Today is the birthday of a deity in the female form called 妈祖, pronounced as Ma Zu.
Ma Zu is the Mother Goddess that watches over oceans & seas, and is highly revered by fishermen and all who make their living by water. In Taiwan and Kinmen Island, shrines and temples are dedicated to her as she grants seafaring safety and plentiful harvest.
Last year we visited a Ma Zu shrine on Kinmen Island that was about 600 year old.
This morning I brought clean water and cat kibbles downstairs for the block cat, Aquarius. I dedicated that feeding to the Mother Goddess Ma Zu since it is her birthday.
As Aquarius was slurping up her water and eating her kibbles, a voice in my head repeated, “Feed others as you are fed.”
I didn’t think too much of it as I was more concerned with the cat getting her sustenance and me not seen by anyone to be lingering longer than necessary. I had my mask on and identity card with me in the event that my presence raised question during this semi-lockdown.
A short while after I got back from feeding the cat I would receive food gifts of biscuits, bananas, mango and even a coconut!
Gifts from Ma Zu, courtesy of a friend who dropped them off today.
For that one meal I gave to a cat, I was given more than enough to last me a few meals.
Unsought mercies like this helps me to give, while fighting off the urge to hold & grab.
I also read that Ma Zu was the deification of a young girl who protected her village with her life.
And perhaps during difficult times as we learn to protect and care, instead of destroy & blame, each one of us is potentially a goddess or a god in the making. 🙏♥️
This is Day 7 of the semi-lockdown in Singapore in response to Covid-19 and the 6th day of my cat, Grace’s passing.
This morning on a piece of blue bandana I assembled some of the items that have supported Grace in the past few months as her health deteriorated.
Nebulizer kit for breathing, syringe for hydration and flower essences to comfort.
The nebuliser kit that helped to unblock her nasal congestion so that she could breathe, the eye drops that moisturized her eyes so that she could blink comfortably and the syringe that delivered liquid to her mouth to quench her thirst were duly thanked as I visualised the Medicine Buddha through the fire of a blue butter lamp.
Her little turtle neck of blue & white argyle that protected her from chills and cushioned her as she lay in her cat condo on days she needed to rest was also blessed.
There were other important containers such as her stainless steel water bowl that had to be of a certain weight and depth so that it wouldn’t topple over when she accidentally walked into it and the carrier that served as a nebuliser chamber.
Then there were the flower essences and comforting oils that calmed both of us down as her end drew near.
Every birth has an end. And every end is an invitation to practise grace.
My cat has given me 13 years’ worth of lesson on grace, the quality from which all good springs from.
On the night of her passing, when it was evident that all the external tools were no longer required, I recited “Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi Soha,” to help her to cross to the other shore.
And today, by looking at the tools that facilitated her exit with gratitude and affection instead of dread and fear, I hope this little ritual will invoke grace to come & stabilise the hearts of all healthcare professionals and we who are now learning to walk in the shadow of Covid-19.
This week little pink buds in clusters of fours are appearing quietly on the palm sized plant that I received during the lunar new year this January.
“Clusters” has taken on an ominous tone these days, so I hope seeing clusters of flowers helps to provide some balance.
3 days ago the super pink moon graced the night sky even as residents in Singapore retreated indoors to avoid Covid-19.
And on that full moon night among the pink buds and under the pink moon, I sat up with Grace, my 13-year-old cat.
She had suffered rat glue trapping in her kittenhood while living on the streets of Little India and endured spaying and dental surgeries after her rescue. Now in her old age she had to battle blindness and ill-health.
Her life hadn’t been great in the normal sense, but she was loved, treated for her discomforts and had outlived the vet’s projection of her life span by 11 years.
After a final drink of honey water to quench her thirst and in anticipation of a sweet rebirth, eye drops on her eyes to regain her sight in the life to come, and a brief cuddle, Grace left her body without struggle.
The stars were sparkling that night as I lit a butter lamp to give thanks for her easy passing and to guide her home. 善终 meaning a peaceful death is one of the 5 blessings (五福）
Yesterday on Maundy Thursday, Grace’s ashes came back to me in a small porcelain urn.
Amidst the restrictions of physical movements, sufferings of loss and shortages of tangible goods, I hope that acceptance of whatever we’re facing will also allow compassion to flow, so that our heart can expand a little & we can breathe a bit easier, even as our body retreats temporarily from the outside world.
As covid-19 brings the world to a standstill, First Tutee is developing an interest in books because he spends more time at home these days.
Having zero access to television, limited exposure to social media, and supervised play, print media seems to appeal to him.
The other day he asked me why I gave away my collection of books by Roald Dahl and didn’t save any for him. I told him he wasn’t even born when I did that.
He was quiet for a while. Then he asked if I could let him know first before giving away any books from now on.
I pointed out that he hadn’t even started reading the book I got him from Nepal. It was called “Namastay.”
In “The Zoo Keeper’s Wife” by Diane Ackerman, there was a very disturbing account of nazi soldiers coming into a small zoo and shooting the animals one by one in their cages.
The zoo keeper’s wife, fearful for her own life as well, couldn’t do much to save the animals that she and her husband had lovingly tended to over the years.
As gun shots rang painfully outside their living quarters, the zoo keeper’s wife could only hold her young son close, and read to him to prevent him from asking questions about his animal friends being used for target practice.
This contrast of unspeakable violence by uniformed youth of supposedly superior stock against a mother reading to her child to protect him from life’s incomprehensible heartbreaks remains for me a very potent symbol of how at our most vulnerable moments, we seek refuge in words.
Perhaps First Tutee, and many children the world over will find life’s many unexplained questions in books as they wisely stay home to let the virus passover, while adults outside continue to bicker and blame like tempestuous toddlers.
As a young girl with my own goggled grandpa on his birthday.
On the recent New Moon, Ron & I chatted outside the supermarket while El popped in to get my groceries.
We were exchanging news & thoughts about the covid-19 situation at home and abroad.
An old man who was seated near us became unusually interested in our conversation. At the mere mention of the word, “lockdown,” he sat straight up from his crumpled position and peered at us from behind spectacles too big for his wizened face. Just to be sure, I used the word a couple more times, and he did the same.
So he might have heard bits of our exchange that sounded like this, “Lockdown…blah blah blah…food supplies…blah blah blah…quarantine… infections…lockdown …blah blah blah.”
If I was even remotely right about what Goggled Grandpa was hearing, what a frightening world it must be for him!
His thick glasses coupled with his sunken cheeks and the birdlike way in which he titled his head to “eavesdrop” was both pitiful & endearing.
I decided to stop talking so as not to confuse or scare him.
I’m a goggled auntie myself now.
Now & then at supermarkets elderly folks ask me to read out the small prints on the price tags of cling wrapped groceries for them. $3.25 & $32.5 are too challenging for old eyes.
Sometimes at the pharmacy I see the hesitation and even unease, in the eyes of older folks reading & comparing details on bottles of supplements they are thinking of buying. Most likely they are struggling with pre-existing medical issues and have come to the pharmacy because someone has told them such-and-such superfoods can help them or even cure them of their ailments.
I used to ask where are their children when I see old folks managing on their own. But getting on in years myself, I also realise this kind of isolation may not be for lack of physical companionship or care, but is brought on by the gradual & inevitable deterioration of one’s own 5 senses.
When our eye sight fails we don’t trust what we see. So what if there’s someone who loves me standing right next to me?
When our hearing wanes, we’re unable to participate fully in conversations or worst still, we listen selectively and mix up our own mangled narratives with that of others. So what if I’m guaranteed a place at gatherings?
When our gustatory and olfactory faculties weaken, we may need more than permissible doses of flavorings to entice us to eat. So what if a 10 course feast is placed before me?
Perhaps these are what make aging so frightening, because no amount of external support can compensate for the loss which is internal.
My grandpa (left) had taken care of this temple at Leng Kee Rd from the time he stopped pig rearing to the end of his life.
This morning I recalled my grandpa silently going about tidying the temple altars, folding up paper offerings with his arthritic fingers and making sure the temple cats had been fed before he locked up for the night.
I realised in the end no matter how popular or powerful we are, it’s just us and our personal memories, thoughts and practices that will keep us company and grant us some peace in the midst of all that fluidity.
Maybe the current situation of physical isolation through quarantine and stay home notices can help us to accept our own company first, and make peace with who we really are. Only then we can purify our fears of Covid-19 lockdown and rehearse for the ultimate lockdown that awaits every single living being when it happens.
In 1964, I spent 3 months in one of the buildings in the CDC at Moulmein Rd. I was 10 month old.
Physical isolation was imposed on me at babyhood. Two months before I turned one year old, I contracted poliomyelitis. What followed was a 3 month hospitalization at the Centre for Communicable Diseases in Moulmein Road.
My young dad at 27 years old was devastated by the thought of his baby girl crying alone in a ward full of similarly afflicted older children under quarantine care.
The Black Lion emblem of the CDC. A lion lives in a pride but each individual has separate destinies.
During his era, hospital compound wasn’t so secure like it is these days. He was thus able to sneak in and watch me from a distance through a window. Everyday.
When I got better, visitors were still not allowed. But he somehow managed to drop by to feed me grapes by throwing them through the window like I was in a zoo! 😄
It was the only way a labourer knew how to comfort his 10month old child.
Of course he was duly chastised by the ward nurses each time for his illegal feeding acts. But my dad’s love was beyond logic and gave him the ability to tolerate all kinds of hardship & humiliation. He would often eat just a slice of fried sweet potato for lunch so that he could save up for the bus fare that would take him from our village in Zion Road to Moulmein Rd. Somedays he had to walk.
When he was finally allowed to visit me, he quickly found out who were the kids closest to my bed. Among the young recovering patients, there was a teenage caucasian girl who was very kind.
Despite the language barrier, my dad somehow was able to make her understand that if she could comfort me when I cried, he would get her gifts.
So my dad saved up even more and bought my Caucasian Angel snacks each time he visited.
My grandma used to tell me that my Caucasian Angel was on crutches, but she was very beautiful. And she worried who would marry her.
Towards my discharge from the CDC, my dad bought my protector a portable transistor radio which was an expensive gift in the 60s, and especially so for someone in my dad’s economic situation. But my dad knew he would never be able to pay her enough for those months of companionship she gave me.
So I recovered from poliomyelitis with a limp that would set me apart from others in physical appearance, impose further financial challenges & restrictions on my family in my growing years, and come to dominate all later decisions I would make in my adult life.
I will always be several steps behind others in movement. And this is nowhere more obvious than during fire drill or building lock down exercises. I can never gather in time like able-bodied people at reporting point to mark safe.
One time after the whole school building had been vacated during a fire drill practice, I found myself still struggling down 4 flights of stairs, as the classroom I was teaching in was on the 5th story.
It moved me so much when a young athlete who was training for her SEA Games in sports school at that time came running up the steps to hold my hands so that I needn’t have to walk alone.
Thus unable to alter my speed, I continue to plod on among panic shoppers with their trolleys filled to the brim to face covid-19, while carrying my one daiso shopping bag of groceries that my physical condition has permitted me.
But often in my solo marketing journeys, I meet supermarket staff and even perfect strangers asking if I need help.
Social distancing for now is necessary to break the spread of viral transmission, but my own childhood affliction that has set me permanently apart from others also assures me that being apart doesn’t mean being alone.
And so I wish for all my friends that whatever sets us apart, may we also recognise that with compassion & wisdom we are never truly alone.
May the loss of physical freedom that we face now facilitate the liberation of our spirit & mind, like the way having his little girl under quarantine builds in a young father the qualities of resilience, humility, ingenuity and trust. ♥️ 🙏
My dad in his old age enjoying the company of my dog, Shoya. My dad left in 12 Sept 2009 and Shoya left in 8 Aug 2014. We’re apart now, but always in touch.
Amidst news of city lock downs, overseas travel restrictions and stockpiling frenzy, First Tutee arrived for his weekly English lesson yesterday.
After showing me his spelling list for April, he asked if I would like to see the construction pieces he had brought along.
As it was the March break, I decided to lighten things up a bit and set him some construction challenges.
With those little plastic pieces, he created a series of objects for me: a camera with lens, a hover-board and a tent for outdoor camping which also doubled up as a land vehicle and boat when necessary.
And all that time as he fiddled with the pieces, he was also able to spell most of the new words accurately, by listening carefully to the word pronunciation and recalling previous spelling rules.
He was also able to recite Christina Rossetti’s poem which he had memorised last week while making a camera for me. The delight of mastery on his face when he delivered “Hurt No Living Thing,” fluently was priceless.
Me: Spell “leapt”.
First Tutee: You mean like “grasshopper so light of leap”?
He was making an association with the word on his spelling list with a line from the poem.
I complimented him on his ability to make the connection and emphasized the consonant ending of “leapt” as I repeated the word to him. (The distinction between noun and verb form can wait)
He listened carefully for the consonant ending and added “t” to complete “leapt.” The light of understanding dawning on a boy when things make sense is precious.
First Tutee then asked me to name his final construction. I got him to describe fully & clearly what it could do because my naming would depend on his clarity of delivery.
After listening to his earnest description & demonstration on what the parts could do, I announced in a dramatic voice, “And your creation shall be called, “Aqua Terra!” “Aqua” means water and “Terra” means earth in Latin.”
“Write it down for me! Write it down for me!” First Tutee practically yelled while his eyes’ grew large at my explanation and the unfamiliarity of the new sounds.
When he saw the spelling of “Aqua Terra,” he smiled at them as though he was looking at a baby.
After that he went on to copy out the first 2 stanzas of the poem to be learnt by heart for the week. It was Diane Ackerman’s poem, “School Prayer.”
Copying out a poem encourages him to read and hold the words and phrases in his head before putting them down on paper. This practice trains visual memory and strengthens his psycho-motor skills. It also has a calming effect on him.
And in the calmness of noting down Diane Ackerman’s words, First Tutee shared information on school life and that he’s learning to play “Ode to Joy,” in his violin classes.
Me: Wow! Ode to Joy by Beethoven? It’s also the EU anthem!
First Tutee: Yes! How do you know? My music teacher told me.
I started humming “Ode to Joy,” and he was really impressed & tried to hum along. I told him he can even try to set the poem he has memorised to music. He tried singing “Hurt No Living Thing,” to the tune of “Ode to Joy,” and laughed heartily at his attempts to match words to tune.
“You mean I can also use Rainbow Butterfly song to match the poem?” he clarified, obviously making creative adjustments in his head.
Is he (Bobby Mcferrin) still alive? Can we go see him if he comes to Singapore?” First Tutee asked.
I went on to show him videos of a flash mob orchestra performing “Ode to Joy,” and jazz artist, Bobby Mcferrin singing JS Bach’s Prelude while his audience sang “Ave Maria.”
The 9 year old boy was entranced by the synchronicity & blending of music & voices.
He was very keen to know how people could play musical instruments and sing without looking at their score sheets or lyrics.
His question gave me a chance to extol the virtues of learning by heart.
By committing words, sayings and music scores to memory, we free up space for spontaneity and fun, while training our mind to learn harder things.
When he got home after English lesson, he did not ask for a rest. He went straight for his violin and starting practising “Ode to Joy.”
Later in the evening his granduncle called to say First Tutee would like to play “Ode to Joy,” at Ms Ong’s place in his next English lesson. And yes, he would also learn the first two stanzas of “School Prayer,” by heart.
So even as news of viral infection inundated the media & pictures of frantic stockpiling of physical necessities disturb our sense of security, making time to feed our children’s intellectual & emotional needs could also be as rewarding & essential as having food in our pantry and toilet paper in our storeroom.
This morning First Tutee was reading “Charlotte’s Web.” In a matter of 24 hours, his young brain has been exposed to EB White, Beethoven, Bobby Mcferrin, JS Bach & Diane Ackerman, and perhaps much more learning in the days to come.
Our fears of covid-19 are valid, and we are tempted to hoard food & medical supplies, and even become angry & sad at our helplessness against an invisible threat.
But perhaps we can also try to balance fears with pockets of joy by attending to the needs of others. And sometimes these needs can be as as simple as just showing a child how to hum “Ode to Joy.”
Today is Girls’ Day in Japan. Also known as Hinamatsuri or Dolls’ Day, Japanese families with daughters display dolls and make special dishes to celebrate daughters.
Daughters who study & play.
Since ancient times across cultures, daughters have played pivotal roles in securing the economic survival of families and the political stability of countries, despite not receiving the same respect as sons in many asian households.
There are all kinds of daughters.
Daughters who love animals.
Daughters who study, daughters who dance, daughters who dare, daughters who heal and daughters who work and daughters who are traded to supplement family incomes and so on.
Daughters who represent the nation.
So here’s wishing all human & animal daughters, regardless of contributions & situations, good health, joy and kindness!
Daughters who rescue & heal.
May the female energy be duly honoured so that daughters who smile will bring forth greater abundance, constant creativity and deep healing for all sentient beings.
Selina Lin (林秀惠), founder & owner of La Meme Histories (旧事书坊) gave me my first Taiwanese Tea when I visited her bookshop at Houpu (后浦) city, on Kinmen Island. My grandmother was born there.
Last September, a packet of Taiwanese Tea was given to me at our first meeting with Selina Lin, who keeps a lovely bookshop called 旧事书坊 (La Meme Histories) in the old city of Houpu on Kinmen Island, where my grandmother was born.
Selina bidding me goodbye last September. I was making sure the packet of tea was properly kept. Above me was one of the many red lanterns that had “Houpu” 后浦 written on it. Who knows? My grandma could have walked on the very spot I was standing on.
I didn’t use the tea leaves soon after I got back to Singapore because firstly I didn’t own a tea pot and secondly such a present deserves an occasion.
A few days ago I bought a glass tea pot from IKEA.
Today Krison dropped by my home with tea snacks from Joo Chiat. There were savoury “soon kueh” (turnip & bamboo dumpling) and “png kueh” (glutinous rice dumpling), as well as Malayan sweets of “ondeh ondeh,” “lapis sagu” & “kuih seri muka,” all full of palm sugar and coconut goodness.
Krison boiled water and brewed the Taiwanese Tea, while I got the mostly Daiso crockery ready. I believe Queen Elizabeth 2 would have approved of our old school gestures of tea serving even though her tea & crumpets are served on silverware & Wedgwood china.
Facing the flowers of the red radishes, we savoured our local snacks and sipped the Taiwanese Tea slowly, as our hunger eased while our senses relaxed and came alive from the warmth & aroma of the beverage.
The tea had a sweet milky aftertaste, although no sugar was added to it. It also didn’t turn tart after successive brews or when its temperature dropped.
Then the wind rose, lifting the windhorse prayer flags hanging outside the sparkling windows and scattering tiny petals of pink and white on our “tea set.”
Pink & White 4-petalled blossoms from Red Radish 1 (Revival) & Red Radish 2 (Numen).
It felt like a miniature Hanami (sakura viewing season) moment was taking place right in the living room of a Singapore flat.
At each unit where the windows were left opened by absent owners, the workers doing the block washing used a metal rod to push shut the window panels before they started directing jets of water to remove dust & dirt.
The worker uses a pole to shut windows that had been left opened.
Jets of water to flush out dirt and algae from walls & window panels.
When they reached my unit, my windows were all shut. But still, one of them gestured if I wanted to remove the windhorse prayer flags hanging outside.
I gave the worker a thumbs up so that he could proceed with the cleaning while the prayer flags remained hanging. I could tell he was careful not to direct the jets directly at the windhorses.
I gave him the thumbs up to show that he could carry on.
He cleaned well, leaving the glass surface outside sparkling and the prayer flags dust free, while receiving the windhorse blessings.
Dust came off the prayer flags.
Outside the windows of the cats’ room, the thunderous roar of water upon impact with concrete and glass frightened Hakim and his siblings. They huddled pitifully at the door, wanting to be let out as far away from the strangers outside their windows as possible.
I waited till the workers had moved onto a few units below before I let the cats out to play in the living room to release their stress.
As a compensation for their 2 minute trauma while their windows were being washed, the cats had their early dinner of tuna.
Helmets and some wraps around the face were the protective gear they had on. The nature of their cleaning tasks and the height they are on probably need them to dress as lightly as possible so that they can move easily in the cramped gondola.
Finally a sweet offering was made to give thanks for the workers’ continued safety and good health, as they carry on purifying our living spaces.
May these workers have a sweet life while they go about making ours sweet. 🙏
Thanksgiving Offering of sweets while the blooms of red radish plant adorned Ganesha’s head.Giving thanks for the ones who laboured and took risk in the hot sun and gusty winds to give me sparkling windows, clean walls & dust free prayer flags. May their life be full of sweetness.
Krison boiled water and brewed the Taiwanese Tea, while I got the mostly Daiso crockery ready. I believe Queen Elizabeth 2 would have approved of our old school gestures of tea serving even though her tea & crumpets are served on silverware & Wedgwood china.
Lisa Ong 