off to the auditions. Your father and I thought, “Why not?” Better to have tried than not at all. I was frankly a little apprehensive at the thought. The lady from the agency who had called specified “Needs to look adorable”- I was dumbfounded, because you already are adorable, and you must’ve been to them otherwise they wouldn’t have picked you out of at least a hundred other kids.

Your father took you for the first audition at a place called Passion Pictures. I was unable to make it as it was on a Friday afternoon, the worst time of the week for me at work. I did, however, give you lots of kisses and hugs for good luck, and kept my fingers crossed. I think you were oblivious to the whole thing. Your father recounted the event to me: you weren’t too happy about the auditions, particularly the bright white lights shining into your face and the throng of people watching you. Incidentally, one of the gentlemen who were manning the camera was an acquaintance of mine: he was the lead male talent in my band’s music video years ago. But acquaintance or not, you could not be coaxed to endear upon them a beatific smile or a Shirley Temple pose. I admonished your father for racing you off to the auditions mid-morning, so close it was to your afternoon nap time. I had thought you would be more cooperative in the afternoon once you had woken up, refreshed from your nap. All that aside, my friend, Kieran, had to tell us that he was sorry, but we could try again next time when you were more prepared.

When your father told me, a little pang of disappointment hit me. And then guilt washed over me. And then I felt all terrible for putting you through that ordeal. Funnily, I also understand Kieran’s point of view. The advertising world is a ruthless place to be in- sometimes, one cannot stand to profit from being overly nice or overly patient. A model will be yelled at, criticized for being too fat or too thin, who cares if he/she is being paid? The director calls the shots. If you can’t cut it, you just can’t cut it.

You’re a baby, sweetie pie. You haven’t turned 2 yet. You have no idea what is expected of you, and how can it be expected from you when you haven’t even begun to comprehend the language of adults? How can I expect from you to act all cute-sy and in a certain way in front of these strangers? You think we’re special, you know we’re your parents, so you humour us with your antics, all those wonderful things you do to make us laugh or bring happy smiles to our faces. But you are under no obligation to do the same for other people if you do not want to.

Your father told me you fell asleep in the car immediately after the audition, and my heart went out to you. I wish that I was there to hold you and tell you, it’s ok, sweetie, you will always be my superstar and I’m sorry that I put you through the auditions.

But that same day, I received another call, the one requesting you to audition for the Astro commercial. Your father and I debated this once more: to allow you or not to allow you to audition. We weighed the pros and cons. More often than once, it came up that I thought you were still too young, and I could not bear the thought of putting you through another ordeal. But your father thought we should take our chances, and I agreed with him.

We confirmed with the agency that we would take you to the audition on Sunday afternoon. This one, at a place called Pegasus Films, went much better because you found a little friend there, a darling handsome boy of about 4 years old named Eric, clearly a product of mixed parentage. The 2 of you spent some time looking at each other and playing ball.

You were certainly more relaxed here, you even deigned to smile and offer some cheeky grins. But you were still awe-struck. The lights were bright, but not hot-bright, simply designed to put you in the limelight. Eric insisted on moving into the frame of the camera with you, and stood beside you while the gentleman behind the camera took pictures of you. If I was a hard-core Mummy-toting-about-her-child-talent, I’d have screamed blue murder and demand for Eric’s mother to pull him away. The nerve! Stealing my little girl’s moment.

But Eric was just being a child. And like all children, I saw no fault in him. So he wanted to stand beside you. That’s cool! Because he liked you. So he wanted to play with you. All in fun and jest, I enjoyed watching you at play with him. A brief thought struck me as I watched you: boys. And I dreaded to think of what would happen in your teenage years.

You paid more attention to Eric than the camera. The cameraman was polite and thanked us for coming to audition on a Sunday afternoon. I knew what his tone of voice meant. But I felt no sadness, no disappointment. I was only glad that it was over, and that this time, you had a good time because you had made a friend.

The auditions taught me something, E. Oh yes, even at my age, I am still learning things as the days go by. I don’t proclaim to be all wise and adult. I’ve learnt that all those dreams and aspirations I had for you- that’s all they will remain. I’ve learnt that I must let you make your own choices and that you cannot be moulded into something you clearly do not want to be. I will not force you to do what you do not want to do (disclaimer: terms will apply!) and I know now that you are not ready for the limelight, that you want to enjoy your babyhood with me and your father and your loved ones. When you are ready, I think you will tell me that you are. If the calls come, I will take you for auditions, but I will not force you to act a certain way, be a certain way. I will wait for your inner voice speaking to mine: I’m ready now, Mummy. Or: I won’t ever be ready, Mummy.

Either way, that’s ok with me, sweetie. It really is.

All apologies

2007-06-27T17:35:00.000+08:00

"Sorry seems to be the hardest word" ~ Sir Elton John

My dearest E.,

I'm sorry. And I don't have a problem saying 'sorry' when it needs to be said. And why am I sorry?

Because I have been busy at work. Because I had to leave you with your grandparents last night as I worked into the night, first at the office, then at the nearby Starbucks cafe, then at home. Because it is only going to get worse (work) the next few weeks. Because I need to do this. Because I love my job. Because I want to be appreciated by my co-workers.

But I also love you to pieces. And you are the most important thing in the world to me. But I cannot devote myself completely to you at this moment. I want you to know that I'm sorry. I want you to know that I need to do this. And I want you to know that no matter what happens, how busy I am at work, I promise that I will be there to tuck you into bed every night and sing you your favourite lullabies.

Wish List

2007-06-27T16:51:00.000+08:00

"When you love someone, all your saved-up wishes start coming out" ~ Elizabeth Bowen

My dearest E.,

When I was a little girl, a teenager and a young adult, I had a wish list for each stage of life I was passing through. Most times, what I wished for very material and/or superficial things, or things that would never be achieved save through hard work and perseverance. As a child, I wished for lots of toys, particularly Barbie dolls. I wished for a pink bicycle with pink handlebars and matching pink ribbon streamers flowing therefrom. I wished for a puppy. I wished for a wonderful birthday party with a huge sparkling birthday cake, a bran-tub with brightly-wrapped gifts and all sorts of fanciful games and goodies. My wishes came true, all of them, and I simply attributed it to my parents; i.e. if you wish hard enough, then your parents will make them come true. I'd forgotten all that until now, now that I am a parent and realize that the wishes which came true when I was a child, came true because I wished for the wrong things. Because I wished for material things, things that every parent would go out of their way to make sure their children got.

When I was 15, I wished I was prettier. I wished that I would have a boyfriend. I wished that I would do well in my exams. I wished that I wouldn't have to go for my piano lessons every Monday afternoon (which lasted well into the evening!) because I was terrified of my piano teacher, who'd rap my knuckles smartly with a wooden ruler if I so much as released the curvature of my fingers on the smooth ivory keys of her Petrof. I wished that I was thinner. I wished that I hadn't started shaving the hair off my legs because dammit, it was getting to be a chore to shave them every 2-3 days! Not all my wishes came true. I still went for my piano lessons right until I was 17, and finished Grade 8. I still had to shave my damn hairy legs every 2-3 days. However, I did well in my exams (my parents were terribly proud of me and considered me something of a genius, when actually, despite the As I scored, I was nowhere near the top 20 students in my school. But they're my parents, I'll give them that. Parents always think the best of their children, that they (the children) can do anything. I know what that is like now). I had my first boyfriend at 16. I even thought I started blossoming and began to look more attractive, and less chubby and childish. After all, I had a boyfriend, so that must also mean I got prettier and thinner!

Why did some of my wishes come true and the others didn't? Because sometimes, in life, you are meant to do things you may not necessarily like, but which may serve you well later on. And because some of those wishes were meant to happen anyway. I just didn't know it then. I'm still shaving my legs every 2-3 days these days, and I'm 31. The shaving that I started as a teenager, to fit in because everyone was shaving their legs and armpits, is now a life-long commitment on my part. I'm glad I never shaved my arms, because that would've doubled my time in the shower. So although I regret shaving my hairy legs, I'm also thankful that I never shaved my arms. As for my piano lessons, I'm glad for them because I wouldn't have realized how much I loved music, if it wasn't for them, and how easy it is to write songs with piano accompaniment. Because now, I can play on my trusty old Weinbach no matter how rusty or stiff my fingers feel and teach you the songs I loved so well as a child. Playing a piano is like riding a bicycle after a long time. You suddenly remember the fluidity of the movements in your fingers (legs) and allow your mind to overtake your heart, and suddenly, you're free, flying and soaring in the air.

My wishes became more for "intangible" things as I grew older. Basking in young adulthood, rollicking in college and university, discovering drink & cigarettes, and embarking on my career, I wished for more money. I wished I was cooler. I wished I was prettier, thinner. I wished there were more hours in the day to cope with the amount of work I had. I wished that I hadn't started on my Masters degree. I wished that I would meet the love of my life who would sweep me off my feet and marry me. I wished that my parents would understand me more and treat me less like a child. It was here that I realized my silly wishes would never come true.

And that as I grew older, I had to work hard to make my wishes come true. I could no longer depend on my parents to fulfill them at my whim and fancy. Some of them came true, some didn't. My parents learnt to let go, but they were still my parents, and on hindsight, I thank God that they still treated me like a child then, worried all the time about my well-being, because if they didn't, what would that mean? That they no longer loved me? That I was left to fend for myself in this world? They still worry about me this very day. How thankful I am for that now. I stopped smoking and drinking. I met your father, my beloved husband, fell madly in love and we got married. Then we had you. And I see again how silly my wishes were.

Now I am 31 years old. All I wish for is your happiness, that you will grow into a sweet, kind and thoughtful young woman. I wish that our family will be contented and humbled by our love for each other. I wish that I will be able to provide for you better as the years go by, I am working hard for our better tomorrow. I wish that I will mean as much to you as you do to me.

So, this is what I want to impart to you, E. That whatever wish list you may have, your wishes are achievable. But you need to want them bad enough. And you need to work to make them come true. Remember that you are responsible for how you dream and map your life out to be. And that sometimes, it is ok even if all your wishes don't come true, because that simply makes you more human to be flawed, than Godly and perfect.

Bedtime Lullaby: You'll Never Walk Alone

2007-06-05T14:33:00.000+08:00

"Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart, and you'll never walk alone" ~ Rodgers & Hammerstein II

My dearest E.,

"You'll Never Walk Alone" is a song written by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. Little did they know at that time (in 1945) that this song would live on in the hearts of Liverpool Football Club's (LFC) fans all over the world, and how it would touch the hearts of everyone by inspiring them with the simple but oh-so-meaningful lyrics. Because of the message of this song, it has apparently become a standard anthem in graduations in the United States and during World War II, the powerful lyrics gave solace to many who had lost family and friends in the war. This song was so popular that many artistes recorded their versions of it, including Frank Sinatra (1945), Patti LaBelle (1964) and Elvis Presley (1968).

The popularity of the song quickly drove it to become LFC's club anthem in the 1960s and was invariably sung before and after every football game. The words "YOU'LL NEVER WALK ALONE" feature in the club crest and outside the Shankly Gates at Anfield (LFC's stadium).

Here are the lyrics to "You'll Never Walk Alone". Perhaps someday, you may want to sing this to your own little babe and nurture him/her into our family tradition of supporting the Liverpool Football Club!

When you walk through a storm

Hold your head up high

And don't be afraid of the dark

At the end of the storm

There's a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark

Walk on, through the rain

Though your dreams be tossed and blown

Walk on, walk on

With hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone

You'll never walk alone

Walk on, walk on

With hope in your heart

And you'll never walk alone

You'll never walk alone.

Lullaby & Sweet Ditties

2007-06-05T14:13:00.000+08:00

"The Lullaby is the spell whereby the mother attempts to transform herself back from an ogre to a saint" ~ James Fenton

My dearest E.,

Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard? James Fenton must've had a fierce mother- even so, capable of the most tender emotions when it came to bedtime. Whatever the case, I'm not an ogre, although when you grow up and become a teenager, I may be one to you. But remember that no matter what you may think of mothers becoming ogres, these ogres only want the best for you!

But I digress- what I really wanted to highlight was how much you love your bedtime lullabies. I think you love them most when I sing to you- and thank goodness that I can sing (I think!). I have a rather baby-ish singing voice, so perhaps that's why you inevitably nod off to La-La Land when I start singing quietly. These days, my repertoire of bedtime lullabies is slightly more diverse than what they used to be when you were younger. I interchange between "You'll never walk alone" (Lullaby Mix, as I call it); "Moon River" (Bedtime Reprise: I coined this!); "Precious One", a lullaby I made up, sung to the tune of "Edelweiss", and "Baby Baby", another lullaby that I made up sung to the tune of one of Noddy's songs from one of your favourite cartoons "The Adventures of Noddy". Sometimes, I sing to you Paula Abdul's "Goodnight my love" but I can't remember the lyrics of the second verse then, so I end up repeating the first verse and chorus all over.

Why do I choose these lullabies? "You'll never walk alone" because it's the Liverpool Football Club's anthem (and your father and I are avid Liverpool fans, or Liverpudlians, as we like to call ourselves!), and because it says what it says: you'll never walk alone; "Moon River" because I imagine your journey ahead to be like a river, full of winding surprises and of course, I'll follow you on that wonderful journey; "Precious One" because the lyrics speak of how you make beautiful things grow with your smile, like flowers, for example; and "Baby Baby" because the tune is cute and light-hearted.

Sometimes, though, you fall asleep in the car when we're driving home from your grandparents, because you've had a long day, playing with your grandparents, going for walks and drives, etc. When we're in the car, we play your favourite CD, Raimond Lap's "Baby Classics" comprising music by composers such as Beethoven and Mozart. And as you sit in my lap, clutching your little security blanket, I would feel your body soften and lean closer into my warmth, and you'd be fast asleep before I could say "Sleep".

Sleep tight, my little one. And the morrow will be ever more beautiful and awaiting your presence.

Fierce!

2007-06-05T11:38:00.000+08:00

"He who defines duty for himself is his own master" ~ Dick Cheatham

My dearest E.,

You are growing at an astounding rate. I want to tell you, "Stop, take a breather!" but you race along the path of Growth, learning as you go along, leaving Love and Compassion in your wake, picking up Intelligence, Knowledge and Language along the way, cultivating Kindness while you stop to pick up a smooth, red-marbled pebble, feeding your Tantrums and Anger when you feel the need. As Tyra Banks would say: you're fierce. A fierce beauty coming out into her own, a little caterpillar struggling in the silky smoothness of its cocoon, raring to meet the Sunshine and say hello as a butterfly.

Fiercely independent, you want to do things for yourself, which pleases your father and I, of course. I want to laugh when I see you solemnly imitating me when I get ready for work in the morning. You pull on imaginary clothes, fluff your hair, apply face cream and deodorant, and then laugh out loud with a huge grin on your face. At meal-times, you insist on feeding yourself, you freeze up when I try to scoop a spoonful of food into your mouth, you turn and twist away from me and loudly reprimand me for trying to baby you. And when I give up and allow you to eat on your own, you smile contentedly, shoving noodles or rice down your mouth, showing me a thumbs-up sign. And you eat there, quietly and messily, food dribbling down your chin and bib. But we watch you with pride. Because you're steady and clever. Because you want to be independent. Because you want to grow up and be an adult.

Your father and I recently bought you a life-sized (as in life baby-sized) kitchen cabinet and cookery set, complete with a plastic stove, baking oven and microwave oven, plastic foods, little utensils, casseroles and dishes, a water tap and sink and a kitchen roll holder. You fuss over your new toy for hours on end, humming happily to yourself as you busy yourself with preparing a vegetable casserole or sniffing in glee when you open the plastic oven and the imaginary scent of a lightly roasted chicken waft through the doors. You wash your hands as you ready yourself to chop up little onions on the cute, little, pink chopping board. You serve me beautifully with a piece of blackberry pie on a purple plate, passing me a little fork, urging me to taste the fruits of your labour. Methinks you could be the next wonder chef, cooking up a storm in your kitchen, inviting friends over to cosy lunch and dinner parties.

I look at you with wonder all the time. I am afraid that if I turn away for a second, you will grow out of your current antics and present me with something new to wonder about. And although the prospect of something new is always amiable to me, I want to hold each moment that I have with you in perpetuity. Your father and I talk about you all the time, and we'd say, "Remember when E. was 3 months old and she would do this?" "E. loved to do that when she was a tiny baby, remember?" There is nothing, nothing in this world, that can replace the feelings of reminiscence when we think of your babyhood past. Sometimes, your father and I pinch each other, wondering if we're in a beautiful dream and we hope that this never ends. And then, when the pinching begins to hurt, we smile happily and say, "Oh yes, this is real", because we see you sleeping beside us in bed in angelic repose, and when I touch your forehead and give you a cool light kiss on your cheeks, I think again, "Yes, this is real, and you are mine".

This doesn't mean that I don't wish to cultivate the independence within you. I know so, how independent you are, how unafraid of the world you can be. You seem to say, "Bring it on, World!" when you insist on putting on your shoes by yourself, and walking outside into the garden, enjoying the light evening breeze and the after-rain scent still lingering in the air. You want to walk out onto the road, unabashed and unafraid- but you are clever, my little one. You know that your parents can guide you safely to your destination, so you hold our hands. And we walk along, the 3 of us, trudging up that quiet tar road, passing our neighbour's homes, broken only by the tiny sound of you meowing whenever you see a cat. Such dreamy solitude. I can never be happier.

I am happy for you, sweet E., happy that you are a brave child and coming out into your own. I know that you're going to be oh-so-fierce in this world and face all truth & beauty and devastation & problems in your own stride as and when they may come. But remember: no matter how independent and self-reliant you become, no matter how successful and powerful, no matter what age, no matter the distance between us, your beloved Mummy will always be here to baby you and return you to your days of yore in your moments of fear, weakness and unhappiness.

Because that is what Mummies do. They allow their children to grow and fly away, revelling in their own freedom and independence. But Mummies also remain, whether physically or in spirit, and wait for the little ones to return to them someday. And that is our cycle of life.

The funniest things

2007-05-10T12:11:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

You do the funniest things. At 18 months, you're energetic, lively and too bubbly for words. You speak in a cutesy voice. Methinks you have taken after your mother's temperament. You are your mother's daughter. Imitate, improvise, create. Seek to entertain. That is what you do. So tell me, my sweet, how do you expect me to act when you...:-

Talk on my phone and step away from the room to take that "call"? Or call my friends listed in my phone memory?

Answer: Hope that you don't drop my phone, because it's almost brand new. Laugh because you act like your father, who steps away when he takes an important business call. Tell my friends, I'm sorry but my daughter accidentally called you. She loves making telephone calls.

Tear my kitchen apart and re-arrange our kitchenware and dining ware and in the process, break 2 of my prized money-can't-buy china bowls handed down from my own mother?

Answer: Clean up after you. Reprimand you a little. Give in to your creative whims and fancies. I don't want to stifle you.

Dangle your hand into the toilet bowl and scoop the water into your mouth?

Answer: Scream! Beat myself up for not watching you closely enough. Scrub your mouth with baby toothpaste. Stick my hanky-wrapped finger in to clean out your tongue. You kick and scream. You get angry with me for daring to put a finger into your mouth.

Tear off the velcro-like fasteners on your diapers, throw those diapers off and run around the house like a little tornado, stark naked?

Answer: Catch you if I can (I always can). Hope you don't pee on the floor. Fit you into another pair of diapers while you angrily throw incomprehensible words at me.

Dip your hands into my food and feed yourself?

Answer: Clean your hands. Get you your own plastic bowl and utensils. Make you sit down beside me to eat.

Throw a tantrum and upset a whole bowl of porridge all over my clean living room floor? Shout at me for daring to serve up porridge to you?

Answer: So you want filet mignon, little one? Dump you into your play pen. Scold you for throwing a tantrum. Ignore your little demands. Clean up the mess. Order McDonalds' chicken porridge for you because I'm just too tired to cook another meal all over again. You still get porridge. Listen to your mother, because Mummy knows best.

Say "Hi" or "Hey" to strangers in the street or the mall or when we're out?

Answer: Swell up with pride. I didn't have to teach you this, but you've learnt on your own. I have a clever daughter.

Mimic Bruce Lee's kung fu moves?

Answer: Laugh like crazy. Make you do it again and again and again.

Try to hit my face after I've dealt you with a little smack on your hand- for touching those forbidden things (electrical sockets, that bottle of calamine lotion and camphor oil, the cash in my wallet)?

Answer: Bring my voice an octave down to a stern rumbling growl. Hope you'll listen. You stare at me, determined not to cry although your mouth has downturned. Make you kiss me and make up. And hug you, to let you know that if I do get a little angry, or try to discipline you, it is only because I love you.

Reach out to kiss me on my mouth, oh-so-tenderly and gently, when we lie in bed together, ready to fall asleep after a long day?

Answer: Kiss you back, oh-so-tenderly and gently. And hug you for showing me that you love me too.

Dance like a ballerina, spinning around like a little top, arms held high over your head?

Answer: Dance like a ballerina, spinning around like a big top, arms held high over my head. And we both fall down in a heap together, laughing.

Grow up a little too quickly?
Answer: Deal with it. My little bird will fly away from her nest someday.

How can I tell you how funny you are? How can I let you know enough how much I love you? How can I make sure you turn out to be a lovely, generous and kind person?

I suppose we'll find out the next few decades or so, baby. Give me your hand then. Both you and I- let's take that journey on self-realisation, learning and making mistakes together.

You

2007-05-10T11:52:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

I wrote an article on Helium, a knowledge-sharing website which pays you for articles written by you. I wrote about you. I've earned some extra pocket money from this. You.

"Having my daughter changed my life- completely. Suddenly, everything that was difficult to deal with in this world, all the problems that I had faced: they disintegrated when I looked into her eyes, my eyes....

My problems, financial, work, or otherwise, which were once central in my life, no longer glared at me from the lens of my social and familial responsibilities. Suddenly, I found the solutions to these problems because they seemed so small compared to the magnitude of joy I felt in having a child. I could face anything now!

I stopped becoming a workaholic: worked decent hours and never took my work home with me, mentally or otherwise. I could be free in those few hours I spent with my daughter when I left the office.

I grew even closer to my parents, who care for her during the day as I worked. Now that I have my own child, I appreciate even more acutely what they had done for me when I was growing up, how much love they had surrounded me with, to enable me to overspill that love to my daughter.

I fell in love with my husband all over again when he became a father. His love, his devotion, his everlasting patience with me and my daughter, reminded me again why I had married him in the first place. That he was the same man, and even more, that I had married 3 years ago.

That I would leave behind a beautiful, physical legacy after I was long gone from this world: a beautiful child who had my eyes, my hair and my temperament, and who would go on to have beautiful children of her own, with her eyes, her hair and her temperament.

That I was blessed by God to receive this fruit of Life, the enormity and wondrous tumult and happiness that is Motherhood.

I have grown up and matured, wiser with my age and experience. I am a better person, and I hope to become a great mother.

The air was fresher and lighter, filled with the promise of sweet surprises as each gust of airy breeze drifted past my daughter and I, sitting together in the park.

The flowers in my garden were more colourful, brighter and radiant than I have ever remembered them to be and spread their delicious scent to soften our dreams."

Falling down

2007-04-18T14:54:00.000+08:00

"When I'm not afraid to fail, I won't. When I'm not afraid to fall down, falling down won't feel like failure. I have fallen down enough to get more comfortable with it, to know how productive it can be, how necessary it is to growth. Still, when I sense the ground beneath me giving way, I have to remind myself that it's ok if I falter. I have to remind myself that it's more than ok!" ~ Jan Denise

My dearest E.,

I suppose it had to come sooner or later. Last Saturday, you fell off the bed in my friend's house, your beloved Uncle Calvin who loves and nurtures you like his own. We'd been to his house many times, and you would always sleep peacefully like a little cherub in his soft comfy bed. That night was no different, and after you had gone to sleep, we proceeded to the living room to watch TV. We were frighteningly interrupted when we heard a monstrous loud thud and then your screams and cries filled the air. Rushing to his bedroom, we found you hanging halfway down the bed- thankfully, you didn't fall to the floor, but was hindered by the wide bed slats on the sides (a Japanese styled-bed it was). Unfortunately, you did hit your head on those slats.

Last night, you spent the night with your grandparents, who, this morning, informed me that you had refused to sleep and woke up crying several times in the night, suspectedly searching for me or your father. They had allowed you to run around the room to frolic- but alas! You had a little fall, and cut your lip and bruised your eye. You poor dear!

I blame myself incessantly for allowing this to happen to you. I cannot describe to you the guilt I felt simmering within me, imagining the "What ifs" and wishing that I had done better to protect you. Other parents offered me sympathetic advice, telling me a child falling down and hurting himself/herself would be inevitable, and was part and parcel of a normal childhood, and in fact, teaches both child and parents to become better people by nurturing their instincts for survival.

So, my dearest, although I find this hard to stomach, let us take this as a learning experience. And I promise that I will be more careful and alert in future to ensure that you do not hurt yourself in this manner anymore. However, I cannot protect you from the symbolic falling downs in your life to come, but I can offer you some advice in that area.

When you fall in life, whether from a relationship break-up or a difficult, testing job, remember that you should pick yourself up and carry on. Imagine falling into a deep pit. Claw and climb your way out if you must, and if you need help, never falter or hesitate to cry or ask for help. I, for one, will be there to take your hand and pull you up to safe ground, but you must cultivate that need to succeed, to rise once again and to never let deterrents in life bring you down.

I have fallen many times in life, my sweet. Sometimes, I was so depressed and thought myself a failure, that I could barely think of picking myself up. Most times, though, I did, because I felt that I was placed here for a universal purpose, together with all other human beings on our earth. And that if I did not pick myself up, I would then be a complete failure. I also had belief in my parents, who lent me their hands throughout. Remember that this is what parents do- this is what parents WANT to do. To make sure that you do not fail. And even if you do fail, that you will continue to persevere.

Failure is NOT falling down and facing your difficulties and crying or wallowing- failure is when you allow hope and faith to diminish in your heart, when you no longer wish to fight back, when you cannot bring yourself to pick up from where you left off, when you no longer wish or desire to succeed in what you do.

I know that you will not fail, though. And even if you do, you will rise like the phoenix to overcome your fears and that failure, and that makes you stronger, a hero. And even if you do, that is completely ok with me, because you will learn from that experience and become a more complete person.

You are my daughter. And you can do anything you set out to do, be anything you want to be. Because you have love, faith and hope as your guiding pillars of strength.

On personality

2007-04-17T17:36:00.000+08:00

"It's beauty that captures your attention; personality that captures your heart" ~ Unknown author

My dearest E.,

How personable you are! You have that wonderful spark of divinity, that expression of your personality. I know that you will contribute so immensely in the lives of those who know you.

Hello, hi and hey! Kisses and hugs. You greet me everyday in this manner. You greet your godparents in this manner. You greet your loved ones like this. And that simply makes us all swell up with pride and happiness.

Friendly, undaunting and sociable, you draw no barriers to your friendship and love. You oblige all and asunder with smiles and handshakes. You comfort with your touch and gentility. You dream of an ideal world where you hope to make a positive change.

Treasure your personality, my dearest. It will serve you in good stead. And in the years to come, I cannot wait to see how much more your personality will blossom and steal the thunder from the skies, enveloping with a radiant brightness of such great magnitude, that even the Sun will bow to your smiles.

Words

2007-04-11T14:54:00.000+08:00

"One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter" ~ James Earl Jones

My dearest E.,

I want to tell you the importance of words. About how important it is to think and rationalize about what you're going to say yet not compromising with who you are. It is often a difficult task, but certainly isn't an impossible one. I myself have been guilty of uttering things to people on the spur of the moment, and then later, I think to myself, "Why did I say that?" "How silly of me!" "How inconsiderate/tactless/thoughtless" etc.

I have now learnt to balance my need to vent blamelessly and mercilessly, with the need to identify with myself. I'm a rather forthright kind of person, especially to family and friends. I rarely mince words with people I care about, simply because I think they would understand and they would love me the same. However, sometimes being this forthright, you may end up wounding feelings in the process. Isn't it strange, then, with mere acquaintances, colleagues or strangers, people I don't care about very much, or perhaps care for on a less important level: that I cannot bring myself to be practically honest? I suppose it's because I don't wish to be thought of as being callous, but why do I care? I don't know.

In the past few years, though, I discovered that I had a very soft, contemplative side. Call it growing up if you will, or wisening with the age, but I learnt to develop a sense of empathy, artful tact, gentle misgivings, constructively tough criticism. My friends tell me I'm too nice, too soft. That I could never be capable of uttering a mean word to anybody. I try not to laugh. I wasn't always this nice a person. Strangely, though, I've also discovered that I am happier this way- that I can say nasty things in a nice way.

You are at an age where words, vocabulary and language is growing quickly central in your life. You experiment with sounds, roll your tongue, shout out loud. Your voice is tiny and cute, yet blaringly loud when you express your excitement when we're out. You articulate your favourite words in an endearing manner. You pick up funny phrases or words that your father and I have "created" as secret codes unbeknowst to the general public. I can't wait to hear you speak even more. Your father and I wait with anticipation each day to know what new word you've learnt or made up.

When language has become your way of life, your means of communication, remember this: that your words define you, move you, evolve you into who you can be in the future. That they are precious gems that fall from your lips, and if they are harsh or unkind, they turn into tiny pointed icicles that stab into a person's heart.

The Masak-Masak game

2007-04-05T17:54:00.000+08:00

"The world is but a canvas to the imagination" ~ Henry David Thoreau

My dearest E.,

Lately, you've been disposed to playing with my kitchen things. Plates, cups, utensils and what not. You often saunter into the kitchen nonchalantly, fiercely pushing away the bead curtains that separate our kitchen from our living and dining area, and you head determinedly straight for the kitchen cabinets. You have a fascination for such things. Because of this, I had bought a set of plastic cups, forks, spoons & knives, bowls and plates from the children's section of Ikea to keep you occupied and to hopefully nurture your creative and imaginative growth. Little did I know how imaginative you could be!

You surprised me first by arranging those plates and bowls on the floor of our living room. Forks and spoons were strewn all over the kitchen floor. But you chose a long-handled sturdy spatula and made use of a clean Famous Amos heart-shaped cookie tin as your little wok. How adorable that was for your father and I to see! And there you went on, sitting on the floor, "frying" and "cooking" in your little wok with the spatula, taking "ingredients" from the little plates and bowls. And on and on you went, with a fury! And you smiled at me, lifting the spatula to your mouth and took an imaginary bite. And went, "Mmmm...!"

I can't, for the life of me, think where you've learnt to do that. But you're growing into a wonderful little girl, generous and loving to your parents. You feed us your imaginary food, constantly smiling and "cooking" for us. Your father and I have vowed that we'll buy you your own little dining table and chair, and a whole new toy cooking set (masak-masak in Malay, which means, literally, cooking) for you. When I was a little girl, my Daddy bought me one of those sets too, and I loved playing with it, cooking up a storm on the kitchen floor when my mother used to prepare dinner. I used uncooked rice, water, cut-out pieces of coloured paper at first: green for vegetables, yellow for chicken, brown for steaks, red for apples. And then later, my Daddy bought me plastic foods like fruits, vegetables, french fries, and burgers!

It's your latest passion, this masak-masak game, and we enjoy watching you at play. Maybe you'll be a cook, or a chef someday. Who knows?

You have a vivid imagination, a creative ability to bring out the beauty in all that you do. You distinct reality and the make-believe in your games at this tender age. You are aware of the real truth of our world: the salty air we breathe in, the dust and sweat on your skin, the exhilaration of blood pumping into our hearts as we walk beneath the stars and canopied trees. And that is as real as the fleeting fancies and imagination you allow yourself.

For where are we, when we do not have any imagination to bring out the beauty, justice and joy of our world?

17 months old

2007-03-29T11:35:00.001+08:00

Growing Up

2007-03-28T17:47:00.000+08:00

"Too many people grow up. That's the real trouble with the world, too many people grow up. They forget. They don't remember what it's like to be 12 years old. They patronize, they treat children as inferiors. Well, I won't do that" ~ Walt Disney

My dearest E.,

Since my last post here, I've realized how grown up you have become. The amazing rate of your growth astounded me so immensely that I can barely put into words how proud I am of you, and how much more I love you with each passing day. At the tender age of 17 months, you are intelligent and wise, compassionate and loving. I honestly do not know how you've learnt this. I'd like to think these traits are inborn and not learnt.

When I look at you these days, sometimes I want to just shout, "No, please, don't grow up so quickly!" A huge part of me wants you to be a little girl, my sweet baby forever. So that you will always love me unconditionally and depend on me for your every single need. Another part of me reprimands myself for being selfish, to want to keep you this way to satisfy my own need for love. But you're growing up, and beautifully. I cannot ask for more.

I cannot express in words how your antics make me laugh, make me cry, make me want to freeze in eternity these beautiful moments we have together. I love it when you brush my hair for me before we sleep at night, the way you stroke my face and kiss me when I sing you a lullaby. I love it when you insist on feeding yourself, and get angry with me for trying to help you out. I love it when you dance with such abandon when you hear music or your favourite songs. I love it when you call me Fatty, I don't care how rude it is! I love it when you jump up and down and shriek when you see me after a long day. I love it when you try to bang the keys of my piano, your eyebrow furrowed as you try to stretch your little fingers over the smooth ivory keys. I love it when you're angry and tired and throw a tantrum. I love how you're gentle and attentive when I'm ill, it's as if you know how bad I feel inside and out, and you stroke my hand to comfort me. How can I say this- that no matter what you do- I love you! I love what you do, each and every single thing.

I love watching you grow up. But promise me this one thing, E.?- that no matter how much growing up you do, that you will always remember and cherish your childhood, and know, that it is ok to miss being a little baby and that sometimes, acting like a child is perfectly normal because you keep your memories and learn to be more human.

Impermanence

2007-03-09T16:11:00.000+08:00

"This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds
To watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance.
A lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky,
Rushing by, like a torrent down a steep mountain." ~ Buddha

My dearest E.,

Although you are young and tender of age, you will soon understand that our lives are impermanent. Beautiful soft milky skin will become wrinkled and loose someday. Thick black hair will unveil itself in 60 years as a delightful shroud of white clouds. But this just isn't about you. It is about all of us. What you see in me now, wasn't the way it was 10 years ago. I was younger, prettier, had lively skin and dancing eyes. Now I grow older by the day, feeling my age not only in my bones, but also in my soul. And one day, I will no longer be on God's beautiful earth in this form.

But that doesn't make us less beautiful people. Or less human. We must rejoice for the chance at having lived at all.

When I was a child, your grandmother, my mother, tried to make me understand how life is impermanent. All living things will die someday, but that's not a bad thing. On the contrary, it just means that those living things have evolved into a higher state of being. And perhaps, happiness. She always taught me never to fear death or illness, or losing people I loved. Because it was an inevitable part of life which I must learn to accept. And with acceptance that all things are impermanent, we let go of the grief that binds us when we attach ourselves to our worldly pleasures.

I will confess now that I'm never much good at accepting this impermanence thing. When I was 12, my beloved German Shepherd, Queenie, passed away. When I was 14, my lovable mongrel, Tubby, ran away from home. When I was 28 and before your father and I were married, my dearest grandmother left our world to join the shadows of the next. When I was 29 and expecting you, the then-apple of my eye, in the form of my majestic Rottweiler, Nicky, passed away. All these times, I cried and cried, never for once wanting to accept that people I had loved so dearly were now gone from this world.

But I cried most of all 2 days ago. When your grandfather, my father, my hero, my idol, had a relapse of his heart condition in the hospital. I cried when the cardiologist told me he had a weak heart, and may not be able to withstand the trauma of surgery to remove his appendicitis. I cried when I saw him sleeping in the intensive care unit, drips attached to his hands, breathing labouredly. But I never once cried before him. I loved him, supported him, held his hand throughout this terrible ordeal. I never allowed him to see my tears, or how crushed my life would be without him. I needed to let him know that I was strong and there for him, and even if he were to leave us, that he could count on me to carry on his legacy. He was given another chance, your grandfather, because today, he is resting at home, happy to be with family, weak but recuperating. I cannot be happier. That he was not taken away from me.

This is the impermanence I most hate to face. That someday he will leave. He is not a young man, and has an old, damaged heart. Years ago, I told him that if I could give him my heart for him to continue life heartily, I would gladly do so and face death happily. But now, I have you. And you need me just as much as I need him. So I cannot give him my heart even if I wanted to. I cannot give him my heart because he will never hear of it, anyway.

His light brush with the danger of death looming was a horrible one for me. Although it has passed for now, and things are looking up and the sun is shining, that terrible day will come someday. I cannot ever be prepared for it.

Hence, your lesson, E.? What do you glean from this?

That it is ok not to want to accept the state of impermanence of things, so long as you understand this to be the way of the world. That it just is. That it is ok to be human and cry, and to drown in your feelings, if that will help you. That it is ok to tell someone you love them every single day.

That even if we lose someone we love on this Earth, we never really do lose them at all in our hearts. And that is the truth.

Grumps

2007-02-26T17:56:00.001+08:00

My dearest E.,

Although you are, to me, the sweetest, cutest, most beautiful, adorable-st little thing ever, you do have your grumpy moments too- which are, I must say, as equally endearing as your sweet moments!

Advancements

2007-02-26T17:21:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

You never cease to amaze me. Particularly over the past month. I can hardly believe how grown-up you are now. You've started talking a little, eager to utter new words you've learnt. Your comprehension and understanding astounds me. I always knew that you were a very personable baby, but I never knew just how personable. My friends remark to me, "What a cute little person E is!" You're coming out into your own.

I see little traits of my personality in you. Habits too. I still find it amazing, to know that you are your own person with many special attributes, but at the same time, possessing attributes similar to mine. It scares me- because it brings to mind what someone had said to me years ago- "you will find yourself turning into your mother as you grow older and wiser, and when you have your own child". It scares me- because it seems to be true. As I grow in wisdom and age, I also grow more motherly and my personality parellels are remarkably similar to my mother's. It scares me- because many years ago, I vowed that I would be my own person, and would not turn into my mother. Not because it's a bad thing, but simply because we want to feel that we will do things differently, things our mothers would not have done. I'm failing miserably in that aspect.

So, here I am telling you this now: perhaps one day when you become a mother, you'll turn into something like me, too. Which is a good thing, my sweets. I'd like to think of myself as a hip, cool Mom!

Watching you learn new things is an exciting journey. From helping your Daddy stack beer cans in the refrigerator, learning to drink from your own little plastic cup, feeding yourself (never mind the mess you make!), learning new words (flower, Daddy, no, yes, knee, bath), progressing to bath time in the shower, where you'd stand solemnly, touching shampoo bottles and taps whilst I gently rained water over your little body and head, to keeping your own toys in their little baskets after you've played with them, I discover more about you, my little daughter, each and every single day.

The past week we have spent together was a wonderful balm to my senses. Being with you for a whole week (I was on holiday for the Chinese New Year), without having to send you to your grandparents', was one of the most wonderful times I've had. We played, we laughed, we went out to malls and to the park, we had evening walks and afternoon slumbers together, we experimented with new things I cooked for you, we pored over your new Winnie the Pooh Little Touch Leap-Pad book, we drew circles and lines.....and so much more. Thank you for giving me such a lovely time, my sweet pea.

Now I write this from my office desk, and I reminisce about our past week together 24-7. I sigh a huge sigh of sadness because we can't do that everyday. But someday, my precious gem, I promise you I will. Work hard today, so we reap the benefits of the seeds we sow tomorrow. I hope that by the time tomorrow comes, you won't have grown up so much that you wouldn't want to hang out with your Mommy anymore.

Feeding grapes

2007-02-26T17:11:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

First the beers. Now grapes. You fed me delicious seedless grapes from a huge glass bowl on Thursday night while we watched TV.

Like the gentle whirr of a ferris wheel, not unlike clockwork, you popped the little grapes into my mouth, one by one, a cheeky grin on your face throughout. I struggled to swallow the grapes quickly before the next one came, your little fingers clutching the ripe red fruit and pushing them excitedly into my mouth.

You're such a dear.

Helping Daddy with the beers

2007-02-26T17:04:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

I walked into the kitchen a few days ago to prepare your lunch and what did I see?

Your Daddy and cute little you, Daddy sitting spread-eagled and you squatting on your chubby little legs, both on the kitchen floor in front of the refrigerator. Daddy had a crate of Carlsberg beer between his legs. He was going to refrigerate and get the beers chilled for the gathering we were having in our house that night.

As for you- you've found some great calling: you began handing single beer cans to your Daddy whilst he stocked them in our refrigerator!

I wish I had taken a picture.

I love to see how helpful you are to Mommy & Daddy.

Fever

2007-02-06T17:40:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

You had a terrible bout of the viral flu last week. That worried me tremendously, and I missed a day of work to ensure that I was constantly at your side, reassuring you that I would be there no matter what the circumstances, and if you were in pain, hopefully, that my presence would soothe you into some form of comfort.

Your grandparents told me yesterday that you had a fever again during the day. When your father picked you up and brought you home (I had to work late last night), he told me over the phone that you were tired and listless, but still obliged to play about and smile. When I saw you upon reaching home, my heart almost broke when I saw you standing in your play pen, your arms outstretched towards me, you saying "Mama, ooh...". I dropped my bag and keys, ran to you and lifted you up into my arms, folding you close to me, kissing your head and cheeks, never wanting to let you go.

My sweet brave little girl. You laugh even in the face of adversity. Your body was warm to the touch, your eyes were red-rimmed with tiredness: but yet, the light of joy at seeing your mother after a long day being apart, still shone brightly in your big round eyes. I felt my soul being cleansed of all the day's happenings, the insecurities and unpleasantries, and revelled in your beautific smile.

You have that effect on me, cupcake.

When you fell asleep, I watched you sleeping as I stroked your hair, quietly singing "Twinkle twinkle little star".

You awoke this morning with a mournful cry, with a strange low moan in your throat, and then you began to cough a hacking, phlegmy cough. It broke my heart. I carried you out of your cot, into the warm bed beside me, and you snuggled close to me, faintly calling out in your delirious sleep, your small hands reaching for me. Your body was hot and looked so tiny beside me. I mixed you a batch of formula, which you drowsily guzzled, and then had to do the cruel thing of forcing you to take the sweet, pink baby Paracetamol down your throat. You certainly didn't like that, and screamed at me, tears running down your face.

My sweet E. Please get well soon. I can't bear for you to be enduring this suffering and discomfort. If I could, I wish I could simply hold you and all your sicknesses would melt away. If only God had given all mothers that ability to heal their sick children. But then again, I should be grateful that He had given you to me in the first place.

Mama

2007-02-04T01:16:00.000+08:00

"Mama...Mama you know I love you; Mama...Mama you're the queen of my heart; Your love is like tears from the stars; Mama I just want you to know; Loving you's like food to my soul..." ~ extract from the song "Mama" by Boyz II Men

My dearest E.,

I don't need to remind you how motherhood has changed my life. And that change is a positive one, an energizing one that gave new meaning to me and the realisation that I could do anything with you by my side. Becoming a mother has made me realise how much I love my own mother, too, and how selfless she has been all these years to ensure my happiness and comfort. Till this very day, her motherly love is strong and loyal- and I'm so happy to know that she is passing on the love she did to me, to you now.

I did something rather uncharacteristic of me last weekend when your father and I were at the Boyz II Men concert (perhaps someday, you will learn to appreciate their music the way we have, although by then, their songs may be 'oldies' to you). Boyz II Men made popular a very beautiful and enigmatic song called "Mama", written, of course, for their mothers. With sweet emotive lyrics and moving music, it has always been one of my favourite songs. So, when they sang that song during the concert, and urged us, the audience, to pick up our mobile phones, call our mothers and tell them how much we loved them, I did! Your father looked quite astounded that I did it. And frankly- I was, too, at myself.

Let's face it, cupcake. At some point in the future, you and I- we are almost certain to have issues we will not agree upon, we may be at logger-heads with each other. But I will never stop loving you. Just like I know, that although my own mother and I had experienced some pretty rough times together in my younger years (I was selfish and rebellious, and I hope you never become like me), I learnt to understand where she was coming from when I grew older- and wiser. As my appreciation for her grew, so too did my love, respect and admiration, for that brave lady who had left her homeland for Malaysia, not knowing a single person except for her husband, your dear dear grandfather (and my idol), not knowing our language- and yet persevering and bringing up selflessly and wonderfully 2 children who love her tremendously.

So when she picked up the phone that night, I had to scream over the loud music and the chorus of the audience singing along and tell her, "Mum! You have to listen to this song!" And I had lifted my mobile phone high into the hair, a smile wreathed on my face, hoping that she could listen to the music and hear those meaningful words I found so difficult to utter. I told her then that this was a song for mothers, and I wanted her to share that moment with me. And I told her "I love you, Mum". I could hear her smiling into the phone, her voice choking ever so briefly as she lovingly replied, "I love you too, darling". I hung up with a warm feeling in my heart. Just that one action, sweetheart, was enough for her. No other words were needed.

Perhaps one day, when you're at a concert, or in the bus, or sitting at your work desk thinking how dreary life can be, all you need to do is just pick up the phone and call me, and tell me you love me, and you need me. And I promise you: after that phone call, everything- everything will be alright.

Pretty in Purple

2007-01-31T17:40:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

Purple is the new pink- and for little girls, it's hot, hot, hot! Here you are looking like the perfect vision of loveliness in your new chiffon & silk dress. Auntie Josephine from L.A. bought this for you. Slip on your black patent leather shoes, and you're ready for a party or a fun-filled afternoon of joy & dancing!

A family portrait- but you don't look too pleased here..

You're not amused by my antics

I wonder what goes through your mind when you look like this

Here you are, looking for your Barney plush toy

Your Daddy and you- isn't he gorgeous, sweetie?

Here you are, giving us some sexy eyes

Another family portrait- sorry, I may have squeezed you too close to me!

New Shoes

2007-01-31T17:15:00.000+08:00

A woman can never have too many shoes ~ Lau Pin Lean

My dearest E.,

Hahaha, that was my quote. And I still do believe in it. Look at your new shoe collection below.

Real leather T-bar Mary Jane buckle shoes

Adidas for kiddies- gorgeous!

The side view of the famous 3 stripes

The Adidas logo

Birkenstock's for kids- from your Godma!

Another pair of dark pink Mary-Janes from your Godma

Radiantly intelligent

2007-01-24T14:31:00.000+08:00

What a distressing contrast there is between the radiant intelligence of the child and the feeble mentality of the average adult. ~Sigmund Freud

My dearest E.,

Yes. You are radiantly intelligent. Your father and I marvel at your developmental rate each day. You surprise us with your radiance, taunt us with your intelligence. We are dumbfounded at times; gleeful and proud at other times.

You recognise sounds. Associate "woof" with a dog (particularly, our 4-year old Rottweiler, Roxy); "meow" with a cat. Sounds of cars and motorbikes passing by. You recognise displeasure in your father's voice when he clears his throat very loudly, or just say "Emilie!" in his booming, stern voice. You love "Baa Baa Black Sheep" (your grandfather loves to sing you this song when you're sleepy and ready for beddy-bye)- and can sing almost in tune to it, except that you can't say "black sheep" yet, and substitute everything with "Baa baa baa baa". It's too delightful to hear. Your eyes light up when you hear "Twinkle twinkle little star", instrumental or otherwise- you shake your little tush, regardless of whether you're sitting or standing, and you clench and unclench your fists high in the air, mimicking blinking stars. Your grandparents taught you how to do that.

You interact with your grandmother with such ease and fluidness, even if she speaks to you completely in Thai. I marvel at that. You're certainly turning into a gracious princess. But only when you're spoken to in Thai.

Otherwise, you're a terror around the house. Your toys and games are constantly littered all over our living room floor. You don't spare our remote controls (TV, DVD player, ASTRO & fan) as well. No cup is left unturned. No tissue paper is left unshredded to bits. You squeeze out my brand-new facial foam from its squeeze tube. You pick at my wallet and credit cards. You throw a few building blocks in a paper bag that I've given you, with an assortment of things like a key chain, a small figurine, my empty powder compact case, and you sashay around like a socialite out to tea. I have since stopped picking things up after you, mainly because you're so energetic now that I can hardly keep up.

My little Einstein. "The Little Einsteins" is, incidentally, one of your favourite TV programs. You've learnt to twist your parents around your little finger. Feign innocence. Pretend to cry. You're adorably manipulative in your baby ways. I'm worried it will shape you as a person- being too manipulative is cruel and unkind. Uncle Calvin has predicted that you'll break some boys' hearts when you grow up, because you'll be so beautiful and self-possessed and they won't be quick enough to keep up with you, and your intelligence. But that's a long time away, sweetcakes, so let's not think of such unpleasantries.

So I sit in the hall long after you've gone to bed, picking your toys and cleaning up the hurricane-like mess you've created, smiling to myself in a dream-like state, yet marvelling at the angel that you are that God has sent to us.

Sexy Eyes

2007-01-17T00:36:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

You're super cute. Super funny, too. Did you know that?

When we say, "Sexy Eyes!", you start grinning, and bat your eyelashes. Or blink your eyes in quick succession. One, two, three. Blink, blink, blink. Bat, bat, bat.

You also respond to "Sexy Eyes" in Thai, which is "Ta Wan". I'm still amazed that you can understand two languages. But then again, you're an intelligent little girl. Smart, clever and oh-so-perceptive.

Sexy Eyes.

You have your Daddy's long, curly eyelashes. Bat, bat, bat.

The Spitfire Grill

2007-01-09T17:24:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

I watched part of an old movie (old, as in from 1996) over the weekend. It was called "The Spitfire Grill". It was quite beautiful and poignant, and tells the story of a girl named Percy Talbott, who serves prison time for manslaughter, and relocates to a small town called Gilead in Maine to start afresh, with great hopes for a new beginning. She works in a restaurant/grill called "The Spitfire Grill", whose owner is an old lady named Hannah Ferguson, who really has a soft heart beneath her gruff exterior. Percy also makes friends with a lady named Shelby (who is married to Hannah's newphew, Nahum Goddard), and the three of them become fast friends. Percy's arrival, though, is met with mixed feelings: by distrust and negativity from Nahum Goddard, - and by a vigour of passion and sweet love from Joe. As the plot unfolds, so, too does a new character in the form of a person living in the mountains, whom Percy calls "Johnny B."

When Hannah has a bad fall, Percy and Shelby pitch in to help her, and Hannah thinks she is getting too old to run the grill by herself. When Hannah, however, fails to find a buyer for "The Spitfire Grill", Percy comes up with a brilliant idea: Hannah runs a $100-per entry essay writing contest in a newspaper for contestants to write in and tell her why she should give them the grill and why they would make good owners of the grill. The contest generates a flurry of letters moving into the small town, generally quiet and docile, and eventually creates a positive change in the relationships of the town's inhabitants.

When Hannah's pot of money grows from the $100 per-entry submitted by numerous contestants, so too does Nahum Goddard's distrust and hatred of Percy. We see Percy being judged cruelly because of her background, and of her growing relationship with Johnny B. who is believed to be none other than Hannah's shell-shocked Vietnam veteran son, Eli.

It wasn't so much the film that captured my heart. What did was Percy's declaration of love for her unborn child, growing within her womb when she was a teenager, which she recounts to Shelby. The unborn child, a product of rape by her abusive step-father, was Percy's salvation in a cruel world, and she vowed to herself, to God and to her child that she would do all within her power to shield her baby from the cruelties in life, from her abusive step-father. However, it was not to be, because Percy lost her baby when her step-father abused her during her pregnancy, and she lost faith in her life, certain that God would punish her for failing to protect her unborn child. When Percy told this sad story to Shelby in a scene from the film, I felt my heart melt and I thought of you. Of how much of Percy I saw in myself in her promise to keep her child from harm. I cried.

When the film ended and introduced the new owner of the Spitfire Grill, a young single mother named Claire, another declaration of love for a child was yet again presented. Claire's essay won her the grill, simply because of her promise and declaration to protect her young boy, Charlie and to give him a wonderful start in life in Gilead. This made me cry again.

Do you know, my sweet E., why this touched me so? The film dealt with powerful themes of redemption, hatred and compassion- but what I saw most was love, love for a child. It is amazing that the universal theme of love was presented the way it was in this film, and with such great depth, that I could visualize myself saying the same things as Percy and Claire.

I promised you this, E., when you were growing within me. I promised you this when you opened your eyes and entered this beautiful world. And I promise you this, which I will carry for the rest of my life: that I will be your rock, the tree that shields you from the hot sun, the house that shelters you from storms and rain. I will be your protector from all bad, evil and harm.

I am your greatest worshipper and I love you.

Senior Associate

2007-01-08T17:49:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

I have been promoted: I am now a Senior Associate in this firm I work in. I'm proud and happy. I've been awarded a generous bonus and increment. Many years ago, I thought I could not cut it in the legal profession. Today, I still don't know if I can cut it- but I am certainly much happier and more content. After almost five years, I am now Senior Associate. It makes me happy that I have reached this milestone.

Perhaps someday, I'll make Partner. And we'll have a better life then surely?

Let's go shopping together, sweetie pie- and we shall spend my bonus on some new things for you- on whatever you wish!

Ushering in a new year

2007-01-08T14:34:00.000+08:00

"We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day." ~ Edith Lovejoy Pierce

My dearest E.,

Celebrating a new year is a significant event for most people. On New Year's Eve, the very last day of a year, celebrations are rife. Fireworks, drinking and merry-making, traffic jams, large crowds. I remember when I used to be a part of that crowd, years ago when I was young and full of energy. These days, I reserve my energy for a quieter New Year's Eve. I also attribute this lack of interest in the new year to aging. Besides, one year is no different from another. We are capable of effecting change on a constant basis, new year or not. I have done away with new year's resolutions: after all, one can make a resolution at any time and at any place.

Do you know why keeping a new year's resolution is so difficult, for some people? Because although they possess the intention and the knowledge of that resolution, they do not possess enough readiness to carry through that resolution. When I began working, my new year's resolutions would always include making more money- but as time went by, I realised that I could live up to that resolution simply by taking a step forward to make a conscious change- work efforts, ethics, longer hours. And I would be rewarded at the end of the day. If I wasn't, I'd simply move on to an organization which would reward me for my efforts. Making money is like self-raising flour. The more flour you put into a batter to bake, the higher it will rise. Likewise, the more effort and time you put into work, the more you will be remunerated- in the right organization and with the right types of employers who can recognize your efforts.

New Year's Eve of 2006 found us all at Uncle Paul's house for a barbecue dinner. It was expected to be an intimate affair between close friends. We were late first and foremost, because I slacked too much in the afternoon (while you took a long afternoon nap) and only started preparing my much-requested for vinagrette & fresh salad (a lovely mixture of crisp green lettuce leaves, ripe cherry tomatoes, cucumber strips, carrot sticks, diced red, green and yellow peppers, quail's eggs and raw onion rings) in the evening.

It was a wantonly hot night, and the more we feasted on barbecued chicken wings, pizza, spaghetti bolognaise, grilled steaks and homemade burgers and an assortment of fish and crab balls, the more we sweated in the heat. Off came your three-quarter pink-and-white checkered pants, and you roamed Uncle Paul's house in your linen wrap-around shirt and Mamy Poko diapers. It was too cute for words.

You were in the prime of your performance, and our small crowd of friends gathered to watch you, play with you, amuse you and gave in to your every whim and fancy. Uncle Paul's mother fell in love with you. Everyone did. I was glad that my little girl had spread her love and happiness to everyone around her. I'm proud of you. I want to show you off. And show off you did. You showed off your aptitude for walking on your own at last. Gasps, oohs and ahhs- everyone thought you were so brave and grown-up. You melted hearts, dishing out a wet kiss to whoever you felt obliged to kiss.

We allowed you to stay up late that night, your Daddy and I. Uncle Paul requested that we usher in the New Year together- although I was afraid you would be cranky and too tired. Your eyes were tired by then, rimmed red with heavy sleep, but you smiled and grinned anyway and braved the slumber that was beginning to overtake you.

The New Year crept in quietly, as the Old Year slipped out and looked back at 2006. What a wonderful year it had been, my sweet. How much you've grown in 2006. And when we finally packed you into our car to leave after midnight, you fell asleep on my shoulder, clutching my hair, dreaming, no doubt, of all the wonderful things you would do in 2007.

Happy New Year, my love.

Christmas

2007-01-08T14:30:00.000+08:00

"The best Christmas of all is the presence of a happy family all wrapped up with one another" ~ Unknown author

My dearest E.,

I know it seems strange to be writing about Christmas in January - but I didn't have the time to write about Christmas during Christmas. I had so many things in my head that I wanted to tell you about Christmas then. I've seemed to have forgotten what it was I wanted to write about. But it would be a folly to not have written anything at all!

Christmas last year (December 2006) was wonderful. Like always. The only difference was: we had you to celebrate the joy and festivities with us. Of course, you also celebrated Christmas of 2005 with us, but you were such a tiny babe then, I wonder if you remember it. But last year, it was special. You turned 14 months on Christmas Day. Visibly touched by the beautiful Christmas tree and bright lights, dancing to Christmas songs/carols, unwrapping your gaily-wrapped presents- you, the angel. Spent all day playing with Grandpa Joe, giggling and laughing with Maya & Leia. Whilst I slaved away cooking Christmas Supper: Shepherd's Pie and Devil Curry.

You enjoyed your time with our family. At Grandpa Joe's house. A small little family- Grandpa Joe and Aunt Joanne; the three of us; Uncles James & his family; and Uncle Jerry. Small and sweet. Christmas Eve had us all staying up late for supper and long talks and drinks into the wee hours of the dawn. Watching Christmas specials on TV. Your father and Grandpa Joe went for midnight mass at the church on Christmas Eve, and upon returning, we tucked into our piping hot Christmas supper. Shepherd's Pie, Devil Curry, Luncheon Meat Stew and Beef Rendang, with lots of warm soft bread rolls. What a riot.

Your presents filled the bottom of the Christmas tree. You had lots.

I settled down to sleep early Christmas morning, with you in Grandpa Joe's bedrooom. We lay together side by side on the bed, mother and daughter. I stroked your fine baby hair, kissed your cherub cheeks. And thanked God yet again that you were mine.

Unravelling Babel

2006-12-14T14:01:00.000+08:00

There are hundreds of languages in the world, but a smile speaks them all ~ Unknown

My dearest E.,

Wikipedia provides a succinct explanation about the story of the Tower of Babel, of ancient biblical times: "According to the narrative in Genesis, Chapter 11 of the Bible, the Tower of Babel was a tower built by a united humanity to reach the heavens. Because the hearts of men were said to be inherently evil and disobedient, they were striving to make a name for themselves instead of worshipping the God who created them. Because of this open defiance, God stopped their efforts by confusing languages so that the builders could not understand one another. As a result, they could no longer communicate and the work was halted. The builders were then scattered to different parts of Earth. This story is sometimes used to explain the existence of many different languages and races."

Hence, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that you could understand Thai. My mother has been speaking to you in Thai, and English- and I was admittedly worried at first that you would encounter a language confusion phase. However, that was not to be. I suppose I may have underestimated your ability to pick up two languages at the same time.

Mother would go off in her sing-song voice with words that sounded like gibberish to me (her regret is that she never took the time to teach me Thai, and has vowed to make it up by teaching you instead!- which is a pretty good deal, you must say...), but you'd understand them. You know how to gesture the 'wai' (the gesture the Thais make when they greet each other, with palms put together, held at about chest height)- you do this very well and on instinct, when Mother says the word "Sa-wasdee- kha..." Or if you see a robed Buddhist priest. You're clever that way. You pick up things without us realising. You know the meaning of a whole host of other Thai words, and can respond when Mother says them.

I'm glad that you're learning Thai. A knowledge of languages will serve you in good stead in future. Who knows, it may come in handy one day. When your father and I enrol you for primary school, we hope that you will pick up Mandarin then- I'm sure you would since we are planning to enrol you into a Chinese school.

You "speak" a lot these days, although your words are unintelligible. Sometimes, I try to decipher as to what goes through that cute little head of yours. What do you dream about, sweet pea? Of teddy bears, sunshine, rainbows and sweets? Of your Mom & Dad loving you to bits? What do you think about when you so-earnestly look into my eyes and go "ya ya ya ya...?" Those times, I fervently hope and wish that you are saying, "Mommy, you're my world and I love you."

Let us never confuse each other with our languages. Let us be honest and open with each other, and embrace the profound unity handed to us, which has brought us together as mother and child. One day, we will most certainly speak different languages, although we may both speak English. You will speak the language of independence, liberty and freedom; I will speak the language of sentimentality and longing, and hold you back from your freedom.

No matter, though, what language we shall both speak, let us remember our love for each other. And this love will surpass all language barriers, because it is the feeling bred within the depths of our hearts.

And you were there...

2006-12-14T13:51:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

Yes, you were. The trip was postponed. Hooray. There IS a God.

On being apart

2006-12-12T00:58:00.000+08:00

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation ~ Khalil Gibran

My dearest E.,

My mother called me this evening, and dropped a little bomb on what seemed to be a rather pleasant day at work: a day where I was quietly busy and productive, with few people in the office- they were either out for meetings, or sick, or on leave. It's like this this time of the year. With Christmas and the New Year just around the corner, everyone gets into the jolly holiday mood, and people get lazier, though not by choice- but by imitation of those around them, perhaps.

I, however, was still somewhat bogged down with work, although, admittedly, that, too is beginning to slow down with the lull of our daily business grind. A conference organized by the Asia Business Forum this Wednesday, where I shall be presenting a topic on issues relating to the enforceability of commercial contracts, details of which are keeping me on my toes and fluttering around to prepare final notes for my speech. Another hush-hush government project, first draft due before Christmas, is also keeping me busy and panicky as the deadline looms ominously.

But ever more dreadful than work- or the thought of work: is that you will be apart from me. My parents are going to their holiday bungalow in Port Dickson for 2 nights beginning tomorrow- and have proposed that they bring you along. Either that, or I would need to beg time off from work. An impossibility at this juncture, mainly because of my conference and the looming deadline of the project: and besides, I will be on holiday break from next Thursday (21 Dec) onwards until the beginning of the new year, hooray. Your father, too- is busy and unable to take a day or two off. So we reluctantly agreed that they would take you to Port Dickson with them.

I want to breathe in every single thing about you before we are parted for the next 2 days, sweet pea. We took you out for pancakes (you've learnt to appreciate the finer things in life!); for a nice stroll at The Curve; we bought you some new cotton sleepsuits from Mothercare; we took you to Anakku and let you play the baby slides there; we laughed and played together with your Godma and Uncle Calvin- you were full of joy and laughter as always, walking just like an adult between your Mom & Dad, your keen eyes fixated on your shoes and the ground. A tiny little thing, you're certainly coming out into your own now. I was hit by a pang of bittersweet emotions when I held your hand and you insisted in walking towards the huge Christmas tree being displayed in the mall.

And wasn't it strange- it began to rain after we came home, when you were getting sleepy and fussy, making funny sounds as you leaned against me. I think the heavens must've sensed my woebegone heart, and the rain drizzled lightly down, telling me, it's ok...

I lay and watched your sleep. You are an angel. I shall miss you terribly and dearly, all at the same time. Tomorrow night, I shall be liberated from my child for a short while, but it is a liberty that I shall take with the sour pain of being apart. I know that your absence shall hit me and take my breath away yet again.

I begged you for a kiss, and you kindly obliged. At least I shall have that kiss to keep me by until your return to me on Thursday.

Daddy's birthday

2006-12-11T11:27:00.000+08:00

Maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had, and what you've learned from them, and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated ~ Unknown

My dearest E.,

We celebrated your father's 32nd birthday over the weekend (December 9). For a treat, you were allowed to stay up an additional half hour, to play with your cousins, Maya and Leia, who were also there and having a riotous time. I had spent the entire afternoon, slaving away in front of a hot stove, cooking up food for the party we had that night: spaghetti bolognaise (with angel-hair pasta) with a thick tomato base and chunky capsicum pieces, button mushrooms and thick tomato wedges; fragrant and wickedly spicy Devil curry (an Eurasian dish which you will grow to love!) and fresh garden salad with olive oil, vinegar & chopped onion dressing. We also had delicious beef rendang, fragrant from spices and its thick gravy, made by Mommy's friend from work, wrapped into a burrito with cheese tortilla wraps. Delicious! Your Aunt Christine (Maya's and Leia's Mommy) made some fresh mushrooms & celery cream sauce for the pasta, and your Godpa, Charlie and Aunt Shen, brought good ol' fried chicken from KFC. It was a wonderful feast- with family and good friends.

You'll forgive me for not taking any pictures. Our digital camera had the nerve to fail on us that day. But that's ok. Reliable and snapshot-crazy Aunt Shen (hehe!!) took heaps of pictures, and I'll be able to get some of them off her for your viewing pleasure.

I think you were excited at the prospect of a party at home. I must apologize to you first, for not being able to spend the entire afternoon at your side- your father had to take care of you throughout, as I was busy preparing food for the party. But I still, of course, whipped up your food for lunch and dinner, and was thankful to see that you ate well. We had been worried about your eating habit of late: you were more fussy and restless when it came to meal-times, and you would rarely finish your bowl of food- very uncharacteristic of you. You also refused to have your milk on a number of occasions. I was able to deduce that you were teething, as I took the liberty of examining your little gums one day while I was cleaning your teeth and tongue. I saw, and felt, the little bumpy ridges on the surface of your gums. Hehe. That was cute. To think of the little pearly whites beneath those gums, eagerly waiting to push themselves out and be seen, and eager to wreak havoc on food and drink alike!

But anyway, I digress. The party...

Fun, fun, fun...Good food (if I may say so myself) and even better company. Our guest list included:-

Your Grandpa Joe & Aunt Joanne; Uncle James & Aunt Christine, plus your cousins, Maya and Leia; Uncle Jerry & Aunt Sofea; your Godpa Charlie & Aunt Shen; Aunt June; Godma Bugs (Godma Jean); Uncle Gary; Uncle Calvin; Uncle Cheng Yan & Aunt Felicia (my cousins). Some of our other friends did pop by for a short spell of time, but were unable to stay on for various reasons.

I had dressed you in your new Poney dress, the cute on with purple flowers. You looked sweet and pretty, as usual- but there was nothing sweet nor pretty about the riot you caused with Maya & Leia. I was ready to faint at the thought of chasing after you, you little tyke: but thank goodness, there were more than enough people who fancied playing with you and keeping you entertained, which enabled me and your father to entertain our guests too! Needless to say, your cousins and you morphed our living room into a frightful mess- but that was to be expected, with 3 little tornadoes flying around, screaming and laughing. I had no idea girls could be this riotous. But I enjoyed every single moment of it, sweetums. I really did.

I took you upstairs for bed and warm milk about 11 p.m. Aunt Christine had brought some pretty clothes for you, and you were wearing Freego pajamas, so cute. You were tired, clearly, but not tired enough to scuttle over to my prone, tired body on the bed, and you lay your head on my tummy, sighing loudly as I smiled and ran my fingers through your thick hair. As the moonlight quietly crept into our room, you began to close your eyes, and fall asleep- and pretty soon, I heard your quiet breathing beside me; kissed you lightly on your forehead and put you into your crib, where you tossed and turned a little, then fell into a deep slumber.

I think you were oblivious to the party going on downstairs- and that was good. Maya & Leia continued to cause a riot without you; our friends and family continued drinking, watching football (Liverpool thrashed Fulham 4-0 that night) and the party continued into the wee hours of the morning. I crept in to bed at 4 a.m. after a hot shower and settled in with the warm comforter pulled up to my neck- your father was still drinking and chatting downstairs in our garden.

I was so tired out that I must've fallen asleep not long after my head touched the pillow.

A difficult time

2006-12-06T09:44:00.000+08:00

As a mother, my job is to take care of what is possible and trust God with the impossible ~ Ruth Bell Graham

My dearest E.,

My joy after having played with you extensively last night was short-lived when it was time to take you up to bed. You were rather docile at first, allowing me to take you upstairs. You twirled a strand of my hair around your little fingers as I walked up, carrying you against my left hip and clutching a big bottle of milk and another smaller one of warm water in my right hand. When we walked into our bedroom, your mouth formed into a perfect little 'O' and you said, "Whoo...." You always say that when we go up to bed. Sometimes, it's a happy whoo...sometimes, it's not, when you're still full of energy and want to play, but have been hindered by your mother, who insists that you must go to bed by 10 p.m.

You settled on my bed and through sheer laziness, refused to hold your own bottle. I lay beside you, brushing the tiny baby hairs off your forehead as you fed. You drank 4 ozs of milk, a big disappointment to me because your grandfather told me you refused to have any milk throughout the day. You ranted and raved angrily when I tried to give you more, and with one quick, sweeping motion of your hand, you knocked the bottle off my hand and a slow steady stream of milk trickled onto the bedsheets.

What a mess that was. And what a nightmare just beginning.

I could do nothing right. You howled, cried, threw tantrums, screamed. I could not lay you down onto our bed even before you would start crying. You wriggled, twisted, flailed your arms, kicked out at me everytime I picked you up and held you against me to soothe you. When you finally allowed me to lie you down in my arms beside me, I patted your little bum, all the while shushing-shushing you into quietness. Mommy's here. Mommy loves you. There's nothing to be afraid of. Tell me what's wrong, pumpkin. Mommy's here.

You continued crying. Sat up in bed and wrung your hands. Pulled at your hair and ears angrily. Tossed your pacifier away. Refused to let me hold you. Screamed until your face scrunched up and turned red.

I maintained my semblance of calm and dignity, all the while ignoring your tantrums. Left you in your crib. You screamed murder and I had to pick you up again in 2 minutes: it damned near broke my heart to hear you suffering that way. Wriggled yourself out of my arms, sat on the bed. I lay back on my pillow, tired, exhausted, at a loss about what next to do. Closed my eyes... and felt your hand stroking my cheek, your head pressed against my neck. You sobbed quietly, still stroking my face, rubbed your nose against mine. I thought you had reached a state of calmness then as my heart melted, and I kissed you tenderly.

The calm didn't last for too long.... You acted up soon again. My head was pounding, not only because I was tired, but because I was distressed. Checked your temperature: no fever. Checked your tummy for wind: nada, but I gave you a tummy rub anyway and tried to feed you some gripe water, which you refused. Took you downstairs finally, and let you play with your toys for 5 minutes. Brought you back up. More screaming and tantrums. You finally fell asleep from the sheer tiredness.

You woke up again at 2.00 a.m. and the same thing happened. The crying, the screaming. Your father and I argued. I felt sorry for you, because I didn't know what was wrong. I felt helpless. When you were finally settling down about 3.30 a.m., you pressed your body against me, sobbing quietly, clinging to my t-shirt. I stroked the top of your head, tears running down my face.

I'm so sorry, sweet pea. I'm so sorry I couldn't do more for you. My heart bled buckets last night just hearing you cry. All I can offer is my love and comfort- I could not find anything else to do for you, short of taking you to the hospital to see what was wrong.

I sighed in relief when you finally fell asleep and I quietly put you into your crib. My thoughts wandered aimless then as I lay in bed, watching the light from the street lamp outside cast shadows on the curtains. Your father breathed noisily, but you were quiet, sleeping peacefully at last.

With one final surge of mixed emotions, I began to cry again. I don't know why, sweet pea. I cried more when I stepped near your crib to look at you. By 5.00 a.m., I was still awake although tired. I blew you a kiss. I love you.

Heck it. I went in to the office at 5.30 a.m. I haven't slept a wink. I suspect today is going to be rather awful for me.

Shoes, shoes, shoes

2006-12-06T08:02:00.000+08:00

One, two, buckle my shoe.... ~ traditional nursery rhyme

My dearest E.,

Methinks you have developed a thing for shoes, just like your mother. Last night, I proudly took out the two new pairs of shoes I had bought for you. You have rather long feet for an almost-14 month old. You wear a size 4, which is the average size for a 2-year old baby... You must get the long feet from your father.

Your current favourite pair is a cute, red pair of Mary-Janes, with little silk rosebuds. I bought it for you just a week before your birthday, and you've already outgrown then. What a pity. Notwithstanding, you still love it. You like to pick them up and wave them around. Sometimes, I have to restrain you from trying to put the garter strap into your mouth!

Last night, though, I laid out all your shoes for you in the living room, including your new ones. You stared at them, fascinated. And I laughed when you stuck your legs straight out in front of you and tried to force your little feet into them. I helped you into a pair, and you kept looking down at the velcro fasteners. When I had finally put them on, I helped you to your feet and you grinned at me, showing me your 4 very cute little teeth. And you stomped your feet on the spot, all the while chuckling, as if someone were tickling you- you were so happy! Left, right, left, right.

You bounced a little and jumped on the spot too- all the while very careful to keep a firm grip on my hands. How adorable that was! It was as if you were testing the tensile strength of the shoes, scrutinizing every little stitch, contemplating the comfort on your feet. And then- you insisted on walking: from the living room to the kitchen, to the study room, to the wash area, and back through the kitchen to the living room again.... And you smiled a huge smile of approval at me, as if to say, "Yes, these will do....!" And continued to play with your shoes.

What a marvellous show you put on for your Mommy! I am so proud of you, my beautiful baby girl... By the way, you sure do have quite a number of pairs of shoes for a baby...

Words of wisdom

2006-12-05T18:10:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

I came across these wise words on the Internet (unfortunately, I do not know the author, or I'd give tribute to him/her for such prolific and thoughtful thinking) and I want to share them with you:-

Watch your thoughts, for they become words.

Watch your words, for they become actions.

Watch your actions, for they become habits.

Watch your habits, for they become character.

Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.

Thinking about you

2006-12-05T18:04:00.000+08:00

What we think, we become ~ Buddha

My dearest E.,

I just thought of you. I have been sitting at my work desk, dreaming the past half hour away, waiting to come home and see you. Because I miss you, and can't wait to fold you into my arms and escape into nothingness. You and me together.

I just wanted to let you know this.

Butterfly kisses

2006-12-05T14:40:00.000+08:00

Always kiss your children goodnight, even if they're already asleep. ~H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

My dearest E.,

I kiss you each and every night before you go to bed. I kiss you early in the morning when you wake up and smile at me. I kiss you when I drop you off at your grandparents' house for the day. I kiss you when you squeal in happiness to see at the end of a long, tired day. I kiss you when you lie beside me and play with my hair. I want to kiss you all the time, hold you close to me and forever be entangled in your sweetness. And when you kiss me back, soft and wet on my cheek, my heart is suffused with immeasurable joy and happiness.

Think of my kisses as little hopes and wishes to guide you through your day. Take each kiss of mine and bury them deep within your heart. Blow those kisses on those around you to make their day a little more cheery, happier or sunny. Spread those kisses as you spread your love to others around you.

Here are the words to a beautiful song that your father and I both love. It's called "Butterfly Kisses" by Bob Carlisle. Isn't this apt? You make us feel the way Bob's little girl does to him.

Butterfly kisses

There's two things I know for sure:

She was sent here from Heaven and she's Daddy's little girl

As I drop to my knees by her bed at night

She talks to Jesus and I close my eyes and

I thank God for all the joy in my life

Oh, but most of all

For butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer

Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair

"Walk beside the pony, Daddy. It's my first ride".

"I know the cake looks funny, Daddy, but I sure tried".

In all that I've done wrong, I must've done something right

To deserve a hug every morning

And butterfly kisses at night.

Sweet sixteen today

She's looking like her Mama a little more everyday

One part woman, the other part girl

To perfume and make-up from ribbons and curls

Trying her wings out in a great big world

But I remember

Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer

Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair

"You know how much I love you, Daddy, but if you don't mind,

I'm only gonna kiss you on the cheek this time".

With all that I've done wrong, I must've done something right

To deserve her love every morning

And butterfly kisses at night.

All the precious time

Like the wind, the years go by

Precious butterfly

Spread your wings and fly.

She'll change her name today

She'll make a promise and I'll give her away

Standing in the bride-room, just staring at her

She asked me what I'm thinking, and I said

"I'm not sure- I just feel like I'm losing my baby girl".

She leaned over, gave me butterfly kisses with her Mama there

Sticking little flowers all up in her hair

"Walk me down the aisle, Daddy- it's just about time".

"Does my wedding gown look pretty, Daddy? Daddy, don't cry!"

Oh, with all that I've done wrong, I must've done something right

To deserve our love every morning and butterfly kisses

I couldn't ask God for more, man, this is what love is.

I know I gotta let her go, but I'll always remember

Every hug in the morning and butterfly kisses.

Baby steps

2006-12-05T14:20:00.000+08:00

One small step can change your life ~ Robert Maurer, from "The Kaizen Way"

My dearest E.,

You took your first few baby steps yesterday. You were unafraid, unabashed, confident and grinning from ear to ear. Of course, you could already walk before- but you always preferred to cling on to my hand, or a piece of household furniture. Sometimes, you would only stand in your crib or on some soft surface where the risk of injuring yourself due to a fall would be minimized (you're so careful and smart that way!). Over the weekend, you enjoyed putting on your new Bubble Gummers shoes and taking them off, and begging me in your cooing way, to hold your hands so that you could walk around the house and try those new shoes out. They made squeaky noises as you walked, and you laughed with each step you took. You walk pretty damn fast for a baby, and I had to move quite quickly to keep up with you, too!

But yesterday, you made me and your father squeal loudly in delight. And begging for more! You stood on your own, holding a toy in one hand, examining your books on your little book shelf with your other hand. As I came down the stairs with a fresh change of clothes for you, you squealed loudly and started jumping on the spot- and most amazingly, you began to walk towards me. 7 solid baby steps. Your father and I leapt with glee and you continued to grin and laugh.

There is something about you, my sweet pea. When you set your mind to something, you get it done. I'm glad that you've learned to develop this very positive attitude. In life, we must always first take baby steps to achieve a larger goal. Life is a constant process of changing and learning-and with all that we do and seek to achieve in our lives, we take small baby steps, that will later shape us to take bigger steps towards achieving that particular goal.

As I watched you walking towards me, your arms outstretched, I see your future spread out before you. And the sun shining down on you-it's oh-so-bright and merry. Highly confident and sure of yourself, you took those baby steps to reach me. They are small now, but they will grow bigger, just like you, too...and soon you will be able to walk about quickly, run like the wind on your chubby legs...

It's funny, sweet pea. I've wanted to see you walk on your own for such a long time, and when I finally saw you walking yesterday, suddenly, I became selfish and wished otherwise. Your baby steps served to show me that you were growing into a young girl, determined and thoughtful: that you'd finally decided to walk for us, because you were finally sure about yourself. One day, you will walk away from your parents, walk down that aisle to be married to someone, to lead your own life and to have a little baby who will bring you as much joy as you have brought us.

I both look forward to and dread that day- but I also know that I cannot hinder your steps in life. That you must be allowed to grow to your full potential.

And I will always be here for you, holding your hand throughout, my heart open, my love for you on my sleeve, ready to pull you up if you ever fall down.

Missing You

2006-12-01T11:38:00.000+08:00

Love is missing someone whenever you're apart, but somehow feeling warm inside because you're close in heart ~ Kay Knudsen

My dearest E.,

I've been extremely bogged down with work of late. It's the year-end frenzy, when companies want to close their accounts for their financial year, where deals are sought to be sealed, when people want to take a breather from the rigidities of daily working life and spend time with family and close friends during Christmas season. I have been working late every night, and don't get to spend as much time with you as I'd like to.

On Wednesday night, I was still at the office at 9.45 p.m., with no end in sight of the work I needed to finish by Thursday morning. I called my mother for a breather and she kindly offered to have you spend the night with them. We spoke on the phone a short while then, you and I, E. It was fun, and hearing your lilting voice cheered me up tremendously. You made little cooing sounds, as usual, and went on a frenzy of "words", "speaking" so much to your Mummy on the phone that my heart melted. I was, at least, comforted in knowing that your grandparents would take super good care of you. They are, after all, the only few people in this world I'd trust completely to take care of you.

By 11.30 p.m., I'd given up trying to complete all my work by the morning. Tired, hungry and exhausted, I wanted to just have a piping hot meal, a warm shower and my comfortable bed. And there was a terrible aching feeling inside me, that I wasn't able to place initially. I thought I was just tired out. Then the realisation hit me that I missed you. Tremendously.

Somehow, silence and emptiness greeted me when I came home. I mournfully surveyed your little blow-up swimming pool in the living room, your toy baskets in the corner, your jumbo Barney plush toy sitting by the piano. Images of you playing in the living room flashed before me. I heard your happy laugh ringing in my ears. I felt your warm arms close lovingly around my neck, your soft hair poking up my nostrils as you lay your head on my chest (You have such thick, lovely hair, sweet pea). I suddenly wanted to cry. The aching in my heart grew worse as I trudged upstairs slowly, dragging my feet.

I put my things down and meticulously removed my office clothes, changing into my towel to take a shower. Stood by your crib and looked into it for a long while, picturing you lying there with your chubby legs hugging your bolster, your repose peaceful and quiet, as you suckled on your Winnie the Pooh pacifier and twirled the corners of your blanket. I smoothed my hand over your silk quilt and "My Little Princess" comforter, folded your soft fleece blanket, fluffed your pillow and chased away the mosquitoes (if there were, indeed, any), doing as I do every night before you go to bed. I picked up your bolster and held it close to me, breathing in your sweet baby-scent. It was as if you were there with me, your lingering scent filling my nostrils.

I showered and allowed the water to run down my head, my face in warm rivulets. Standing there in the shower, I realised that I was crying. My heart ached ever more.

I went to bed rather depressed, but was comforted by your father's presence. I confessed to him how much I missed you, and he said that he did as well. We both snuggled close together, whispering in soft tones about your loveliness in general, and reminisced about how much youve changed our lives for the better.

I don't think I could stand to have you being away from us again- even for a night, sweet pea. My heart pains too much to have to do that and not have you beside me. That room in my heart which you fill with your wonderful presence was left empty for those long, 18 hours. I don't think anyone else would be capable of filling that void you left that night.

When we finally saw you the next evening, your smile of happiness at seeing us, coupled with your rush into my arms, made my world complete. Once more, the flowers started blooming again.... And the sun began to shine onto my dark world again.

Father

2006-11-28T19:45:00.000+08:00

There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. ~ John Gregory Brown, "Decorations in a Ruined Cemetery"

My dearest E.,

I'm going to tell you about your father, because he'd probably be too modest or too shy to tell you. He's simply one of the most delightful and lovable people you'll ever meet in your lifetime, and I kid you not- when you grow up someday, you will forge a very special bond with your father, exclusive to the both of you, and I will look on with pride from outside the circle, with understanding and love. And I speak from experience, because your grandfather (my father) and I have this special bond, too: and indeed, it is so very special that it transcends all emotions of humanity, all things in this world. It's a love that's so big your universe fills up with it and it never goes away. I'd like to think that you and I will form our own special mother-daughter bond- but that's another story. Today I want to tell you about your father.

Your father grew up in a broken home. His parents divorced when he was very young, and his mother, through some crazed, demented phase she was going through, literally left him and his two brothers, your Uncles James and Jerry, at an aunt's home, and simply vanished. She remains unfound today, although she did make contact a few times throughout the course of the past decade and a half. For many years, your father and his brothers endured hardships but never complained. They were taken care of by kind family members (your paternal grandfather had his share of problems and was unable to raise them himself), but with each year, they shuttled back and forth through their various relatives' homes, finding no stable sense of security, no place to call home, no mother's or father's love to guide their way. They made few friends, and because of the constant need to move about their various relatives' dwellings, their friendships rarely withstood the test of time. All they had were each other, and till today, little E., you will see how much they value, love and care for each other. The brotherhood was all they had then. And notwithstanding the hardship and sometimes, poverty, they've all become wonderful, wonderful men: loving people with financial and career stability, good-hearted soldiers of God, good fathers and husbands. (Your Uncle Jerry is unmarried to date). I referred more to Uncle James and your father.

Your father is a truly unique person. I don't know if there ever existed such thing as love at first sight. But when I met him for the first time years ago, I already fell in love with him. He was so kind, funny and gentle. He made me laugh all the time. He was frank and uninhibited. And he was as handsome as a picture!-and still is, of course. We became friends first, your father and I, and grew fond of each other as time passed on. And of course, eventually, he also fell in love with me, and we got married. And look where we are now!- we have you, my dearest.

You know, E., I am still so in love with your father. Even till this very day, he doesn't fail to make me laugh, brighten up a gloomy day and ignite our love for each other. He still makes my heart beat faster and makes me feel all the feelings a woman does when she is in love (You will, in time, come to know what I mean...).

And when we discovered that I carried you, our precious fruit, in the belly of my womb, your father began caring for you with a love so intense, it was beautiful. He would gently rub my belly every night, massage my aching swollen feet lovingly and speak to you about all sorts of things, while playing your favourite Mozart CD. He treated both you and I like queens, little E.! He is a wonderful husband and a wonderful father.

Sometimes, when you may feel irritated at him, or when you feel that he doesn't want to let you go and spread your wings, and discover things in life for yourself, have a heart and think of how much he loves you. Think and picture in your mind all the wonderful things he has done for you. Your father and I, till this very day, sometimes cry, hugging each other close as we stand by your crib and watch you sleeping: because you have filled our lives with so much joy and love, it's painful. Sometimes, we watch the video taken of you when you were born, and we shed tears again.

Your father is a special person, sweet pea. Even though you may not hear his voice speaking to you the way I do through this blog, (he's not the writing type, your dad), you will somehow always hear his voice resonating at the back of your mind, loving yet cautious, wanting to set free the little butterfly that is you, but at the same time, wishing you would remain in your cocoon and depend on us for love, food, comfort, warmth and security.

I suppose I wanted to tell you that all these things I am saying to you, all these lessons I have learnt in life and am trying to impart to you, these are things your father would've said too. A father is really a little girl's best friend, a teenager's hero, a young lady's idol and a woman's ideal of her perfect husband. You will know what I mean someday.

Because my father is a hero, too... Just like your father.

Insomnia

2006-11-28T13:44:00.000+08:00

If you can't sleep, then get up and do something instead of lying there worrying. It's the worry that gets you, not the lack of sleep. ~Dale Carnegie

My dearest E.,

Dale Carnegie's quote is so apt. Being deprived of sleep is bad enough. Your body and mind are tired, but for whatever reasons, you are kept awake and you need to attend to more important things than sleep. It was like that for me the first few months after you arrived- but I wouldn't change it for the world, sweet pea! Waking up in the middle of the night to nurse/change/feed you was the most amazing experience for me. Also fueled by the realization that you needed (and still need) me, my one desire during those moments was to provide for you and comfort you in your most vulnerable state. Now you sleep quite well almost throughout the night after your last feed, and although I welcome the resting hours I am given now, I do miss those times we spent together at night (or in the wee hours of the morning).

Sunday night/Monday morning found me unable to go to sleep. You fell asleep not long after your last night feed, and your father was watching football downstairs. I paced through "The Street Lawyer" by John Grisham, a book I had read at least 20 times and clearly showed it: with dog-eared, yellowed pages and higgledy binding. My body was yearning for rest, sweet pea. We had had a long day, especially playing with you, and I was exhausted. But my mind wandered, like an animal set free into the wilderness and long after I had finished reading my book, I was still lying in bed, comforter pulled up to my chest, staring at the ceiling. Your father came upstairs and fell asleep almost immediately upon his head touching the pillow. Still, sleep eluded me.

You moved in your sleep, shifting for a more comfortable position perhaps. Sometimes, you let out a tiny whimper. Or your little foot would find its way between the crib slats. I woke up each time to look at you, using the illuminant from my mobile phone as light. For a long while, I sat in front of your crib, resting my chin against the bed slats, just watching you. Your chest quietly heaving up and down, your tiny fingers gripping the corner of your blanket, your toes wiggling every now and then. Peaceful and quiet. You sleep the slumber of an angel. I counted my blessings again, and thanked the Lord that you were mine.

You know, E., when you can't sleep, you think. And I thought a lot that night. Of my work in the office. Of your grandparents. Of your father. Of you, most of all. As I sat there beside your crib, for over an hour, thoughts just kept washing over me, most of them memories of your early days. These thoughts were so vivid and crystal-clear and happy, that I found a tear rolling down my cheek. It was very dream-like. And like in dreams, that tear appeared to glisten as it quietly plopped on my hand- and the illumination of that tear opened up ever more doors to memories.

I finally blew you a kiss and went downstairs, unlocking our main door and ventured outside. I sat out there in our small, tiled "garden" for a long while, contemplating the silence of the night, occasionally shattered by the cry of a neighbourhood cat, or the distance rumbling of a car engine. The night was beautiful and quiet, the sky was high, dark and perfectly clear, completely cloudless, dotted with more stars than I could count. One star blinked constantly, and I took that to be some sort of satellite. Three stars, however, formed a perfect line. I wondered if that was supposed to mean something. I kept looking up, counting the bright stars, wondering what the world beyond ours was like.

Perhaps Heaven. I don't know. But that night, I fancied all the people I had loved and lost watching down on me. Most of all, I fancied my grandmother (my father's mother- she passed away the year your father and I got married) looking down on me. I could almost feel the light touch of her old frail hand on my head, the warm dry skin of her cheek pressed against mine, and I would breathe in the sweet pleasant smell of her scented powder. And I wished fervently that she could have stayed in our world a little longer, if only to see you. She would be so proud of you, my little one. She would've loved you as much as I do.

The sky was so lovely and endless, my little E. That wide expanse across our world. Who knows what lay beyond? I felt comforted, thinking about my grandmother that night. And someday, little E., when you're grown and sitting out in the garden watching the sky one lonely night and when I have been called into the world of spirits, always remember that I love you, and that I am only a heartbeat away. As long as the stars shine down from the heavens, I shall watch and guard over you, like the skies watch and guard over our world.

Supermodel

2006-11-24T18:25:00.000+08:00

It's not what you do once in a while, it's what you do day in and day out that makes the difference ~ Jenny Craig

My dearest E.,

You're going to be a junior model! OK, I'm only saying this because your father and I are naturally excited that a talent agency called. And they had informed me that their client, a drink manufacturing company, had shortlisted you- YOU- as a talent in a forthcoming TV commercial. Now, that is really some news.

When your father and I took you to 2 talent agencies some time ago to cast your portfolio, we never really thought of anything. Of course, we did it because as your parents, you are the cutest and most beautiful baby to us. And every parent will naturally feel that about their own child. To us parents, our children can do ANYTHING. That you kids are the greatest ever, the cutest ever, the smartest ever, etc etc etc. We love you so much that we have that much faith in your abilities, notwithstanding your tender age. We were also prompted by our friends, who all ooh-ed and aah-ed over your good looks, and your sunny disposition, and everyone claimed that you'd be fantastic as a model. Who cares if you're only a baby? That's how you start out.

Having said that, this is not to be taken as my acquiescence that you should pursue modelling as a career. There is nothing wrong with modelling, really. It is a good, decent job, pays very well, gets you famous, etc- but that's only the glitz and glamour. The behind-the-scenes portrayal by some models we know: that's the ugly truth. Just like very other job, modelling has its pitfalls: long hours, hard work, and the constant need to maintain one's looks and figure- and it is sad that models are, by comparison to other professions, deemed 'loose', 'easy', bratty, prima-donna, diva-like, stupid, daft, etc. Simply put: shallow and superficial. Sometimes, this may not be altogether true- but the industry has crafted that sort of reputation for itself, a reputation that I, as your mother, is wary of you getting involved in.

All that aside, you must remember that your studies, education and the firm grounding for a good career must come first and foremost. You may choose whatever profession you wish- but you MUST study smart, and obtain a sound education. Without education, you have nothing to fall back on. Good looks will fade one day and there is only so much charm that can take you places. You must learn that, with education, you are at least assured of a means of making your living. That translates into work. A good education can take you further than good looks or charm alone. I cannot emphasize enough the importance of a good education- and you know that your father and I are firmly committed to providing you with the best education necessary to ensure your future.

Anyway, I took some time off from the office this afternoon, as did your father, to take you to the casting agency, Cheese, once again, to have your portfolio updated. You charmed the lady there, right off to her toes! You were at times playful and coy, boisterous and joyful, mournful and irritated- and as she continued snapping photographs and shooting a video of you at play, I stood by the sidelines and happily watched you. My daughter. Something like a huge balloon swelled up in my chest, that was how proud I was, and for a moment, I had to catch my breath and force myself not to choke when I look at you. You are so beautiful in every way, little E. Your happy lovable disposition serves you in good stead, and I am sure it shall continue to do so every step of your life.

You have the great makings of a model. But I'd think that, because you are my daughter, my precious jewel. You have the great makings of anything you set out to be, simply because you are my daughter and I believe in you.

How I love you, my sweet, sweet E.! And it doesn't matter if you do not get cast for the TV commercial... The money will be a plus, certainly and a bonus to be added on to your education and well-being fund- but it really doesn't matter. At the end of the day, your father and I are just happy with you, being you.

Dancing with abandon

2006-11-22T11:05:00.000+08:00

Kids: they dance before they learn there is anything that isn't music. ~William Stafford

My dearest E.,

You love to dance! Did you know that? You begin to dance when you hear the sounds of anything that remotely resemble music, even my whistling, or tongue-clicking sounds. But most of all, you begin to dance most animatedly when you hear your favourite songs from PHDC cartoon channel... Or your much-loved Mozart CD in the car. Or, for some reason, "Jingle Bells" drives you wild and if you were capable of moving onto a dance floor in a club, you would do so in a flash!

You have created a funny, little dance movement which you employ most times- a wiggling of your little butt, a sway from side to side which increases in velocity with the rhythm of the music, a head movement not unlike Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles (you must have "soul" to do this!). Sometimes, you also oblige by shaking your shoulders. I love to watch you dance.

You dance with abandon, happiness and free spirits, and it makes me wonder when the last time was that I had danced the way you did. It certainly has been quite some time. But you will excuse me, sweet pea. And as you grow older, with the weight of responsibilities on your shoulders, dancing with abandon may not come as easily as it used to. However, this is not to say that I will never do so anymore. I have learnt, once again, to dance in my heart because you have re-ignited that passion in me when I look at you.

Your grandmother (my mother) told me that when I was a child, about the same age as you, my passion for dancing blossomed and continued into my teens. I was always inclined to put on Tchaikovsky's Blue Danube and start dancing in the hall (My parents live in a reasonably big house, with a big spacious hall, perfect for dancing!) Sometimes, I would knock over things, accidentally stub my toe on the foot of the coffee table, crash into the TV cabinet- such wildly did I use to dance. Over time, my passion for dancing softened (and was not helped by ballet classes too- it was meant to teach me some grace and poise, but that didn't exactly take off, as your mother still remains somewhat klutzy to date) and as my seriousness grew, the dancing faded. The only dancing I ever did after that was in clubs! And that kind of dancing is no rocket science.

You came along, though...and I learnt to dance again. Mostly, I learnt how to dance in my heart, and to live life like a process of dance, with many chapters and phases- sometimes a sarabande, sometimes a gavotte, sometimes a waltz. Of late, I have been learning how to dance your dance style, it looks somewhat comical, because I am an adult, and you are a baby, and everything a baby does is too adorable, cute and sweet for words- whereas as adults, we bear the brunt of ridicule and mockery.

But in my heart, sweet pea, I hope you will never forget how to dance (and by dance, I don't just mean a physical dance with fancy wavering arms and shifty feet and all: I mean, dance within your thoughts, weaving them through your mind and consciousness) when you grow older, and that you will always look at it as your personal means of escapism, or catharsis, if you wish, to allow you those few moments of abandon and freedom.

Because you love me

2006-11-20T17:43:00.000+08:00

It was the tiniest thing I ever decided to put my whole life into. ~Terri Guillemets

My dearest E.,

I awoke this morning, not to the harsh, annoying beep-beep-beep of my alarm clock, but to the soft gentle caresses I felt on my face. They were so light and feathery at first, I thought they were mosquitoes out for an early feed, but upon opening my eyes, still tired with sleep, I saw you, sitting up on our bed beside my head, your chubby hand stroking my cheek. What joy! What delight!

You smiled at me, that beautiful happy smile, with such a look of tender, comforting love, that I folded you into my arms and began to kiss you incessantly. You laughed and giggled, and we both played about a little, with your father snoring quietly by our side. Only the day before, had we taught you to show your affection, by stroking our cheeks. And you learnt to do it so quickly simply because you were filled with love and that if you did not show to us your love, it would over-spill and you wouldn't be able to fill your Cup of Love with new love.

I asked you for a little kiss- and you obliged... leaning tentatively towards me with your cheeky grin, and you planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on my cheek. I love that, my sweet pea. I love your little kisses, I don't care if you drool over me as long as I get a kiss.

Because you love me, and have shown me your love and affection, I am a more complete person. With every day, you blossom like a lovely flower, and each new act of blossoming fills me with immense pride.

Kiss.

Giggle laugh giggle

2006-11-20T16:52:00.000+08:00

When babies look beyond you and giggle, maybe they're seeing angels ~ Quoted in The Angels' Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman, 1994

My dearest E.,

I don't think I've heard you laugh and giggle as much as you did over the weekend. You presented such a huge treat for me and your father. I'm not so certain as to what amused you, but it must've been tremendous to create the proportions of laughter and giggles that you displayed oh-so-generously. Methinks it could've been Daddy playing catch with you on all fours; or watching your favourite cartoon programmes on TV, Pocoyo or Elmo's World; or because you had so much fun splashing about in the little blow-up swimming pool in our garden (you wore your new orange halter-top bikini and looked simply adorable); or just because of the sheer fun of hanging out with your parents for the whole weekend uninterrupted. Or maybe you were playing with the angels?

Giggle, laugh, giggle. Your sounds were such music to my ears, and I kept telling your father, "Look at E.! Look at E.!" amid spatterings of "Oh, my God, she's super cute!" Yes, clearly, we adore you like crazy. You have also developed a new "move": recently I noticed that whenever you were extraordinarily excited or happy, you would jump up and down and wave your hands, just like a dancer. Your legs are so chubby and adorable, I love to watch you moving about on those little gams. I especially love to have you in your diapers and a t-shirt or cotton top only, (the weather has been quite irate of late, too: toasty oven-hot now, then cold and peltering with rain next) because I love to watch you using your legs to your advantage, and to perfection.

You have been "speaking" or verbalizing a lot more, too. And it's extremely pleasant to hear you trying to imitate words. When confused, you say "Whoo...". I laugh so hard. Your father and I have made a mental note to stop using profanity and/or bad language around you. Still, you are amazing, and have picked up a few words already. Or maybe I imagine that you have because I want to hear you speak terribly. I fancied that I heard you say "Hi". You have also learnt to say "Da-da" which makes your father terribly happy, of course. Your vocabulary isn't particularly extensive at this moment, but that's fine by us, you know that.

When you laugh or giggle a lot, I do fancy that you're laughing or giggling with an unseen "object", which I'd like to think, are angels. Or friendly beings who love to play with a cute little baby like yourself. Who wouldn't, human or otherwise? You are just too adorable for words. Sometimes, you have such a hard time falling asleep at night: you won't stop laughing, giggling or playing around- no matter how tired you are! At these times, I would usually say a quiet prayer and beg for whoever your play-mates are, to allow you to go to bed, and resume playtime the next day. Inevitably, by some strange coincidence, this usually works!

Some people may approach this with a large amount of skepticism, some others may scorn and some may believe: but there are things beyond our world which cannot be explained. Like angels. Or roaming spirits. Or malevolent beings.

I believe in the spirit-world. And as you grow older, perhaps you may believe in this too, or maybe not. Your father certainly does too.

But all that aside, we both believe in one thing: that you are an angel sent from Heaven, and that you're always happy and bubbly because you have your little angel-friends to play with you all day too. They miss you too much to completely let you go when God sent you to us, but as you grow older, you will find them playing with you less, perhaps, because they'll be forced to do so, and allow you to discover our world for yourself and spread your own angel-wings to fly.

Moon River

2006-11-17T23:52:00.000+08:00

Moon River, wider than a mile, I'm crossing you in style, someday.... ~ Henry Mancini (music) & Johnny Mercer (lyrics)

My dearest E.,

This may turn out to be your current, favourite bed-time song. I sang it to you tonight and watched as your big round eyes quietly surveyed my face. You looked at me for a long time, your little face content and silently happy, your eyes beckoning sleep, as Morpheus rocked you in his arms with your head on my lap.

I don't remember how I came to sing this song to you. I just did. And it must have been magical because you immediately fell silent upon hearing my voice. You stopped climbing over our pillows, you stopped laughing and smiled instead, and cleverly laid your head down on my lap, your tiny fingers twirling your favourite blanket.

"Moon River" is the original theme song from the black-and-white classic film, Breakfast at Tiffany's, produced by Paramound Pictures in 1961, starring the everlasting beauty, Audrey Hepburn. Breakfast at Tiffany's, the movie, was based on the short book by renowned author, Truman Capote (You will find Capote's books on my book shelf, lovey. He is a wonderful writer with an honest, vivid imagination).

Here are the lyrics; sing along with me if you remember the music...

Moon River

Wider than a mile

I'm crossing you in style

Someday...

Oh, dream maker, you heart-breaker

Wherever you're going, I'm going your way

Two drifters off to see the world

There's such a lot of world to see

We're after the same rainbow's end

Waiting 'round the bend

My Huckleberry friend

Moon River, and me

Silent Soldier

2006-11-17T23:48:00.000+08:00

A lawyer without history or literature is a mechanic, a mere working mason; if he possesses some knowledge of these, he may venture to call himself an architect ~ Sir Walter Scott

My dearest E.,

If you do not already know by now, I am a lawyer. I do not say I am proud of my profession as some are wont to do. My profession is my job, my livelihood, a means whereby I earn to put the food on our table. My job is just a job. I had fervent passion for my work many years ago when I was young and naive; then upon witnessing the ugliness of this world, moulded myself into a realist, so to speak.

I attended an Extraordinary General Meeting of the Bar Council of Malaysia yesterday, E. The Bar Council is the general body (run by lawyers elected by lawyers) who govern the legal profession in our country. The calling for yesterday's EGM was an extraordinary motion put forth by a learned lawyer, a Dato', no less, for a vote of no-confidence against the present office-bearers of the Bar Council, people, if you must know, the aforesaid Dato' probably voted for, or if not, did not object to their holding office. Now this EGM spanned almost 5 hours in debate time; and with all that I had heard yesterday, my love, I now realise why I could never be what the people in my profession would call "a brilliant lawyer".

I do not particularly like lawyers, sweet pea. It is funny, I know- but that is true. Mostly I detest the arrogance, the insufferable holier-than-thou and I'm-better-than-you attitudes. I detest the over-rated intelligence, purported eloquence of speech and the misconception of the glamorous lifestyle lawyers lead. But most of all, I detest some lawyers have become a joke, who have brought disrepute to what was once an honourable and highly-revered profession.

These attitudes I detest, they are prevalent in some people who, perhaps are "brilliant" by certain standards. I know I could never become one of those. At most, I am good at my job, but I am certainly not brilliant. I simply silently soldier on with quiet confidence. And I do not detest them because they are "brilliant". I know no envy, resentment or jealousy. I detest them because they have allowed overwhelming pride and arrogance in the profession precede their pride in humanity and selflessness.

But please, do not mistake this for ingratitude. I enjoy what I do and perhaps I do have a small amount of passion which passed over from my growing years as a young lawyer. I do not seek to condemn the profession that now feeds me and my family.

Lesson? Do not be arrogant, even if you know you are a cut above the rest. Do not throw your weight around and think that you are supremely revered, someone will be laughing behind you and you will face your come-uppance certainly one day. Do not display over-confidence and a laissez-faire attitude, if you fail, you will shock yourself to a point of no return. Do not belittle or laugh at others who may not be as fortunate to be blessed with your intelligence, God is usually fair and what you may have, which another doesn't, may not be as valuable as what another has and which you don't.

Be quietly confident, generous and ethical. Be the moral person that I shall raise you to become. But most of all, be the Silent Soldier who marches on for your quest to Goodness.

Sharing

2006-11-17T23:18:00.000+08:00

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie ~ Tenneva Jordan

My dearest E.,

I was so proud of you; that you have now learnt the concept of sharing. You may not, at this juncture, realise the importance of sharing- your actions are unconscious, perhaps, but it shows me that you begin to pick up the little things you observe in your everyday world, and I am glad for it. You are, after all, only almost 13 months old, but your wisdom in observation astounds me.

You are a lazy little babe, I must admit sometimes! I was afraid that you would never learn to hold your own milk bottle, always having the luxury of me, or your father feeding you, pacifying you, and spoiling you. But two nights ago, you held your own bottle with own two hands, your expression earnest and your smile infectious at the joy that you had grown up a little.

You drank your water, suckling with quiet engrossment, and suddenly, you held your bottle out to your father, whose smiles lit up the whole room. He pretended to drink from your bottle, sweetums, and you giggled like a little fairy. You promptly grabbed the bottle back from your father, and began drinking again, all the while a mischievous grin showing through; and you handed the bottle back to him again soon enough, as if urging him to take a sip! This play went on for a while, and even until the next day, when you played with me.

Discovering the new things you do excites me tremendously, mostly because you are simply adorable. It seemed to me that you had learnt how to share your belongings. When your godmother Jean came over to visit you another night, you shared your little toy with her (but grabbed it back a while later).

There is a saying that goes, "Sharing is caring". And I do hope you understand the importance of sharing. Unless one is a mean person, the happiness you receive when you see another's joy in your selfless act of sharing, is priceless. It is better to give than to receive, they all say: but I add on that you should give when you can afford to, and at the same time, you do not make excuses as to your affordability. If a blind man comes up to you, you give him what you can. I would like to be the perfect Samaritan and say, "Give him all you have, because you have so much more and he has none". But I wish to teach you to be realistic also, my sweet pea. If giving your all would mean the end of your survival, then give only enough to provide for the other's basic needs and keep what you have for your survival.

There should be no conditions to a selfless act- but it is alright to be human and maintain a little self-centredness, or we would all be destitute with no homes, no food and with no means of survival. The key is to strike the perfect balance between these two.

But what I fervently wish and hope for, E., is that you share your thoughts, your emotions, your heart, your being, with me and your father. Just as we have now not only shared our lives and existence with you.

You are a ray of sunshine, of hope and love. I would be happy to see you share this sunshine with those around you, because when you do, your happiness and humanity shall be enriched threefold.

Beauty

2006-11-15T15:10:00.000+08:00

The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched- they must be felt with the heart ~ Hellen Keller

My dearest E.,

You are my daughter- and my daughter is Beauty personified. A picture perfect creation. Where comes from all this beauty you possess, both inner and outer?

As you beckon all to you, your sunny disposition is bright and colourful as a warm, balmy day, your smiles like the gentle piercing of the rays of sunshine peeking through the cotton-wool clouds, your eyes shining with the wonderment of the world; they fly to you like bees to flowers.

Desperate (House)wife

2006-11-15T12:26:00.000+08:00

God could not be everywhere therefore He made mothers ~ Jewish Proverb

My dearest E.,

Thank you for sleeping like an angel last night when you came home, and allowing your mother some time to unwind, watch television and relax. Your father had gone for his weekly futsal session. I must confess that I sometimes enjoy the solitude afforded to me. I sat in our living room last night on the comfy arm-chair, switching channels on Astro, sipping ice-cold sarsaparilla cordial, the air-conditioning whirring quietly (it's time for a service, I think). I knew that there were cups and dishes to be washed in the kitchen sink, your clothes to be folded and kept away neatly into your clothes wardrobe- but I was tired. And glad for the opportunity to spend time with you, while you slowly drifted off to sleep, still clutching your pink security blanket tightly. And also glad that you gave me a chance to relax by myself downstairs.

I was glued to the TV, watching Desperate Housewives. Your father and I love this series, and we have yet to catch the complete 2nd season. But what the heck? I was free, relaxed and loved the TV, so I watched. One scene, though, irked me.

One of the central characters of the show, Lynette Scavo (played by Felicity Huffman) is a high-powered, high-flying corporate career woman, who gave up her full-time job as mother to 4 children, to return to work when her husband quit his job. Lynette is trying to establish a creche (day care centre. In French, creche means 'crib') in her office, to enable her to have her children close to her while she works. Having a creche in an office is a very positive thing, because it helps foster stable working & family relations, and with a full-time professional nanny watching the kids at work, one is able to at least heave a sigh of relief, and know that their children are close to them. In the United States, most big or multinational corporations have creches, which is a very positive benefit for a working mother. Anyway, in this scene, Lynette needs 16 children of employees of the company to participate in the creche to enable it to be established. They are, however, short of 1 child, and she looks to her colleague, Ed, who has a 17-month old daughter, Mindy. Ed's wife, Fran, is a stay-at-home and full-time mother and housewife and is apparently uptight, livid and obsessed with her child. Ed isn't allowed to hold his own child even! Lynette wants to persuade Fran to allow Mindy to participate in the creche for at least 2 hours a day. So they meet, and Fran completely disagrees to the idea. What she said, though, made me think, and of course, feel for Lynette in the show. She said something along the lines of, "Why did you have children if you weren't going to raise them?"

Now, this hit me- because first, I had you, my precious little one; and two, because I am a working mother. At the precise moment of truth, I thought: well, I work because I have to, because I need to help your father provide for our family: and as if on cue, on TV, Lynette said the same thing! And Lynette further added, "I'm a good mother". I smiled smugly as the screen shifted to Fran, and thought to myself, yeah, E., I'm a good mother to you too. Even if I do work. It doesn't mean that I love you any less. But arrogant, silly Fran countered, "That's the difference between us. I couldn't live with just being a good mother. I wanna be a great one!"

Well, well, well!

My dearest E., sometimes you shouldn't believe everything you see on TV. There is a fine line to be drawn between reality and fiction. What does this mean? Well, fiction just means it's a story, made up by people to draw and attract other people to listen and watch, but it's not a true story. However, it is not to saythat a work of fiction cannot be based on real life. Desperate Housewives is a marvellous work of fiction made for TV, but it has elements of reality which come close to home. And Fran's statement came home to me.

Is being a good mother as opposed to a great mother very much different? How do we measure the level of one's greatness as a mother? In my eyes, I think I'm a good, no- great mother to you! And why do I say that? Because.... I love you. Because I put you, your well-being, your happiness, your comfort, etc FIRST before anything or anyone else, including your father. Because I provide for you not only financially- but in such a deep, emotional way that only a parent can provide. Am I a bad mother, or a mediocre mother, because I work and have to be away from you at least 10 hours a day? Am I a bad mother, because I may miss seeing you walk for the first time or utter your first word? Will you love me less because of this? If things were ideal in this world, I would be with you every hour, minute, second of the day.

And I had you, I gave birth to you- because you were already in my life from the moment I breathed the air of this world, from the first moment I entered humanity just like you did. Because you were meant to happen to me. And I fully intend to raise you, my child, notwithstanding my work commitments, to become a good and moral person, with love, compassion, kindness and understanding, just like your grandparents raised me.

I take my hat off to full-time mothers, because they have the opportunity to do what I would love to do. Full-time mothering is as time-consuming, difficult and tiring as a full-time job outside; save and except for one major factor. The sense of fulfillment a person gets from full-time mothering may not be the same in a full-time job, and dare I say this: even surpasses all boundaries of fulfillment and happiness.

Of course I wished I could mother you full-time. Read you your books all day, watch TV with you, play and teach you, take your naps with you, feed you etc. But I can't, my sweet pea. In today's age and time, and with the evolution of our society into a higher state of consciousness and development, it has become a norm for households to have working mothers. The way society views a woman's role as a mother is also changing. As Malaysia becomes more developed, urbanized and the income level of the population arises, together with soaring inflation and costs of living, the number of working mothers are greatly increasing. And I am one of them.

But I am still lucky, little E. Because I have a well-paying job and I am happy working where I am. I am even luckier because I have your grandparents, who take such good care of you and love you to bits! Do you know how precious you are to them, too? You have completed their lives, just like you have completed mine. I cannot imagine a complete stranger taking care of you while I work. Granted, I sometimes come home to you later than I would have liked to because of work responsibilities and commitments. But it doesn't make me less of a person, it certainly doesn't mean I love you less! In fact, knowing that there is you at home at the end of the day spurs me to work harder and achieve more in my career, because a fruitful career means I can provide you with so much more and hopefully, whatever your little heart desires. And all this, I do, because I love you so much.

I cherish my weekends with you, little E. They fill me up with such wonder and joy because I get to be with you for at least 60 hours straight!- it pains me to have to return to work on Monday. But this is real life. And real life isn't always a bed of roses, but what we make them out to be and learn to be happy with what we have.

I think I am a great mother, E. I hope you will think so too, someday.

Princess

2006-11-14T15:05:00.000+08:00

Being a princess isn't all it's cracked up to be ~ Princess Diana

My dearest E.,

Look at you. I think you have the makings of a fine princess. I love that you have learnt to smile with poise and grace- I don't know where you've gleaned that from, certainly not me. I love that you sit like a lady on the throne of your stroller. And I love that you look tenderly regal, even though I've dressed you in a funky t-shirt, jeans skirt and white sneakers. And most of all, I love that you're friendly and sociable, and ever willing to smile at a passing stranger. When such love shines through your smiles, you melt hearts and in your own little way, make the world a slightly better place to be in.

Remember this: white is never an easy colour to carry off. Of course, white is beautiful, significant of freshness, purity, life, virginity. I never liked wearing white, although it's one of my favourite colours. I tend to look more life-like than I actually am, do you know what I mean? And white sneakers: never an easy thing to pull off also. White sneakers border on crazy-fun-punk-cool and geek-nerd-alert-creep. But you look beautiful in white sneakers. And white dresses too.

You are, after all, a little princess. You can believe in a Princess's dreams and all things sweet and nice. But imagine that you can make your own dreams come true, and it doesn't require a Prince to help you out with those dreams. A true Princess must be gentle, kind and loving, too, and I hope that when you grow up, you will not torment your subjects to harsh words, unkindly actions. Lady Jennie Jerome Churchill once said that "you can be a princess or the richest woman in the world, but you cannot be more than a lady."

Wouldn't it be nice if every little girl were a nice Princess?

On Gratitude

2006-11-14T14:24:00.000+08:00

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us ~ Albert Schweitzer

My dearest E.,

I found many things to be thankful for today. Well, not only today- but for what has been handed to us so far. I must admit that I never took much time to think about these. My memory of gratitude was triggered by a sudden thought of you. Many times, as I nursed you, as we bonded in our love together, as we sat down to watch PlayHouse Disney Channel together, I was thankful.

But most of all, I was thankful that I had been blessed with your arrival. Thankful that you are mine. For I had been told, before you came, that I would not be able to have a child. Perhaps it is a miracle, and that I have been given the opportunity to realise my potential as a woman, as a mother. I must have done something right to please those above us. You are my miracle child: and you have changed my life in so many ways that I never thought possible.

I have a wonderful life. I'm happy and content. But I had never envisaged that there were still some things lacking in this wonderful life, which I have been so blessed to receive. You!

My darling E., we must always be thankful with what we have. For what we cannot or may not achieve this present day, look to it as your aspiration for the future. You must think of the less fortunate, spread your love and kindness to them, and learn to empathize. That makes you a complete human being.

Today, as I sit as my office desk, feeling tired and listless, I am thankful, though, that I have a well-paying job, that I do work I can enjoy and find passion in, that I have kind colleagues with whom I can communicate and connect with: and I think of the millions of other people out there who do not have jobs and thus, cannot feed their families and themselves. We bask in a life of lavishness, of moderate luxury- hence, we must never lose sight of ourselves. Our place in this world is transient. What means all the riches of the world, if we can never be happy or learn to appreciate that blessed opportunity?

My gratitude for life is marred only by one thing: that I cannot spend all the seconds of my time with you, and instead, find myself being away from you for hours at a stretch: 8, 10, sometimes 12 hours... and that I must work hard to give you the things you need to make your life more pleasant and complete. Oh, how I wished we never had to work for our living! But that is my ingratitude speaking.....

My sweetness, I cannot wait to go home and have you squeal in joy when you see me... To see you shuffling quickly on your little legs towards me, your arms outstretched for the comfort and love that only a mother can provide.

Of that, I am thankful for. That you deign to love me.

The Four Noble Truths & The Eightfold Path

2006-11-14T11:38:00.000+08:00

A person has no religion who has not slowly and painfully gathered one together, adding to it, shaping it, and one's religion is never complete and final, it seems, but must always be undergoing modification ~ D.H. Lawrence

My dearest E.,

The Noble Eightfold Path describes the way to the end of suffering, as it was laid out by Siddhartha Gautama. It is a practical guideline to ethical and mental development with the goal of freeing the individual from attachments and delusions; and it finally leads to understanding the truth about all things. Together with the Four Noble Truths, it constitutes the gist of Buddhism. Great emphasis is put on the practical aspect, because it is only through practice that one can attain a higher level of existence and finally reach Nirvana. The eight aspects of the path are not to be understood as a sequence of single steps, instead they are highly interdependent principles that have to be seen in relationship with each other.

The Four Noble Truths
1. Life means suffering
2. The origin of suffering is attachment
3. The cessation of suffering is attainable
4. The path to the cessation of suffering

The Eightfold Path
1. Right View
2. Right Intention
3. Right Speech
4. Right Action
5. Right Livelihood
6. Right Effort
7. Right Mindfullness
8. Right Concentration

And that is all I shall say, my dearest E. You'll be old enough to read and understand in due course.

The Ten Commandments

2006-11-14T11:14:00.000+08:00

All religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree. All these aspirations are directed toward ennobling man's life, lifting it from the sphere of mere physical existence and leading the individual towards freedom ~ Albert Einstein

My dearest E.,

As I have mentioned before, your father and I are of different religions. In fact, I don't know if you could call Buddhism a "religion": it's a misnomer and a misconstrued concept. Buddhism is, in fact, a teaching, a way of life. It doesn't impose on a person consequences if one does not follow through the teachings.

Your father and I are determined that you will grow up, embracing the beauty and teachings of both Christianity and Buddhism, and we will not impose on you to choose between these two. But as your mother, it is my duty to highlight to you the basic tenet of these two teachings, because religious grounding is the base of your existence, and shapes the person you become in the future. And we wish for you to become a good, moral person, regardless of your religious beliefs. I know that this sounds funny, because I will only be presenting to you the tenets of Christianity (the Ten Commandments) and the main teachings in Buddhism (The Four Noble Truths & The Eightfold Path).

The Ten Commandments, or Decalogue, are a list of religious and moral imperatives which, according to the Hebrew Bible, were written by God and given to Moses on Mount Sinai in the form of two stone tablets. These commandments feature prominently in Judaism, Christianity and Islam.

1. You shall have no other Gods but me.
2. You shall not make for yourself any idol, nor bow down to it or worship it.
3. You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God.
4. You shall remember and keep the Sabbath day holy.
5. Respect your father and mother.
6. You must not kill.
7. You must not commit adultery.
8. You must not steal.
9. You must not give false evidence against your neighbour.
10. You must not be envious of your neighbour's goods. You shall not be envious of his house nor his wife, nor anything that belongs to your neighbour.

I will not elaborate further on the commandments, because I know you shall have formed your own mind about these commandments. You will be old enough by this time to read the Bible and all such scriptures and form your own mature thoughts about religion.

And I will not seek to clip your wings and hold you back from flying.

Full moon baby

2006-11-14T01:00:00.000+08:00

Into the sunset's turquoise marge The moon dips, like a pearly barge; Enchantment sails through magic seas, To fairland Hesperides, Over the hills and away ~ Madison Julius Cawein

My dearest love,

Look at yourself here... You're only a month or less, I felt this tremendous need to protect you. You were so tiny and delicate, your head fit snugly into the palm of my hand. I want to protect you always, my beloved E. Even if you are 30 years old one day.

Some vivid memories

2006-11-14T00:12:00.000+08:00

Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things. ~Pierce Harris, Atlanta Journal

My dearest E.,

I have vivid memories of our first few months together; when you were first finding your footing in this crazy world and learning to cope with all sorts of shibboleths, like your feelings, for instance. Feeling hungry, and you cry for me to cuddle you close to my body, and you turn your little face towards me like an open flower searching for a rainstorm. Feeling cold, when I've inadvertently turned the air-conditioning too high, and you cry for me to cuddle you close to my body, spreading my warmth to permeate your senses. Feeling scared and lonely, and you cry for me to lift you into my waiting arms, and lie you beside me, where we both dream the night away; for time is a sleeping bomb.

You were wont to lay awake until the wee hours of the morning, you little dear rascal. Your boundless energy, despite your tender age, left me weepy, tired, but joyous that I had the privilege of spending your extra awake-hours with you.

Your eyes have become the window to my existence. I was able to recognise your emotions, emphathize with your needs, communicate with you, my little angel: all with your eyes. We have a sense of connectedness, you and I.

Your father and I coined the nickname "Genghis" for you: like the legendary Genghis Khan who sought battles and fought wars to conquer Europe: because you were ferociously conquering when it came to feeds. You would cry for the comfort of my breasts, and I would offer them to you; and you would quieten down in sweet repose, your tiny mouth suckling vigorously, your delicate hand resting on my breast, as if to claim ownership. You were a little Genghis Khan yourself. Over time, your father and I, I'm sorry to say, bastardized the nickname, and it became "Gingis" which sounds much cuter, don't you think? We also called you our Little Houdini because you were a great escape artist when I tried to swaddle you, and you would struggle and try to break free. Oops, here comes a hand! And a foot...!

Oh, we had names for you, your father and I! Who could not have names for their beautiful daughter? You were chubby-cheeked, full of sweetness and grace, happiness and sociability, and you loved people and animals alike. Your fat little legs carried you from one place to another, and you began to crawl backwards as first, timorous as timber, but when you learnt to appreciate your sense of balance and direction, you were a little tornado. Our home was never the same again!

I have so many memories, my sweet, sweet E. They are all stored in the recesses of my mind, too many that makes me smile everytime I think of them. Too many for me to pen them down here.

As you grow a little more each day, each vivid memory of you fixes itself at the back of mind, like little dominos waiting their turn to be let out.

How life began- The Christian account

2006-11-13T23:47:00.000+08:00

And God said, "Let there be light...."

My dearest E.,

Your father is Catholic, and I am Buddhist- but together in marriage, we have fused a sense of oneness, an amicable meeting of the minds. Love is what we have, and love is enough to bridge all barriers.

Here is an excerpt from the Bible: this is one of my favourite verses, and I wanted for you to read this to perhaps understand how our world came about.

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

Now the earth was a formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness. God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night." And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

And God said, "Let there be an expanse between the waters to separate water from water." So God made the expanse and separated the water under the expanse from the water above it. And it was so. God called the expanse "sky." And there was evening, and there was morning—the second day.

And God said, "Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear." And it was so. God called the dry ground "land," and the gathered waters he called "seas." And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, "Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds." And it was so. The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the third day.

And God said, "Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark seasons and days and years, and let them be lights in the expanse of the sky to give light on the earth." And it was so. God made two great lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. He also made the stars. God set them in the expanse of the sky to give light on the earth, to govern the day and the night, and to separate light from darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the fourth day.

And God said, "Let the water teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the expanse of the sky." So God created the great creatures of the sea and every living and moving thing with which the water teems, according to their kinds, and every winged bird according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them and said, "Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the water in the seas, and let the birds increase on the earth." And there was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day.

And God said, "Let the land produce living creatures according to their kinds: livestock, creatures that move along the ground, and wild animals, each according to its kind." And it was so. God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.

Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground."

So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.

God blessed them and said to them, "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground."

Then God said, "I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and all the creatures that move on the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food." And it was so.

God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day.

Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array.

By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work. And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work of creating that he had done.

Thus goes the Christian account of how our world came about- but you may have different ideas of your own when you grow up. It doesn't matter. I thought I would share this with you because it was so beautiful and even if you choose to believe in Darwin's Origin of Species, that's alright with me too. Sometimes, I think of how huge our world is; and I don't know what to believe in too.

The Gift

2006-11-13T18:19:00.000+08:00

My dearest E.,

I wrote this piece of poetry for you. You are a Gift for me. You are the best Gift I have ever received. Ever....! Lots of kisses and hugs, as I breathe in your baby-sweet perfume and find myself heady with joy, wonderment and love.

An angel spoke to me one day
Whispering sweetness, cool and gay
On such a day when the sky was blue
My heart was calm, and in She flew….
Spreading golden horizons, peaches and fruits
Appeared as a vision of glorious trumps
My lips were cool, as She took my foot
Caressing and kneading, gentle and smooth
As beauty flowed beneath my veins
The waters ran still like frozen chains
Transposed in eternal fame and silver droplets
A tear plucked from my eye as prophecy expounded.
She drifted by my listless side
Foretelling joy, happiness and a wonderful life
The immense Universe of light and dark
Surrounded my being
But She found a way to soften my heart
Moisten my hands into the Spring
To welcome the daffodils and birds that sing
As questions bubbled in my thoughtless dreams.
And as I slumbered in the bows of Love
An angel spoke to me of Renewal and Birth
Her message from God was hazy and gray
“You shall have the Gift this very day”.

In the beginning

2006-11-13T17:48:00.000+08:00

When the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies. And now when every new baby is born its first laugh becomes a fairy. So there ought to be ~ James Matthew Barrie

My dearest E.,

You arrived on 25 October 2005, after having laboured with me for 18 hours. It was discovered that you refused to leave your warm, water-filled sanctuary- and I begged that you would because the world here is so much more beautiful and pleasing than the one inside me. You'll see for yourself.

I was told that you were perfectly round, perfectly beautiful, perfectly cherubic, when you came out, covered with blood, fluids and such. I hadn't yet met you, because I had been drugged to facilitate your entry into this world. And I think that when you met me the next morning, we both fell in love with each other. Thus began our love affair....and which has prompted me to write this, for fear that you will lose sight of my love for you someday, and for keepsakes' too, perhaps. That you will know how loved you are, and no matter how difficult or trying things can be in the future, you will know that I love you completely and unconditionally, and that perhaps I am not as evil or cold-hearted or sorrowful as you may someday make me out to be.

You were a little cherub, a fairy. Like the song, "Close to you" by the Carpenters, I thought that indeed, moonlight, romantic dust, starlight and all idyllic dreams were in your eyes. If there was such thing as perfection, you would be Perfection.

Do you know: that your arrival mis-aligned the stars and moon? They were so enraptured with your beauty that they stole time off from their duties to visit you. They made slow, silky moves across the room and looked over your crib, where you lay as angelic as can be, your long curly lashes casting shadows over your chubby cheeks. And they kissed you every night, they couldn't resist it. You were, and still are, so beautiful.

Looking back

2006-11-13T17:29:00.000+08:00

A baby is born with a need to be loved - and never outgrows it. ~Frank A. Clark

My dearest E.,

I wish I had started this at the very beginning, when you first arrived. I've realised, quite belatedly, that I don't know how I'm going to relate to you everything that has happened in the past year: except that you have brought me so much joy and happiness. Joy and happiness beyond any boundaries, if joy and happiness do indeed have boundaries. Do they? I don't really know myself.

When I had first discovered that you grew within me, on 2 March 2005, I started writing a journal for you- you know, the old-fashioned type. A spring-bound notebook with a green, hard cover and I filled some of the pages with my thick, spiral-like, spider-webby handwriting. Sometimes, I cried while I wrote. You will realise that I was quite emotionally volatile then. I confessed my vices and emotions to you in the short span of time that I diligently spent writing in it. And as you grew bigger, and I grew more temperamental (and lazy), I stopped writing- and I wish I never did.

How else then could I explain to you how you took my breath away when I first saw you? I was close to tears because my body was wracked with extreme pain at first. My head was light and dizzy and the bright lights seared through my eyes. Then you appeared- and I cried for you.

How else can I tell you how I saw my own face when I looked into yours, saw Daddy's eyes reflected in your quick, alert ones? How else would you know that you were my little lamb, who suckled at my breast and that I would sing lullabies and whatever ditties that came into my head? How else....?

E., I have loved you since the day I knew you began growing within me. And I love you more with each passing day.