6 Sep 2021
Flowers have short life span, yet they have a permanent presence in my heart.
Homemade cards are generally inexpensive to make, but you can’t put a price on the time, thought and details given to turn a piece of blank paper into a gift.
I’ve kept a card which was handmade and carefully wrapped in sandwich bag plastic by its secondary one maker for 19 years. 😊🙏
This year I’m thankful to add a couple more to my collection of children’s handmade cards since the 90s.
1 Sept 2021
This morning for the first time the two warring cats in my home stood very close to each other to receive pats without erupting into a fight. Normally I have to stroke them separately if I don’t want to lose my eyes.
For a few minutes I had one jealous cat purring on each side of my face within striking distance, while I calmly reminded them what good boys they were when they were kittens.
Against his territorial instincts and to my surprise, Oliver even gave a stunned Emmanuel a couple of licks on the forehead! And Emmanuel returned the favour by sniffing him briefly.
Perhaps they remember what it feels like not to be constantly on guard. And maybe they recall the peace that comes with trusting another.
“Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow…” goes the song by Harvey Schmidt & Tom Jones.
This song and “Bavarian Gentians” by DH Lawrence made September my favourite month of the year.
As September begins, may we try to remember all the good that we’ve received, so that we can be promoters of peace even as we’re often enticed to be agents of hostility. 🙏
11 Aug 2021
My Kinmen grandmother loved jasmines, wore black jacquard brocade satin pants on special occasions, and appreciated beautiful things.
She would buy me little trinkets of real gold but told me not to wear pearls because they were made by making oysters cry.
In my adult years, I would always stop by Mikimoto’s pearls whenever I was in Centrepoint but did not buy any. Even without the tears, I found introducing a foreign matter into an oyster on purpose to cultivate a pearl somewhat disrespectful.
Still, I’ve always loved pearls for their milky shimmer, and their association with the Moon. That was how pearl costume jewellery came into my life.
Over the years, these fake pearls of mine have regularly stopped strangers in their track to smile at me and comment how shiny and bright they look.
Some of my pearls are nearly 20 years old, and peeling. Despite their humble origin, I keep them properly as if they belong to the Queen.
When told that the object of their admiration was not the real deal, the pearl admirers’ enthusiasm did not fade.
Perhaps the faces of men & women light up at the the strands around my neck because they can tell that even though my pearls are fake, the love is real.
And I’m reminded of the conversation between the Velveteen Rabbit and the Skin Horse in Margery Williams’ book for children:
“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
4 Aug 2021
I was 9 years old when I wrote my first letter. In Chinese. It was addressed to my dad who was then working in Bali. The letter was full of mundane details of school & home.
And my dad would write back in his beautiful handwriting in bright blue ink.
I didn’t understand everything he wrote, but I could touch his words and feel them by running my fingers over the paper. For my dad wrote with a heavy hand, causing the chinese characters to sit solidly on the faint blue lines of the airmail letter paper.
Was he writing with a BIC ball point pen? Did he pen his thoughts to his daughter during his day off in the workers’ quarters?
And the content of his letter? Equally boring instructions that a primary 3 kid can understand – study hard, listen to your mom & grandma, don’t quarrel with your brother etc.
But my dad also wrote simply about the beauty of paddy fields, the volcanoes, buffalo horn carvings and promises of gifts upon his return.
I believe those words of my father had forever ignited in me a sense of wonderment for peoples & cultures beyond my ethnic group and landscapes outside Singapore.
Even though my dad’s letters were lost years ago to overly zealous spring cleaning, his words of lapis lazuli blue continue to dance in my head till this day.
A few weeks back, my brother showed me a picture of the moth that he had picked up from the floor. He thought the moth’s colours were really unique. I thought they reminded me of our dad’s batik. 😊
Today my dad would have been 83 years old.
Sometimes we remember our elders not for the inheritance or titles they can bestow, but for simpler gifts such as letters or even fabrics that evoke childhood memories of care & innocence.
3 Aug 2021
Divina, the aging shelter cat always perks up when visitor approaches her enclosure.
It doesn’t matter that her fur is unkempt and her whiskers are snotty.
She’ll make an effort to totter from her sleeping space towards anyone that stops by her enclosure without any idea if you’ll still be there by the time she makes the distance to say “hello.”
The life force emanating from this cat’s shrunken frame is unmistakable. It has so far attracted a regular visitor who has a Phd to give her special attention even as he’s charmed and surrounded by many cuter and fatter kitties.
Yesterday Divina’s love for life attracted a professional groomer to drop by.
Moved by her gentle spirit, and encouraged by the glorious morning sunlight, the groomer felt that it was the right time to give the old cat her well deserved spa. Permission from her caregiver was sought and given.
Deftly & decisively, matted knots and dead skins were removed, and dirt filled nails threatening to maim were trimmed.
Shampoo and warm shower followed to wash off all offending residues that had weighed her down. At the sink, I found myself giving thanks to Mother Water.
Back to her enclosure, the ancient cat purred and closed her eyes in dreamy bliss as she was being fluffed & towelled dried.
Yesterday was the Groomer’s day off. And she had chosen to spend a part of her rest & play to serve someone who cannot pay.
I believe with or without the cleaning, Divina’s spirit is pure and loving.
But in the grooming of Divina, I felt we’re in some ways grooming ourselves to be free from impediments & judgements. 🙏
28 July 2021
In my youth, stairs & steps gave me anxiety attacks not just because they were hard to ascend, but also because I was ashamed of how ungraceful I looked when I climbed. It did not help that my campus was built on Kent Ridge which follows the undulating terrain of the landscape.
I used to joke that NUS stood for University of Steps.
Yet, despite my dread for steps and slopes, Providence gave me a job as student assistant in the Central Lending Library I was waiting for my letter of acceptance/rejection from the university.
Each day I would report to the Senior Librarian, Ms Susan at 9am. My job was to manuelly cut and paste selected news articles on A4 papers to be turned into microfilms for archival purposes.
This went on for a few months. By the time I matriculated, I knew every floor and every corner of the library. I even knew which desk by the window received the best natural lighting at different parts of the day.
By the time I became an undergraduate, the senior librarians and deputy directors were familiar faces that evoked feelings of discipline and kindness. They were nothing like the grouchy librarians depicted in movies.
Years after I became a teacher, I paid the staff, Ms Hema and Mrs Lee-Wang a visit to thank them for their powerful and nurturing influence over me. Ms Namazie had retired by then, but it was from her I learnt that a hard boiled egg and some salad made a good lunch.
The Central Lending Library as it was called in my time not only supported me financially, but also emotionally & academically.
In between lectures when I had no one to hang out with, the library was my friend. When lectures ended early and I did not want to go home to face family dramas, the library had me.
And if I liked a particular author that was in my required reading list, I would seek out all his or her other titles and read them obsessively sometimes literally from dawn to dusk.
Each day after the library closed, I would make my way slowly from the administration block to the Pasir Panjang bus stop. The long walk down the tree lined slope gave me time to mull over what I read and rest my eyes.
Some nights when I looked up, I could see the full moon weaving in and out among the tree branches like a shy protector who didn’t want me to know she was there for me.
With or without the pandemic restrictions, my compromised mobility makes me very conscious of where I go and allows me to develop very strong attachments to locations and buildings.
Last week I had a picture taken of me outside the library just like I did as a young girl decades ago.
The time lapse of 39 years being in the same space that has meant so much to me felt as if I was on an overseas trip.
In “Mango Dreams,” the onset of dementia prompted a man to travel over 400km to his childhood home before the disease robs him of his most cherished memories.
Perhaps while waiting for travel restrictions to ease, we could consider visiting local places that have made us who we are and given us the means to travel far.
So here’s wishing all friends the good fortune to arrive at where they started and without having to go too far.
27 July 2021
Today one of my nephews turned 23 years old.
Isaac was 9 and his brother, Ilario was 8, when we visited the Asian Civilisations Museum 14 years ago.
We had gone “On the Nalanda Trail,” exhibition because the spaciousness of museum settings with their gentle lightings have a calming effect on children.
Young as they were, I thought it was good for kids to experience the presence of ancient carvings and texts that have survived the ravages of time and human follies.
When the museum visit came to an end, I asked the boys to strike a pose in front of the mural featuring Budhha with the Dharmachakra hand gesture.
Without missing a beat, the two primary school kids acted out the iconic gesture of their action hero, Ultraman.
It was as if they were trying to align themselves with the Enlightened One by imitating the posture of the most evolved being they knew at that point in their young lives.
Over the years my nephews gain independence. These childhood physical outings have been replaced by adult discussions as they navigate the crossroads in their lives.
Whether they are 9 or 23, our children will always appreciate sensible input from us. And even if we’re not digital savvy, our duty is to remain calm and offer them our presence when they need someone to reflect with on their journeys.
22 July 2021
Don’t wait till you’re dressed to take that picture.
Always be dressed so that you’re ever ready to have your picture taken.
Don’t wait till your house is bigger to welcome guests.
Keep your house simple so it’s eveready to receive people.
Don’t wait till your kids are grown to be obligation free.
Feel free, so that your kids and you can grow together freely.
Don’t wait till you’re successful to be happy.
Feel happy for others when they succeed, so that you’re already successful.
Don’t wait till an award is conferred on you to be valued.
Feel valued so that every thing that you touch becomes an award.
Wishing all my friends the ready power from within to sail through all things.
🙏
21 July 2021
Two days ago on the eve of Hari Raya Haji, I managed to locate the contact number of my chinese calligraphy teacher and expressed my gratitude for his teaching some 17 years ago.
Mr Khoo speaks Hokkien (Minan dialect) in the same way my grandma did. When I first heard him pronounce the name of my ancestral city during a lesson at the Singapore Buddhist Culture Centre at Upper Dickson Road, I felt a keen sense of familiarity with him.
The author of many books and teacher of local & foreign dignitaries treated me with respect despite my lack of Chinese cultural & literary knowledge.
My inability to master brush strokes and lack of commitment to practice did not deter him from checking my homework. He pointed out that I was drawing lines and not writing. But I did not feel slighted because Mr Khoo spoke truthfully & kindly.
His other students were way ahead. They wrote out line upon line of ancient poems from memory as their paper unrolled and sometimes drapped over the edge of their tables. They made room for him respectfully as he weaved among them to inspect their work. His comments were received with reverence. 😊
Even though I couldn’t really follow the intellectual exchanges between him and his more mature & advanced students who had been with him for a long time, Mr Khoo often explained short chinese sayings to me so that I would feel included. His students took after him in his graciousness and were always welcoming towards me.
One unforgettable ancient saying that he taught me was this: the elegance of a room does not depend on size, just as the fragrance of flowers does not depend on numbers. In Chinese it reads “室雅何须大，花香不在多”. How compact! ❤️
When I apologised for my lack of progress in my writing, I remember Mr Khoo saying something like, “这是我们华人的字，你再写不好，也要写下去.” (Transl: This is our Chinese writing. Even if you’re not good at it, you must carry on.)
How refreshing it is to know that there are other more intangible reasons for doing something other than being good at it! Because of Mr Khoo’s approach to learning, I’ve become mindful of using marks as the only measurement of a student’s suitability & aptitude to continue with a subject.
“Guru” in Sanskrit means “Dispeller of Darkness,” and “Bringer of Light.” In Hindu and Tibetan practices, gurus are essential to one’s path to self cultivation & liberation.
Mr Khoo taught me not because I showed any promise in calligraphy nor was I a deserving student. In the ways he generously shares his knowledge and patiently deals with my ignorance, he is in every sense of the word, my guru.
I wish my teacher and his wife peace & health as they lovingly support each other through the years and I hope to be able to pay them a visit one day.
13 July 2021
The rain started last night and continues to this morning. I lit a light to thank Rain that cleanses, hydrates and heals. Then I thought of the animal shelters that flood during downpours. My mind went to the street animals having to brave the torrents on their own.
So I asked Fire to give them warmth and keep them dry.
Although I tended to incense and candles in the taoist temple of my childhood where my grandfather was caretaker, my friendship with Fire as an adult only began when I lit my first tea light in the Notre Dame Catheral in France.
After that, I lit my first tea light in Singapore at the grotto of the Church of St Peter & St Paul at Queen Street to support a friend who had to put down his dog, Socks.
Then I found out I could also meet Fire below the image of Mother Mary and Baby Jesus at the Church of St Mary’s of the Angels.
In my 40s, visits to Patan and Boudha in Nepal brought me closer to Fire. Aging has somehow given me a porosity that allows me to soak up the illuminating presence of Fire at the prayer rituals I withessed there.
And so certain am I of Fire’s loyalty that one of the first thoughts that comes to mind whenever loss or hardship befalls me or my friends is to raise a lamp to shine a path out of fear and confusion.
After all, my favourite catholic saint, Francis of Assisi addresses Fire as Brother Fire in “The Canticle of the Sun.”
So on a cold and wet day such as today, may we invoke the Fire within to keep ourselves and others warm and dry.
Lisa Ong 