Love of One's Parents

One of my friends just told me about this winning entry of the 2004 Commonwealth Essay Competition. "What The Modern Woman Wants", by a 15-year old RGS girl, Amanda Chong, then.

She topped the 16-18-year-old category for the annual literary award, by submitting a short story in a higher age category as a personal challenge to compete with writers older than herself. The story focuses on the generational conflict of values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter.

Amanda said, "The message I wanted to convey was that one should not forsake their roots for the sake of success and that what our society holds important today are fleeting and ephemeral. I felt sad that modern society conditions us to believe that we can find happiness in material wealth. The story was more a hypothetical situation instead of a real life scenario or autobiography. Through my story, I attempted to convey the unique East-versus-West struggles and generation gaps that I felt were characteristic of young people in my country. I wanted to give a sense of my own identity and culture."

I vaguely recalled reading her short story in the local papers back in 2004. I was touched by the writing and the maturity of the girl though I could relate to anything within my own personal experience. As time went by, I forgot about it.

However this time round, when my friend forwarded Amanda's story to me, the message of the short story really hits home. It amazes me now as how a girl at the tender age of 15 has the maturity to write a piece like this. After the past one year of pain, anguish and anxiety on our elderly and amputee mom's caregiving sharing issue among my siblings, I read her story not once but 2 to 3 times to have her story sink in.

What is even more astonishing is that the story is fictional and she said that it is not a real life scenario or an autobiography.

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What The Modern Woman Wants
By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen

The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap, afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with trembling hands she pulled the seatbelt tighter but was careful not to touch the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'

Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand. 'Finance' 'Liquidation' 'Assets' 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it. Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television. She was speaking in an American accent.

The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval. 'I absolutely cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping onto the steering wheel in irritation.

'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the back seat. The mobile phone hit the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.

'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America. There have been a lot of problems.' The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and important.

Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the same cryptic look.

The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful digital tune, which broke the awkward silence. 'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones being easily forgotten.

'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.'

Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence meant she did not comprehend.

'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks! 'The old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in defence. The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall.

Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's side.

'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,' she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.

The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.

Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook.

Her love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man. Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she says. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her roots while reaping the harvest of success.

What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me only because I affect her happiness. A young woman does not want to be hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.

The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss stick into an urn of smouldering ashes.

She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.

Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb, bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a girl. Her husband had kicked and punched her for producing a useless baby who could not work or carry the family name.

Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have everything she ever wanted. Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never have to depend on a man.

She prayed every day that her daughter would be a great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to speak, precious pearls would fallout and men would listen.

She will not be like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood. She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl, to one who openly defied her, calling her laotu; old-fashioned. She wanted her mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.

Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered why she had prayed like that. The gods had been faithful to her persistent prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the girl's roots and now she stood, faceless, with no identity, bound to the soil of her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes.

Her daughter had forgotten her mother's values. Her wants were so ephemeral; that of a modern woman. Power, Wealth, access to the best fashion boutiques, and yet her daughter had not found true happiness. The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less. When her daughter left the earth everything she had would count for nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman, but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt paper convertibles and mansions.

The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes and prayers for her daughter; now she had only one want: That her daughter be happy. She looked out of the temple gate. She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one way to go from there -down.

The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she was enslaved to and worshipped every day of her life.

Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty soulless shell at the altar.

The old lady watched her joss tick. The dull heat had left a teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing. Modern woman nowadays, the old lady sighed in resignation, as she bowed to the east one final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays want so much that they lose their souls and wonder why they cannot find it.

Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched on her daughter's face. An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of her wants looking for the one thing that would sow the seeds of happiness.

They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove along the highway, this time not as fast as she had done before.

'Ma,' Bee Choo finally said. 'I don't know how to put this. Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer willing to pay seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road. Once we move in to our apartment we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have more space to ourselves...

'The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. 'We'd get someone to come into do the housework and we can eat out - but once the maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully lonely at home and, besides that, the apartment is rather small. There won't be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang - it's a Christian home, a very nice one.

'The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. 'I've been there, the matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of old people to keep you company! I hardly have time for you, you'd be happier there.'

'You'd be happier there, really.' Her daughter repeated as if to affirm herself. This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offerings to cling tightly to; she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag,and her fingers trace the white seat.

'Ma?' her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her mother. 'Is everything okay?' What had to be done, had to be done. 'Yes,' she said firmly, louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more quietly.

'It's for you, Ma! You'll be happier there. You can move there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.

'I knew everything would be fine.'

Elaine smiled widely; she felt liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever wanted; Money, Status, Career, Love, Power and now, Freedom, without her mother and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down...

Yes, she was free. Her phone buzzed urgently, she picked it up and read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. 'Stocks 10% increase!'

Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her... And while searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen, the old woman in the backseat became invisible, and she did not see the tears.

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Peru-Bolivia Trip - Day 1 - Transit in HK en route to Los Angeles

This vacation to Peru and Bolivia is getting to be exciting as we never what will happen next.

This morning, on the way to Changi airport, I learnt over the radio that WHO has raised the level of pandemic alert from 4 to 5 ie widespread human infection.

One of our group members had cancelled her vacation plan. I was surprised to see her send us off at the airport.

We left Singapore for Los Angeles on a CX flight. We were informed before landing in HK that the HK government requires all passengers disembarking in HK to submit a health check form.

What a time to go on a vacation! We will be going to one of the pandemic hot spots - California, US though there are no reported cases in LA. There are cases in San Diego and Imperial County. Both are close to the Mexican border.

Exciting, isn't it?

Facebook and My Generation

I am a newbie on Facebook.

I am still not used to the idea of penning one's thoughts in Facebook for my friends or a blog for all Netizens to read. I guess I am not the only one in my generation who feels that way.

In an article, "Hey You, I'm Older - And Blogging Too" on Mar 11 2009 my paper on page A2, it is reported that blogs and social-networking sites are no longer the domain of young digital natives and that the biggest growth of Facebook users was among those aged 35 to 49 - an increase of 24.1 million in a year! This is from a Nielsen global study.

Facebook has replaced MySpace as the world's most popular social network with 108.3 million visitors last year. It is reported that between Dec 2007 and Dec 2008, there were twice as many people aged 50 to 64 visiting Facebook than those below 18.

On pg A7 in a related article - 'Over-35s storm Facebook', Debbie Swee from IDC is quoted as saying, "Older users tend not to log in as often, compared to younger ones. They use fewer applications, have less substantial profiles and have fewer online friends. Their life doesn't revolve as much as younger people's do around social-networking sites."

It is also mentioned that 'Keeping in touch with old friends and professional networking are the main motivations for using social-networking sites.'

This is exactly what I intend to do with my Facebook profile. It really amazes me that I managed to connect to 10 of my ex-colleagues in my previous job and all within a span of 1 day!

I agree with Facebook user and academic associate Andy Low, 39, who said, "At this point in my life, it's important to catch up with old friends who I have lost touch with.

When I created my Facebook profile, my idea was to get in touch with friends that one has lost touch with and it is proven that it works. I am glad to be able to contact any one of those ex-colleagues of mine from my previous life.

There was something else that spurred me on to do more on Facebook.

On the same day, Mar 11 2009, there was another article in The Straits Times on 'Stranded in rural China, she turns to Facebook - Robbery victim gets aid from online friends', it dawns on me that, in this new era of ours, it might be better to inform your friends in Facebook when you are in trouble in a strange place.

So with all the above, I think there are reasons for my generation to embrace this social-networking phenomena. We may not have the guts like the younger generations do in telling our friends our daily lives but I sure think it is a good way to keep in touch both with our friends and also the younger generations.



References -

my paper Mar 11 2009 issue:
URL - http://myepaper.mypaper.sg/ebook/web_php/fvbrowserjs.php?urljs=http://myepaper.mypaper.sg/ecreator/sphopf/ep110309cnd_opf_files/ep110309cnd.js&ver=Gen

The Straits Times Mar 11 2009 issue:
URL - http://www.straitstimes.com/vgn-ext-templating/v/index.jsp?vgnextoid=0829403cd71ff110VgnVCM100000430a0a0aRCRD&vgnextchannel=cf70758920e39010VgnVCM1000000a35010aRCRD

Hidden Gem of A Movie - 2004's 'Hotel Rwanda'

I had this DVD for a long, long time and I am glad that I finally watched it last evening.

The story revolves around a hotel manager who saved 1,268 civilians from the Rwandan genocide in 1994. The Rwandan genocide claimed the lives of 500,000 people in 100 days. If you are like me, I could just vaguely recall reading in the papers during that time about the inhumane killing of Tutsis by the Hutus.



It is of interest that there was a remark in the movie that the West was not as keen to help in the genocide besides evacuation of their own nationals as it did not affect share prices or help politicians to gain more votes. I am as guilty as the West is as Africa's politics and economy do not have a significant impact on Singapore.

What makes it truly inspirational is that it is a true story of this man, Paul Rusesabagina. He was an ordinary man who summoned extraordinary courage to save the lives of others. He currently lives in Belgium with his wife, children, and two adopted nieces.

Paul Rusesabagina said in a lecture that the film was "less violent" than the actual genocide, claiming that "you couldn't invite someone to watch the real thing."



'Slumdog Millionaire' is a feel-good but fictitious story of hope. 'Hotel Rwanda' is real and it is nice to know that there are still good and selfless people in this materialistic world of ours.

For background reading, go to Wiki -
(1) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hotel_Rwanda - After watching, might want to read the Accuracy section.
(2) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Rusesabagina
(3) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rwandan_Genocide

P/S - It continues to be one of the most-rented films on services such as Netflix, and is listed by the American Film Institute as one of the 100 most inspirational movies of all time.