A lovely week

Term break at last.

I forfeited my previous term break and taught throughout (that was in March) because I wanted to save up some holidays for more crucial times of the year. Most of my students didn't go anywhere that week because it was only one week of holidays, and so their parents agreed to bring them for classes. Looking back, while it was certainly a fruitful week, I don't think it was kind - at least to myself, the teacher. By April, especially towards the recital and beyond, I was burning out fast. I was growing very resentful towards the kids who habitually do not practise (and parents who think that it's the teacher's responsibility to keep them on track regardless of their commitment). Hyperventilating out of great annoyance has been a common phenomena of late. Good grief! It is a wonder that my hairs haven't turned white yet.

And then May arrived.

I am so thankful that the term break has begun, for my sanity's sake. It began with a lot of meet-ups with good friends from near and afar; it will conclude with a family vacation. Needless to say, time will fly past because we're having fun and soon, the term break will be over. But I hope to make every moment count and so, I am even blogging - which I haven't done in a while.

Anyway, a side-note...

The other day, an ex-student of mine texted; said that she was moving house and she had two boxes of piano repertoire for lower grades up to ATCL; wouldn't be needing those books ever again, so would I please have them?

Those of you who read my previous post know that I might be resigning from my job at the music school end of this year; this happened right after I informed my bosses. (By God's grace, they were open about it despite our short-handed situation.) My ex-student's offer seemed to point me to the fact that I will always be a music teacher somehow, and ultimately, God's musician. So, don't feel like the world will leave you behind even if you have to step out of the teaching scene again, for a while... "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways...for as the Heavens are higher than the Earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts..." (Isa. 55:8, 9). I was struck by the irony of my situation; here I was worrying about the practical aspects of my resignation: will I be OK as a stay-at-home-mom again? Where will the money come from? How will my portfolio look? Will I be able to work from home? Will my employers be furious? Etc. But God, who has all the answers, only acknowledged so very kindly the fear deep down inside my subconscious - the fear that I would be a nobody... forgotten, left behind, and looked down upon.

Indeed, to obey God is better than well-meaning and even pious-looking acts that ultimately serve self.

Sophie's Diaries : Graduation from a Parenting Course

We did it. As a family.

Yup, Sophie sat through the parenting course with us. She wouldn't have had it any other way. She refused to go off to the creche for babysitting services without us (duh). We told her that she could stay if she kept very quiet throughout (two-and-a-half-hours each session) - and she mostly did, which was amazing, I thought. Win win.

Of course, she needed some help to stay quiet. Her own little chair to sit on, lots of snacks, some toys, some trips to the bathroom, a pillow to nap (she'd hug me when she was tired and fall asleep on my lap), and lots of reassuring hugs (and kisses) as well as shushes. Also, ehem... some warnings that she might have to go to the creche after all whenever she got a little bit noisy. That part was inevitable. Nevertheless, she was generally well-behaved - God be praised - and it was such joy to have her with us throughout the DVD sessions, discussion group and etc. I am so, so proud of my grown-up baby.

Our group (sans one more couple who arrived late yesterday) and our facilitators (first 2 from left to right)

The parenting course was aimed at parents or caretakers of 0 to 10-year-olds. Together, we explored the building of strong foundations in our children's lives, their needs, boundaries that have to be set, healthy relationships that have to be modelled and encouraged, as well as our long-term aims in parenting. It was tremendously helpful to have our group facilitators share their parenting experiences with us; we also discussed our common struggles, especially in disciplining our children (and disciplining them while their grandparents try valiantly to come to their "rescue"). Very encouraging, definitely.

I think the course also helped me as a teacher to children, a majority of whom are below 10. After all, teachers are said to be acting "in loco parentis" while the kids are in their care i.e. "in place of a parent" (latin). While I believe that "in loco parentis" is in the professional context of educating the kids (as in, teachers are educating the kids in place of their parents back home) rather than a parental relationship (which often requires one to provide assistance to the kids beyond professional boundaries that might be inappropriate), we have to be yet mindful of the values they catch from us, the image of God as Shepherd that we portray, their needs, their self-worth, and the boundaries we need to set. Throughout the course, I was reminded of how ripe my mission field of teaching music is for harvest - and how lucky I was to have been equipped with the tools to reap.

Sophie's diaries : music lessons

For reasons I shall not divulge here, I have always felt a little apprehensive about giving Sophie music lessons myself.

Until recently. Something changed.

I thought to myself: since she is all ready to learn, I can't afford don't intend to send her for kindermusik programs, and I am not a bad music teacher myself, why not start somewhere? I won't have to take sole responsibility for her music education; I could always send her for formal lessons with a teacher who isn't her mom, if needed (that's my consolation) or the Junior Music Course at Yamaha, but why not homeschool her for now? Also, I'd like to be able to tell her, in the future, that she began learning music at 2+. And that her mom was her first music teacher, haha.

My approach isn't too complicated or kiasu. It's all about having fun: storytelling, crafts, stickers, simple workbooks, dancing, rhythm, solfege, imaginative musical exposure, etc. My ultimate goal is to make the rudiments of music stick in her head for life while she continues to enjoy music as she always has. And may music be the context for teaching her deeper lessons about life, God, and everything else.

We began a week ago. So far so good. It has been a lot of fun for her as well as myself (what with the planning, strategizing, crafts preparation and all). I pray that I will continue to be this motivated.

Saturday nights and Sunday mornings

I work a full day on Saturdays.

My first class begins at 9am. My final class concludes at 6.15pm. Lunch break is at 2.15pm for an hour (or less).

Saturdays are when many Teacher-I-had-no-time-to-practise-the-whole-week students struggle with the aforementioned Teacher. They find her very naggy, unsympathetic, rigid, and utterly resentful to be back in square one after a whole week. And they persist in coming for classes.

In other words, Saturday is the craziest day of my work week - in terms of nature, duration, patience required, and the challenges encountered. When I am feeling particularly positive, I relate to the Israelites gathering manna on the 6th day. "Now on the sixth day, they gathered twice as much bread, two omers for each one..." (Exod. 16:22) Twice as much work done, but twice as much blessings to last me till Monday. However, more often than not, I am not that positive. If I am perfectly honest, I'd say that my motivation to endure the first half of the day is eating lunch... and the second half, eating curry mee at dinner (that's my comfort food). I'm not as angelic a teacher as you think!

As you can probably imagine, I am knackered every Saturday evening. I am so freaking exhausted - physically, emotionally, mentally, etc. - that sleep just doesn't relieve the exhaustion fully, although I savour it. One can never have enough of sleep, I think.

I am always grouchy when I wake up on Sunday mornings. I am wondering what I could do about it.

January, Chinese New Year... and my birthday

January has been quite an overwhelming month for me. 

First, Sophie fell sick. Then I caught her bug and had to be quarantined for a while. Since I've had to replace classes for the students who went on Christmas vacations in December, my medical break meant even more replacement classes! On top of these, I had to juggle ministry assignments too. To keep me from being depressed, my wonderful hubby kindly (and thankfully) made the decision to spend the first few days of Chinese New Year and my birthday eve in KL (with my side of the family) instead of Penang. I was extremely grateful for that because I only had 5 days off work anyway. 

It was so good to be my dad and sister over the long weekend. Sophie was delighted to see her Gong-gong and Ah Ee whom she misses and prays for nightly.

Gong-gong a.k.a. granddad

Long walks with Ah Ee, who is ever so obliging.

Dim-sum-ing with the family. This was when our toddler grabbed us by the collars (literally) and demanded that we kiss in public... much to the amusement of those at our table. "Daddy, please kiss Mummy... NOW!" We did, even though it was a little embarrassing. Talk about PDA...

Now we know who inspired Sophie to make weird faces at the camera.

With the family before we returned to Penang. This was one of Sophie's "faces".

As I celebrate my birthday today (technically it was yesterday, but it's not "yesterday" till I sleep and wake up again), I am mesmerised by the message that was impressed upon my heart today while I meditated on Israel's Exodus in the Old Testament: Faith in God is ultimately not about looking forward, but remembering what He has done in the past. The Israelites were to live the new lifestyle that identified them as God's people and do so, remembering this: "I am the LORD, your God who who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery." (Exod. 20:2) The pivotal event was to stay fresh in their minds and hearts. The Jewish passover still commemorates it today. Likewise, our faith in Jesus Christ cannot empower us to hope in the present if we do not make it a point to keep remembering and celebrating what He has done for us - on the cross as well as in the valleys we have trudged through. We can never truly see what lies ahead of us - the bad as well as the good - but because God has shown Himself to be good all the time, we have the evidence that His goodness will prevail, come what may. We can be confident that His good will triumph over evil or the worst of our fears - the best of what we can ever hope for. It is then no wonder that Hebrews 11:1 says: "Now, faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see." This is a faith that keeps looking back and refreshing itself.

And so I start my new birthday year by remembering.

A nightmare

When I was around Sophie's age, I dreamed of my mom lying in a hospital, sick and dying. I woke up heartbroken and frightened. Perhaps that was when death became a reality to me. Those whom we love will have to leave us someday. Sometimes, they leave thinking that we'll be better off without them.

Yesterday night, it seems that Sophie had a dream of a similar nature. She woke up crying for her mummy and was so distraught that she even peed on me when I picked her up. (I changed into dry clothes and continued trying to pacify her.) When we asked her what happened - did she have a bad dream or something - she said that mummy was going away... and mentioned something about dying. My heart ached strangely as I hugged my sobbing baby close. Suddenly, the memories came flooding back - of myself, earlier last year, praying that God would take me Home because I couldn't bear my burdens any longer (and nobody would miss me anyway, least of all Sophie - so I felt). Remembering, I was filled with remorse and repented before God.

Dearest Sophie, mummy is sorry. I am sorry for the times I let you go, thinking that you'd be much happier without me. For the times I left, thinking that you needed the space. For being susceptible to the Enemy's work of sowing inferiority in me. For doubting God's appointment of me to be your mummy. I don't know how long more I will have before we have to part ways; neither do I know how I will have to leave. But I promise to work hard to be the best mother I can be meanwhile - to meet all challenges head on, to love you unselfishly, to take good care of myself, to bring you up in the ways of the Lord, etc. Please forgive me.

Love,
Mummy

G A B R I E L

There are times when I feel like I suck as a pianist. And because of that, I must suck as a piano teacher. Last week was one of those times. 

It's hard to describe why I felt that way. There were many contributing factors on which I find unnecessary to elaborate here, but perhaps, the year end school concert provided the context for my meltdown. I was stressed because some of my students were rather nervous about performing (which made me nervous too, haha), which couldn't be helped, I suppose. But there was a part of me that connected their increasingly cold feet to my inadequacies as a teacher (of course in the retrospect, I feel silly) and musician. Is it because I have failed to prepare them well? Or is it because my expectations are impossibly high and have crippled them? Have I been too hard on them? Or too lenient? Some other unfounded fears crept in too. What if, the adjudicator decides that my students lack something because I haven't taught them well enough? Perhaps, I haven't emphasized a particular technique, a performance skill, or something else that even I am unaware about. Perhaps, I am mediocre. Pianist. Teacher. Everything. 

I was miserable. Disillusioned. Discouraged.

The concert day arrived. The students of mine who were participating did their very best and I was thankful even though some made minor mistakes (no) thanks to nerves. No big deal. I was (and still am) very proud of them!

The certificate (of participation) presentation ceremony was followed by awards for the top three performers of the day. It felt like a hug from God when the name of one of my students, Gabriel, was called. 

After all, Gabriel means "God is my Strength". What a timely, prophetic reminder:

The God who has been my strength will always be my strength - and so, I can do all things, the things He has prepared for me to do. He makes me adequate even where I'm not. His grace is sufficient for me; His power is perfected in my weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). This was the message for me that day. 

To God be the glory. 

Dearest beloved

I am enjoying you at this age so, so much... that I can't decide if I want time to pass quicker or slower.

Those parroting acts you do with such charm. You make even the most crude, disgraceful words sound sweet. Of course I will not have you talking like you need to wash out your mouth with soap from time to time. Neither do I want you being too comfortable with Manglish/Singlish, at least at this stage.... so I, your mother, has become the language police at home and wherever you may be found. (Sorry, folks!) I bet everybody is tired of my constant reminders (and warnings) to mind his/her language, especially when you are around. Not to mention corrections - no matter how subtle I might try to be. However, you will thank me for this someday... like how I now thank my mother for being so particular with my grammar when I was little and my father now telling me that my speech stank like poop when I used a foul word that I learned from school. (I never got to use that foul word ever again. Neither do I want to use it.)

Those hugs and kisses you give so thoughtfully. Every hug and kiss warms my heart like nothing does. To think that you were that touch-me-not baby not too long ago. (You used to wriggle furiously out of our grip or push our faces away whenever we tried to hug or kiss you.) I look forward to your hugs and kisses throughout my work hours. While you are still very reserved with non-family members, you made me proud the other day when you hugged and comforted my sick and sad friend with such tender compassion: "Don't cry, jie jie!"

The antics that greet me every morning. You love to lie in bed for a while after you wake up - but when it gets mundane, you would go, "Mummy, please may I go out?" followed by an urgent "Open door!" You then make sure everybody in the house knows that you have finally gotten up - even before I get to rub the sleep out of my own eyes and give you a quick morning bath. Teasing your grandparents, laughing, riding your indoor bicycle, saying hello to your stuffed animals, and climbing up and down the furniture - while your poor night owl mother drags herself around like a zombie. These are what your wake up routine consists of.

Your requests for me to TALK - about whatever topic you choose. "Mummy, talk," you would say... to which I would respond, "What should I talk about?" And then you would give me a topic, for example, "Cats!" I would then give you an educational talk about the given topic to the best of my abilities. It makes me feel er... smart? It also reminds me of viva voce back in school.

Grow up, but don't grow up too fast, sweetheart.

When your prayer talks back...

They say that God's answer to our prayers is mostly a yes, no, or wait.

I think, that sometimes, the answer to one's prayer is a question: do you think your God is enough?

Specifically....

Is God's grace sufficient for the trial(s) faced?
Will God provide enough?
Is God adequately qualified to do something about your situation?
Is God's arm long enough to save?
Should God be your only hope... or would you need a back-up plan?
Are His promises enough... when all you experience is loss, grief, and disappointment?

That, I suppose, was the answer to my prayer tonight... A question that is humbling because it can be hard to feel a "yes" with conviction even while your head knows the truth or at least what the Bible says. However, it is a question that also reminisces God's consistent faithfulness and comforts at once. A divine question, certainly.

Do you think your God - the God of Abraham, the God of Jesus Christ - is enough?

Music history

One of the things I love most about teaching music is helping my students to find gems of inspiration from the biographies of classical composers (of Western classical music). I tend to insert intriguing snippets of the aforementioned into my lessons. Simple commentaries, weird facts, quotes, etc. The pieces then don't seem so irrelevant when you can put a life story to their composers' names. The composers are after all, human. They were once little boys (and little girls) with quirks and dreams. My students (and I) can so relate to them.

The composers made history. Some set the course for musical development in their era. And then the ones who broke rules changed the future of music - Beethoven, Liszt, Stravinsky, Schoenberg, Cage, Glass, etc. Remembering and studying their journeys help us appreciate the things we often take for granted (or despise) in music education, such as theory of music. Music history is much more than a list of dead composers. It ultimately deepens our enjoyment of classical music, jazz, blues, KPop, R&B, Folk, etc. because we understand that they are products of evolving pursuits... that men and women have always broken out of the moulds to reconcile with their creative inspirations... and that HOPE in an unpredictable world lies in our ability to exercise the last of our human freedoms even if everything else was taken away i.e. "to choose one's attitude in any set of given circumstances, to choose one's own way..." (as per Viktor Frankl) ~ If Beethoven, for example, had allowed his hearing impairment to crush him instead of spurring him toward greater heights, history would have been different. Perhaps, music as we know it wouldn't be the same. Say, jazz. Jazz, after all, arose in the blending of African rhythm, European harmony and form, improvisation, and the freelance musician culture of which Beethoven could be seen as one of the forerunners unlike earlier composers who served in the Church or Court.

Understanding, we then make informed decisions on how we want to play our pieces.

Why dis-comfort zones are uncomfortable

I went for an orientation session at my new workplace today. 

The key teacher, who is to be my mentor while I work here, ran through the syllabus with me. She also demonstrated some teaching methods - which are very different from what I am used to - and we talked about lesson plans. 

While there was something soothingly familiar about the new (after all, I have been a student here before, albeit not in the last two decades), my heart or whatever that was urged me desperately to run away. I smiled as politely as I could at the key teacher, but deep down inside, I was terrified.

"You can't do this!" it screamed. "What if you don't meet the standards?"

What a horrible thought. And then a further thought...

"You don't have to do this!" 

Perhaps. But if anything, I have to be supermom. I want to show my little girl that it is OK to risk failing so that life grows bigger, better, and richer. I want her to know that it is even OK to fail as long as you are doing your best diligently. After all, as Dr. Martin Seligman, the founder of Positive Psychology, once said, "It's not our failures that determine our future success, but how we explain them to ourselves." Given that I can, by God's grace, deal with whatever failures I might arrive at and overcome, why not "do this"?

Work begins next week. Dear God, please go with me and help me to be a good teacher.

Kissing Mummy

We've always had to beg request for kisses from Sophie. They have been that expensive.

While her daddy persevered, I stopped requesting. No more "Sophie, kiss mummy, will you?" I just... didn't want her to feel obliged to do things like that. Affection has to be given freely and by one's own initiative - otherwise, it isn't really affection. The giver just feels... pressured, I think.

Anyway, two days ago, I was sitting next to Sophie in the car.

"Mee mee," she said.

I thought she wanted us to hold hands, so I extended my own. She shook her head, motioning me to come closer.

Mystified, I obeyed. It was a little scary, because I didn't know what to expect. Who knows, she might clobber me on the head with something.

Sophie reached out, pulled my face close, and gave me a tender kiss.

Whoa, what was that? It felt like a dream. My heart was bursting with happiness deep down inside. I could have danced on the spot but I didn't want to make too big a deal out of it, just in case I embarrassed her.

"Sweet..." I said. We grinned at each other. Awww...

Today, she did it again.

Such a sweetheart. Do it every day if you like. I'm savouring your kisses.

I thank God for such grace and loving kindness to me. To be kissed so affectionately by the very baby you bore in your womb and fed at your bosom must be one of the greatest gifts in the world!

The Zoo, The Mundane, and Advent 2015

Hubby's company organised a family day event at Taiping Zoo last Saturday.

Armed with an adventurous zeal that braved the scorching sun, funky smells, and predictable public toilets (at least on my part) for Sophie's enrichment's sake - we decided to join in.

The sun was scorching hot. The zoo smelled of the animals' BO, manure, and other organic things. The public toilets were... as predicted. There were people everywhere - Ben's colleagues and their families. I wasn't too comfortable with having to greet people at every corner. And Sophie was cranky because we had scooped her out from bed unusually early that morning, nap time wasn't anytime soon, and she wasn't too happy about having to sit in her stroller while we walked through the length and breadth of Taiping Zoo. We did allow her to get out of her stroller once in a while, but the toddler hazards of the walkway conditions (uneven and bumpy tar roads, broken pavements, etc. - Malaysian tourism really needs to work on this, I think) and Sophie's secret plans to abandon us whenever we let our guards down made her stroller curfew rather necessary. Even so, hubs and I were soooo exhausted at the end of our trip that I've made up my mind to avoid zoos at all costs for at least a year. But who knows, right? When the adventurous zeal returns, we might be back all too soon. After all, I would love to take Sophie on a boat-ride at the Taiping Lake Gardens.

Still... I think that Sophie did enjoy being with us as much as we enjoyed being with her.

The giraffe that watched Sophie (and her muesli) with great interest for a while... till the zoo keeper brought its lunch.

Throughout our trip, I couldn't help wondering what it must feel like being one of the animals in the zoo. While I, being a high-maintenance urban dweller with posh tastes and a preference for inorganic, sterile environments (sounds sad), instinctively pitied the animals in their restrictive pens within a hot, funky-smelling zoo - there must be so much more to their kind of life than meets our senses. Thinking of it, can you imagine spending your life in a small, cramped, artificial version of your natural habitat - with zero privacy, few opportunities to run about freely or learn, and no hope of seeing your loved ones again? What happens to the animals when they aren't cute to look at anymore or old? What happens to the animals that eat trash thrown into their cages by insensitive zoo-goers who are more interested in circus shows than the welfare of the animals?

Food for thought.

I'm so sorry if I offend the zoo lovers. I believe you who are pro-zoos have your own good reasons to support zoos and you are welcome to do so. Even I am thankful for the opportunities that zoos have afforded us, visual learners, to get to know wild animals and love nature, especially when we were children.

It's just that.... the sight of huge animals pacing back and forth in their pens, no longer seeking a way out of the mundane, humdrum way of things simply because there was no way out, made me rather emotional.  

"Take me home... please?"

But zoos will continue to exist. With my daughter, I hope that I will be able to do my part (no matter how minuscule) in making the captivity of these beautiful creatures count. I don't only want her zoo experiences to entertain and wow her momentarily but to cultivate a love and concern for God's creations. To inspire her to be a responsible student, steward, and advocate of Earth's divine masterpieces.

Speaking of the mundane... and in light of our waiting on the Lord amidst our various trials...

I will end this increasingly emotional post (at least for me) with a short reflection on the season of Advent (which began on Sunday) that I wrote for a devotional:

"Matthew 1:1-17 – A Child Born in God’s Perfect Time

We begin our Advent reflections with Matthew’s genealogy of Jesus - three major divisions, each listing fourteen generations of human roots. It is interesting that the lists found in Matthew 1:1-17 don’t match those in Luke 3:23-38. Considering that Matthew’s gospel was written from a Jewish viewpoint for a Jewish audience who were familiar with Old Testament prophecy, many contend that Matthew’s unique genealogy must have served as a literary device to portray who Jesus, son of Joseph, was. Abraham’s journey of faith pointed to Jesus – the promised Saviour for all who believe. The line of David, who was the central kingly figure of the Old Testament, pointed to Jesus – the promised Messiah King. The five women honoured amongst Jesus’ ancestors were paragons of faith, if not virtue, ethnicity, or social rank; they point us to the requirement of entering Jesus’ gracious Kingdom. Yet, also significant in the genealogy is the mention of Jeconiah (vv.11-12) who was one of the last kings of the Davidic dynasty. As a result of his sins, Jeconiah’s male descendants had been disqualified from inheriting David’s throne (Jer 22:24-30). Matthew then could have also been implying this: had Jesus been the biological son of Joseph, He too would have been disqualified, and so He wasn’t. The story of Jesus’ conception by the Holy Spirit immediately following the genealogy highlights the necessity of Jesus being the divine Immanuel (meaning “God with man”) as well as human. God was made flesh in order to reclaim what Abraham’s descendants had lost through disobedience – and ultimately their potential to bring salvation to all nations. The Jews needed Jesus. We need Jesus.

During the next four weeks of Advent, we will anticipate Jesus’ second coming in light of His first coming as Imannuel. God was with us in the fullness of His time; God is with us today as we observe the holiness of the season in our daily lives; and God will be with us at the end of time. Blessed Advent!

Prayer:

Advent God, as we journey with You through the season, refresh the portrait of the Messiah King that is in our minds so that we may wait on Him with even greater joy, hope and expectation. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen." 

The cost of mysophobia (and a little stupidity)

If you wear glasses, you'd know what these are:

Yup. Nose pads. Silicone saddle bridge nose pads.

I can never bear it when they stain green from mould. Well, I guess it is a normal phenomena, considering that our skin stays moist throughout the day. Natural moisture. Perspiration. Tears. Etc. Etc. (Sorry if this is gross.) Even if you maintain meticulous skin and glasses hygiene, mould happens. Silicone nose pads are ideal petri dishes to culture mould.  

The thought of microbes lurking so close to my eyes, nose, and skin sends shivers up and down my spine. Mould is one of the things that make my nightmares tick. I hate mould. Mould on walls, mould on furniture, mould on books, mould on bread, mould within my nose pads.

And so, whenever I see any hint of green, I'd go into panic mode. The last time it happened, I clawed out very desperately the mould with my fingernail (don't ask me how I did it). It turned out to be a successful endeavour. The nose pads stayed intact. I, of course, disinfected my hands after the hard work. 

Today, I spotted green again. Panic mode got me clawing again. 

Unfortunately, I broke the first nose pad I tackled. 

It didn't strike me as odd at first... that the silicone parts fell off the nose piece so easily. I thought, hey, perhaps I've finally figured out a way to clean those nose pads without having to push my fingernail down to their bases. Happily, I washed the silicone and proceeded to snap off (read: "break") the nose pad from the remaining nose piece the same way I had done for the first one. Washed it. Scraped off the mould from the nose pieces. Washed everything else. Dried everything. And then, I tried mounting the pads on the nose pieces. 

To my frustration, they wouldn't mount. After many attempts, I brought the stubborn paraphernalia to the hubby.

"They are broken!" he laughed. "You broke them!" 

"You should have taken your glasses to the shop. They could have replaced those pads for you."

"Bring your glasses to the shop tomorrow. Get new nose pads." 

Light dawned. The sad, immaculate but now-useless silicone bits have been discarded. I feel stupid - as stupid as can be.

My glasses are now perched awkwardly upon my nose. Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

After a blogging hiatus...

October is here already???

Well, I can't complain. After all, it was I who counted down the days to the end of September because I was broke, even from the beginning of the month.

It is no wonder that infant formula milk powder theft is a common thing, apparently. With the crippling costs of living and persistently low wages for especially the lower income families, what do you expect parents to do when their babies need to eat - and breast milk is out of the question? We already struggle every month. I can't even begin to imagine what it is like to be hardcore poor. It infuriates me to remember the oppressors who are secretly savouring the spoils from their robbing the poor while concealing their greed under a pious, righteous, loving, and just masquerade. Yet, they say, "Have more children!" Unbelievable!

Evildoers.

Anyway, I digress.

I thank God that I'm done with my sermon for this Sunday's preaching at TOG - and that working on it has been so magical and therapeutic.

Smile

Had a couple of rough and tough days this week - physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, socially, and etc.

Shed tears, blood, and sweat.

But this, in every sense of the words...

"You make me smile like the sun
Fall out of bed, sing like a bird
Dizzy in my head, spin like a record
Crazy on a Sunday night
You make me dance like a fool
Forget how to breathe
Shine like gold, buzz like a bee
Just the thought of you can drive me wild
Ohh, you make me smile."

Haha.

Loving you, sweetheart.

#Throwback

Sometime around this time of the month, 12 years ago, I arrived in Dublin as a student. It was autumn.

Wherever I am in life now, I thank God that my time in Dublin was a beautiful dream that He allowed me to live even for a short while (despite all the difficulties we were in). The years I spent there were not many. However, they were tremendously pivotal and life-changing ones, especially with regard to my attitude toward music, God, and people.

As sickly sentimental as it sounds, I am missing you much, Dublin.

I would love to go back.

Happy birthday, mama!

You and your mama >20 years back

If you were still alive, you would have turned 60 years old today - like Popo in the picture.

I would have returned home to hug and kiss you.

Ben would have cracked his head trying to think of where we could go to get you your sashimi fix.

Sophie would have helped her Popo to blow out her birthday candles.

But alas, you aren't here with us anymore.

Anyway...

Today, on your birthday, I would like to celebrate the five ways you've put your stamp on your then-future, and thus, our present.

1. Your mothering methods (most of them), homeschooling approaches, and well-rounded nurturing of our gifts still inspire me.

2. You've raised me into a person who is passionate about learning, reading, and pursuing deeper understanding about things - particularly that of the human body, mind, and soul. You always said that I could learn whatever I set my heart to learn. You too were an avid reader and versatile learner.

3. I function best when I write down my schedules, vision, mission, goals, strategies, and plans - something you taught me to do back in high-school. "Write it down," you would say. "Seeing it on paper makes all the difference to your motivation. Without a vision, you perish." (Ok, maybe you didn't use the word 'perish', but I quote the Bible.) 

4. "Strong foundations matter." That was your modus operandi in life. It is now mine. "Whatever you build on top... if your foundations are shaky, it will all come tumbling down at some point, no matter how grand it looks. Math, science, English, music, etc, etc."

5. Kindness. You were always kind to others. Neighbours, relatives, our friends, school teachers, etc. You smiled at children, fed our playmates well, and blessed our teachers. As for those whom you didn't like, you still tried to be kind - by avoiding them as much as possible. Haha. I watched you, was inspired, and I would like to model kindness to Sophie too (although I am not very good at it).

6. Music. You invested in the best teachers that you could find, sat in my individual lessons, learned music yourself so that you could coach me at home, encouraged my active participation in the musical community, brought me for concerts and music festivals, instilled in me an appreciation for classical music, and was never bored of hearing me play. Of course, you were strict when it came to practising. I remember the rotan tapping on my music score in time to the beats. (How could I forget something so traumatising?) But you meant well - and I am glad that you made sure I had the strongest foundations in the art. :)

Thank you, mama. 

Still loving (and missing) you while you are gone.  

Yours truly,

Huey

Talk, talk, TALK!

I have never had to talk so much until I had a baby.

As long as the people around me understood me, I have always spent a lot of time in my head, only talking and expressing my thoughts verbally when absolutely necessary. Which isn't that much anyway, according to my husband. It is much easier to express myself in written words, texts, or music. I did plenty of those. I enjoy listening to others talk though, and I love being with my friends. So as you can imagine, my closest friends are rather talkative in a good sense. Lovable extroverts.

When Sophie came, I had to turn into a talking machine. At least, whenever she's around. I started making the effort to talk to her while she was still inside my tummy. It was hard and exhausting, and I am sure that she heard more music, singing, and preaching than her mother speaking personally to her, but by the time she was born, I had kinda gotten the knack of it. Conditioned to talk.

It is all for the sake of her language acquisition.

Talk to your baby, the experts said.
Two-way communication. 
Limit baby-talk. Talk about real, meaningful things. Use complicated words once in a while.
Narrate your way through the day. Give a running commentary. 
Expand the concepts she knows. Say "Ball? Yes, this is a ball. See, the ball can bounce. Boing, boing, boing! Should I throw it over to you?"
Read books. Tell stories. Sing songs. 
Don't correct too much. 
Model the right pronunciation and words in the context of your conversations and... 
don't swear. Don't curse. Not that I do these, but just saying.

More than 15 months has passed by.

My 15-month-old toddler demonstrates clear understanding of what we say - questions, sentences, and instructions. She signs some. She makes ducky and doggy sounds whenever she plays with Duckie or our friend's dog. She also points to the right objects, alphabets, body parts, shapes, and etc. whenever we refer to them. However, she doesn't really think that it is necessary to talk. Despite my encouraging her to speak words (and she does speak her version of some words at times), she still prefers to just grunt and point or sign.

She gets frustrated when I pretend not to understand, so I don't do that too much. Because I myself understand how frustrating it is.  

I hope that this is a phase.

Modeling hospitality

I am beginning to be thankful that Sophie, by God's divine arrangement, spent her early childhood in a home with an extended family. Not just mummy and daddy - but also grandpa and grandma who are so hospitable to us, their friends, and our neighbours.

You see, her mom is not the most hospitable person in the world. Of all the good and wonderful things I would like to model to my now-toddler, hospitality is really.... beyond me.

To think that I want Sophie to be a people-loving, neighbourly person.

It is one thing to be friendly, generous, and accommodating to people when things are easy and convenient, your life is relatively comfortable, and you have good self-esteem. But to still make room for people and be sensitive to their needs when life throws you lemons and you hate yourself... is an art. (There is only so much lemonade one can make, I think.) Imagine, I sometimes don't even feel like I want to be around people on good days, to say nothing of the bad days!

Yes. I can be that selfish. And I need all the divine intervention I can get (and more effort made on my part) to love my neighbours as I love myself. Which goes to show that I need to love God more.

They say that hospitality begins at home. If Sophie was to learn hospitality, it starts with us.

But well, you need to let introverts be introverts. And I happen to be that introvert who is also a perfectionist.

My house is too messy. I don't feel like cleaning.
I don't feel nice. Depressed actually.
My baby might poop in the middle of our meal.
I haven't shaved my legs.
My Korean is rusty.
I am tired. And fat.
I am broke. 

A non-exhaustive list of perfectly good reasons why I'm shutting out as many people as possible. From my home and from my life. Hospitality is outrageous.

Well, I am definitely learning to be more hospitable but I can only do so much without burning out, given my personality. I am glad that staying with my in-laws means that Sophie gets a more complete picture of what hospitality is about without me having to work too hard to paint her even the broadest strokes.  

First, living in your in-laws' home requires naturally some sort of hospitality on your part (as well as theirs) if you want a happy household. I am often too proud to let my in-laws witness the struggles I go through as a fairly inexperienced mom, challenge my methods, question my hard-learned medical knowledge, and give advice when I didn't ask for any, but for the sake of harmony (and after a lot of persuasion and consolation from my husband), I, by God's grace, let them. I have had to learn to argue diplomatically and disagree tactfully as well as to eat humble pie whenever I was proven wrong. I have also had to learn to share Sophie's affections with her grandparents. Likewise, my parents-in-law work very hard to make home home for us. They help us out with Sophie. My father-in-law kindly irons our clothes every evening. My mother-in-law does a lot of housework - and even welcomes my sister into our home whenever she comes to Penang. They never complain. It is mercifully an environment of long-suffering, all-enduring, all-hoping love that finds its expression through actions, bearing with one another, and bearing one another's burdens. I believe that Sophie has been taking notes.

Hospitality is also in Sophie's daily routine by virtue of my in-laws' generosity, lifestyle, and neighbourhood.

Neighbours, relatives, and my in-laws' friends drop by their home once in a while to say hi, goo-gah over Sophie, and perhaps, leave a present or two. My mother-in-law invites them in and Sophie looks on while the adults chat and laugh. And show one another kindness. Like offering the other tea, buying the other lunch, or brown bagging saved up leftovers for one's pet dogs.

MIL takes Sophie for walks around the neighbourhood every morning. They say hi to neighbours, the janitors, gardeners, and etc. Sophie looks on while her grandma smiles at them and relates to them for who they are - equally beloved of God - rather than for what they look like, the kind of work they do, the kind of language they speak, and their skin colour. I think it is thanks to such meet-and-greets that Sophie warms toward especially the elderly - and never fails to smile whenever somebody's grandpa or grandma steps into the same elevator or passes her on the street.

FIL and MIL occasionally take Sophie out to the market or hawker centres, where they interact with lots of people. And talk about vegetables.

We often bring Sophie to the community playground in the evenings, where she learns to greet strangers (and their kids) and take turns to play on the slides, swings, and etc.

There you go.

We are cultivating a heart for hospitality in Sophie together - and it doesn't have to be as hard as I thought.

God has His ways of making our inadequacies adequate - if we let Him.