There's this girl in my class, let's call her Penelope.
Penelope had great toys, she would often bring her 48 dollar barbies in various clothes to school. At my time $48 is a shitload of money, my parents never would have bought me one so I had probably never asked for it. So, Penelope has this coveted toy, she also had fair porcelain skin and straight bangs that she would often use her saliva to flatten to perfection. She was this strange mix of perfect with questionable hygiene. Naturally I looked at her with curiosity and some disgust. 

So when the time arose where I had the chance to rise beyond my $18 grey pound puppy, I probably did. 
Now in my defense I have absolutely no recollection on what I did to the poor girl, I suspect it was that I said her doll was ugly or that my disdain at her fringe benefits were too apparent. What happened next was a tirade of her saying her father would come and give me a scolding.
For a while I was actually quite frightened. I wish I could say the same about my dad, but no, I knew that wasn't going to happen. So I waited. A day passed, and then another. My anxiety quelled and quietened like the flyaways of her fringe.

This memory of Penelope with her Barbie stayed with me for quite a while. Her father never showed up and I never talked about her Barbie again. If I do see her again in the streets, I would probably still remember her as the girl with the above history. It might be the thing about her that would stick with me forever. But you know what, she probably is a whole lot more to the people around her. And you know what, that's what I think about what happened last night. I may be a Penelope to some, but to other people I'm also a whole lot more. Thank you for showing me that I am more. :)


Dear all,

As I had promised eons ago, here is a new blog entry. 

I know I haven't been doing this for a long time, and more so since I've had a big sunshine (or meteor depending on which day you ask) appear in my life.

Being a mum, I usually click on the multiple articles that gives you some insight to tell you what parenting means. I read it to maintain some sanity while I make a bolt for the next job overseas. Sometimes it informs you on the demise of your individuality (which I am hard pressed to deny), sometimes they tell you what is the best way to raise a child (most of which I am finally ignoring) and the best ones are usually the ones that say it's ok.

I too would like to say it's ok. Ahem.

It's ok to have toys lying around (as I type this out with a Thomas, a magna doodle plus a launch pad lying nearby), it's ok to feed your kid a chocolate biscuit (you just have to pay for it when he goes into hyper mode), it's ok to not have a change of clothes when he has juice down his t-shirt (use a wet wipe or tissue or just wait for it to dry because you SIMPLY HAVE NONE OF THE ABOVE), it's ok when you simply lose it and shout at him (you then apologize like any reasonable adult does).

I think it's ok when you can't keep up or keep it in or keep breathing. After all, it happens to all mothers.

Then there are these other things that are also supposed to be ok.

It's ok that some Didi pushed him to the ground and nobody was there to intervene. It's ok that he needs air conditioning to sleep because we can afford it. It's ok that I had to leave for work while he had a bout of sniffles and fever. It's ok that teachers will teach him about bad people before teaching him about circumstances.

These issues when viewed collectively seem unrelated or even the least of most people's worries. But in my opinion, they give a preview of the spectrum of how the world works. He will experience and learn unfairness, inequality, practicality over dreams (as it means today), and eventually, hopefully, he would determine a truthful and decent way to live.

I type these little fears as time makes a man out of my boy. As I noticed his baby fat slowly leaving his cheeks, I treasure every hug (even if I had to remind him), every giggle and every "Mama can you sleep with me?" requests. I also treasure every tantrum and that the different outcomes whether it be giving in or not budging, is out of love for meeting his desires or a lesson learnt.

In the whole spectrum of things (or at least mine), we are infinitesimally small.  Son, wander and then wonder, and go for what energizes you by its truth and beauty.  And life might hurt you, it might even sometimes be painful or not funny, but keep your head up always because I'm your mama and I know you can. You might even see a funny side where I can't. ;)

As for the rest of you, remember to call your mum.