Swinging with Time

1 Dec 2025

Swinging gently under a beautiful tree on Penang Lane. (20 Nov 2025)

Being somewhat ritualistic about the passage of Time, I try to do something different to mark the start or beginning of a month, and other significant days.

In my working days, I used to mark the beginning of each school holiday by visiting the Kwan Imm Temple in Middle Rd with my mom, followed by shopping.

My Mom making water offering to Lord Ganesha in one of our outings.

On each payday, the first item I bought would be meatballs for my dog, Shoya.

My dog, Shoya in our old place. I used to be able to take him for long walks. He passed on in 2014 at age 15. He loved meatballs & dimsum.

For a number of Decembers past, I would ride Bus 143 with my mom from Jurong East all the way to Toa Payoh & back, just to see the Christmas Lights! 😄

Over the years I find myself becoming less critical of the designs of our festive lightings.

When I stopped benchmarking our Christmas lightings against that of other countries’ I started to notice the smiling locals, migrant workers & tourists posing under them.

Wefie below Christmas Lights along 313 Somerset Rd this year.

Towards the eves of New Year & Christmas, I would catch up with feeders of street animals I had befriended. It was my way of thanking them for doing on a daily basis what I couldn’t.

As I age & our city gets more crowded, some of the activities mentioned above require more effort & planning.

And because I no longer have the stamina to walk under the Christmas Lights from Tanglin Mall to Plaza Singapura, any corner that shines now gives me immense joy. 🙏🙂

Any corner that shines gives me immense joy.

As we welcome the final month of 2025, may we swing along with Time & accept what cannot be changed, to make way for the guidance ahead. ♥️

Facing our Mountain

10-11-25

“You were not born to be perfect.

You were not born to be happy all of the time.

But if you commit yourself each day to doing the work of being fully human and feeling even when you are afraid, you can transcend in a way that is truly beautiful.” – “The Mountain is You,” by Brianna Wiest.

I think when we allow ourselves to be sad over the inevitables, and give thanks for what used to be, we can find some sort of peace with the present.

Grace Across Time & Space.

10-10-25

A loose screw that causes great distress.

Two days ago a screw from my brace (Knee-Ankle-Foot Orthotics) came loose. I didn’t realise it till the metal bars came apart & grazed my skin.

I panicked. Without the brace, walking is painful. I panicked because my brace was customised overseas. The company that handled my case has since changed hands. Any replacement parts if they still exist will take time to source & order.

Meanwhile, a trip downstairs to retrace my steps & see if I could locate the lost screw was urgently needed.

But I couldn’t do so with a broken brace.

In my anxiety, a memory from years ago of an unkempt but cheerful man outside the Ganesh temple along Keong Siak Road floated up in my mind like a movie.

Sri Layan Sithi Vinayagar Temple. (Keong Siak Rd, Singapore)

Even though the man didn’t look like he was all there, he had the sense to hold up his oversized pants by passing a rafia string through the belt loops around his waist.

Palms together, the homeless looking person would greet just about anyone passing by or entering the temple dedicated to Ganesh, the elephant-headed deity of Wisdom & Resourcefulness.

Inspired by the memory of his resourcefulness, I lost my fear. As calm descended, a space in me opened up to see if cable ties could hold up my brace.

And the ties worked!

With my brace secured by these plastic wonders, I painlessly & confidently sallied forth & found the missing screw lying on the walkway down my block.

I now have 2 pieces of cable ties in my wallet, just in case. And it humbles me deeply to see that a vagabond is also a channel of divine guidance. 🙏

The memory of the vagabond’s resourcefulness led me to these plastic miracles.

Once Ganesh encountered a snake about to strike him. He picked it up & turned the snake into a belt by tying it around his waist, turning an adversary into an accessory. 😄

远方的乡愁 (Homesickness)

13 March 2025

How could you miss a place you hadn’t visited? I could. Through my grandmother.

My cat, Oliver, on map of Kinmen Island.

My grandmother was born in city of Houpu on Kinmen Island in 1914. It was 3 years after the fall of the Ching Dynasty and the start of World War 1.

When she was 7 years old, turbulent times forced her to leave Kinmen for Singapore. She never set foot on her birth place nor saw her parents ever again.

This yearning for Kinmen would manifest in the constant repetition of her family name, her language group, her city of birth, and in her cooking & aesthetics.

In 2019, when I arrived in Kinmen for the first time and saw her family name written in gold characters, I felt a surge of awe! So this is the character that my grandma was so concerned about throughout her whole life!

An ancestral shrine bearing the family name of my grandmother.

She taught me how her family name, 翁 “ongg” should be pronounced using the first tone in Kinmen language. It was not to be mistaken for 王 “ong” which was using the second tone.

My grandmother was the only person I know who had nostalgic feelings for words.

When I walked the lanes of her birth place, I felt a sense of homecoming & reunion on her behalf. The red lanterns hanging about bearing the city’s name “后浦” may appear ordinary to the locals & tourists. But for me who had heard my grandmother speak it for years, I finally understood 后浦 is real, and not a figment of an old woman’s imagination.

Houpu, my grandmother’s beloved city of birth.

My grandma could have passed by & even touched this ancient tree in her birth city.

Outside a temple where an ancient banyan tree of more than a 100 years old stood, I touched its trunk reverently. My grandmother could have touched the same tree too.

Apart from words, my grandmother also kept Kinmen alive through her cooking. Her spring rolls, longevity noodles面线, glutinous rice油饭, leek 大蒜& yam dishes were quintessentially Kinmenese.

Strands of noodles swaying in the Kinmen breeze & sun taught me why my grandmother was ever so joyful when she cooked bowls of “mee sua” for us. The ever delicate longevity noodles was probably one of her few tangible links to memories of her Kinmen home.

My grandma always cooked “Mee Sua” or longevity noodles with joy.

In the news the narratives surrounding Kinmen Island tend to focus on geopolitical issues & what Kinmen can offer in terms of enjoyment & entertainment. But for folks like me, this little island has done more than its share of giving, sheltering & loving. It now deserves to be revered, cherished & protected.

I’m honoured to have visited this magical island that my grandmother pined for till her demise. I wish Kinmen everlasting peace & prosperity for the benefit of everyone, regardless of their beliefs.

Soaring Sunday

27-10-24

This morning before it got too hot, we headed to the Jurong Lake to practise walking in my new boots.

To motivate me, my friend brought coffee and yutiao (fried dough fritters) from Bt Panjang market.

The sturdy boardwalk supported our feet as we strolled. Below us the green water stretched on endlessly. Above us, white wispy clouds spread across the blue sky like tracks left behind by wind horses.

We glanced guiltily at joggers passing by before taking a bite of the deep fried delight of our childhood. 😄

As we savoured our simple breakfast, we were treated to a display of aerial prowess by the brief appearance of, I believed to be either a white bellied sea eagle or a brahminy kite.

The wingspan was spectacular to behold, and as if telling me, “Be not dismayed you earth bound creature of flawed feet. Your wings are in your mind.”

Here’s wishing all a calming close to October and light footed grace to November. 🙏

Eat My Heart Out! My friend said next visit we’ll bring table mats and have a banquet of ordibary food.

Braced for Grace

22-10-24

Learning to walk with a leg brace and going outside on my own for the first time in 45 years. (28-9-24)

“To brace” can mean preparing oneself for challenges ahead. “Brace” as a noun refers to any supportive or strengthening device.

The leg braces (aka calipers) of my childhood were instruments of mental & physical torture.

At 7 years old with my brace on & standing next to our form teacher under the Acacia Tree. (1971)

During primary school days, besides bracing myself for taunts about my leg, there was also the nightly ritual of treating open wounds caused by skin chaffing against metal. Wondering what new injuries would befall me the next day was often my bedtime thoughts.

So at 15, when the doctor gave me permission to walk braceless, I was just so relieved. My dad wouldn’t need to keep spending money on brace & shoes. The abrasions could finally stop & I could bend my knee when seated. I might also be able blend in with the normal girls!

However, 45 years later and a month ago, I finally surrendered to hyperextended knee pains & had to start using a leg brace all over again.

From childhood torture to old age grace.

I was meant to take a week or two to practise walking with the clunky but necessary contraption. However pain forced me to make peace with my brace in 2 days.

On the 3rd day, I had my first trip out with what my yoga teacher described as, “the leg I never had.” A friend offered to send her driver to ease my journey to tuition, but I asked her to send me her prayers instead. ♥️

And true enough, her potent conjuring would raise a kind hearted grab driver to boost my confidence.

When we arrived, the superfit senior in his late 60s escorted me from car to curb and pavement with the elegance of a dancer & the calmness of a sage. 🙏

My current leg brace allows me to bend my knee when at rest, and reduces knee hyperextension. It has also made my handicap more visible.

Neighbours, students and sometimes even strangers looking at my brace will start telling me about their own pain struggles & even remedies. The corrective device that used to be an object of mockery has now become a conversation starter.

Voices soften & eyes turn gentle as we share notes on our collective pains.

Perhaps the brace that draws attention to my deformity has also given a concrete form to the hidden hurts of others, & the permission to speak what they think nobody will understand.

And in our shared narratives of coping without attributing blame or pity, the grace of acceptance follows. 🪔

My need for shoes with specific features to accommodate my limp gives me anxiety about finding replacement. Recently another act of grace was bestowed on me when El, a former student, gifted me this new pair that works too. (18-10-24)

Tender Thursday: Acceptance

11-7-24

Between the ages of 7 & 15, a big portion of my dad’s pay went to getting my surgical shoes & aluminium calipers.

I contracted childhood poliomyelitis when I was 10 months old. It left me with a permanent limp on my left leg.

Money was tight, but not once did he complain about how I was depleting resources.

When it was time to be in school & mix with clean limbed kids, my dad reminded me that because I walked differently from them, I would never be able to match their speed. Therefore I had to accept my slowness & not compare myself with others.

My Primary One class photo under the Acacia Tree where I spent many happy hours watching my friends play.

He was a pragmatic parent who knew kids at that age crave to belong. Recess time games could be cruel on a child with limited mobility.

When I got older, he also specified that I had to earn my keep by developing real skills & not expect others to foot my bills. I guess it was his clumsy way of telling me not to expect a man to take care of me.

I took my dad’s advice seriously and studied to become a teacher of English.

Although I didn’t like what my dad said at that time, his words have kept me from a lifetime of feeling sorry for myself.

Customised shoes & insoles to ease the strain of imbalance gait.

Although I couldn’t run around like my friends, I became a keen observor of body language by watching their playground antics, triumphs & defeats.

Although I can’t keep pace with many activities these days, there is no panic.

My dad might have known early on that regardless of what he could give me, I still had to face the world by myself & walk my own path.

So he taught me acceptance, which is the beginning to tenderness & freedom from attributing blame or seeking compensation.

Frida Wannabe

21-6-24 (Summer Solstice)

In my world, there can never be too much sweetness or too many flowers.

I share two traits with Mexican painter, Frida Kahlo. We both contracted childhood polio and we both hated our affected legs. Frida covered her right leg by wearing long skirts, while I cover my left leg by wearing flowers.

Frida painted flowers so that they would not die. I wear flowers because they help me face life.

Whether to live just for a day or a week, Flowers remind me to bloom my best. Whether admired or mocked, Flowers say we gotta look fabulous!

Although her paintings were not exhibited, her energies were carried in the richness of her colours.

At the lotus shaped Art Science Museum, my 2 companions in their Sweet Seventies put me on a wheel chair and rolled me around to see Frida’s life. 😄🙏

My Sweet Seniors who may have seen it all, but everything is new to them.

May the thought of this senior Frida Wannabe and her friends chortling away while awashed in every Frida colour imaginable, bring a smile to bloom like a flower on you.

Happy Summer Solstice to All Sentient Beings. 🙏

Fathers’ Presence

16-6-24 (Father’s Day)

Around my 60th birthday I dreamt of my dad. In the dream he was working in a garden when I approached him. I showed him a dog I was cradling in my arms. He smiled approvingly.

Dad and me in my 30s at Westlake Restaurant in Farrer Rd.

In my childhood my dad taught me to pick up chicks, ducklings and rabbits gently so as not to hurt them. My maternal grandfather taught me to hold my fountain pen steadily & with just enough pressure when I’m writing to protect the nib.

With Shoya in early 2000s at our old home.

As I get older, these childhood experiences guide me to handle what I love, be it an object or a living being, with a light touch, so that I don’t spoil them & they don’t possess me.

In the dream it started to drizzle and the sky was darkening. I got into my dad’s truck so he could send me home. The dog in my arm started to whimper when the truck rumbled.

We decided it was best that I walked. As I started walking, dogs from all corners starting appearing & wagging their tails at me.

I turned around excitedly to look back at my dad to check if he had seen them too.

He nodded to show he did. Then he waved me onwards like he used to whenever I visited & it was time to leave. Only this time he wasn’t waving me towards the elevator, but onto a brightly lighted gravel path.

I think our fathers are always with us. 😊

Stepping into Clarity

5 March 2024

“Be as kind to yourself as you are compassionate to others.” -Teaching 1.1.1 of Sacred Feet Yoga Teachings

For 40 odd years I bore a grudge against my dad over the way he treated my grandmother during one of her clinic visits.

In my teenage years, wheelchairs were not a regular sight like they are in Singapore now. To spare her some walking, my dad borrowed a pick up truck to take my grandmother for her treatment. And as if the logistical challenge was not enough, the clinic was on the second floor of a shophouse.

The shophouse stairs were narrow, and could only accommodate one user safely at a time.

When her clinic visit was over, my dad & I waited at the bottom of the stairs for my grandmother.

The concrete stairs that my grandma had to descend looked somewhat in terms of width & steepness like these wooden steps. (Chiangmai, 2014)

I could see my grandmother on top of the stairs struggling to put one foot down after the other while holding on to the hand support for dear life. My dad started yelling at her to hurry up.

Maybe because of high blood pressure & weak legs, the descent was hard for her. The narrow and steep steps might have also affected her vision and threatened her sense of balance.

Yet despite knowing my grandmother’s situation, I was too scared of my dad’s temper to ask him to quit stressing her.

She did finally made it down the stairs safely. Since then, I have a love-hate regard for steep stairs for they link me to her but in an unpleasant one.

And whenever I thought of my dad’s impatience towards her, I got angry with him. But most of all, I was angrier with me for not standing up for my grandma.

Recently at the hospital I witnessed a similar child-parent altercation. This time there was a wheelchair for the elderly father. But the adult son was either upset that they had missed their queue number or the consultation hadn’t taken place at the appointed time.

“You think I don’t have to work, is it?” He yelled, while the medical officer tried to placate the situation.

Like my dad, this man in work uniform must have taken leave to accompany his parent. And maybe like my dad, he might have also borrowed a vehicle for the purpose. And the above stressors would explain how concern for an infirmed parent can easily turn into resentment & harsh words when caregiving duty clashes with keeping a job.

Witnessing the son’s outburst helped me see my dad’s struggle for the first time after so many years.

This realisation may have come a little late, but it feels as if my dad wants me to know that I don’t have to feel angry with him or myself anymore, and there are no more obstacles for my grandma to clear. 😊🙏