Unmasking

22 April 2020

The mask painting unleashed the girls’ flamboyant energies.

All our lives, we wear masks to gain acceptance, to show compliance and to hide what we dare not see, or don’t want others to see.

So why is it that when it comes to wearing a mask to protect ourselves from the pandemic, so many of us fight against it?

For one, our facial bone structures, skin sensitivity, breathing capacity and tolerance for having our face blocked for an extensive period of time differ from one another.

Some people can go into a minor panic attack during beauty treatment when a facial mask even with gaps at the nostrils and mouth to accommodate breathing is put on them.

A present from a boy who was in Venice for a break from his studies in Cambridge.

I know of a friend who couldn’t complete his scuba diving certification despite his love for undersea adventures because somewhere along his training, he also developed a phobia of having his face completely covered.

These days when it comes to wearing disposable masks as required of us, bespectacled folks like me have to adjust our masks periodically to prevent our breaths from fogging up the lens and compromising our vision. And believe it or not, the fogging always seems to happen at times that puts us at potentially risky situations – midway on a moving escalator, facing incoming/ outgoing lift passengers, dodging the cleaners’ trolley etc. 😄

Health workers who can be masked up for hours on end and still perform their duties calmly must have a physiology very different from the rest of us.

An unexpected gift from Venice from a boy who didn’t seem to care about Shakespeare.

And for elderly folks who already don’t see so well or can’t balance properly, wearing a mask is an added challenge because the top of the covering can interfere with their line of vision, especially when they try peering down into their bags to fish for coins or ezlink cards etc.

Coupled with their stiff joints which limit their neck and finger mobility, the mask is really a hindrance. And yes, even if their lives depend on it, masking takes some practice.

It is very necessary & very good if we could comply with the guidelines so that we can survive this pandemic. But it is even better not to feel morally superior or more enlightened just because we are capable of following all the rules.

A hand painted mask from Venice, given by a lovely girl who has the bearing of a young queen.

Consider the masked grandma, huffing and puffing from the walk and the weight of her groceries, which could very well be just a bottle of soya sauce and a can of baked beans, and looking resignedly at the rows of cordoned off benches as she tried to catch her breath and cope with her aching back.

If we could see what others have to overcome in order to stay united with us, maybe we’ll be less inclined to get annoyed with those who cannot seem to toe the line.

The feeling that we’ve got it all together is very delicious. And it is very tempting for those who can, to stew in self righteous anger underneath their collective masking, against those who can’t, while unmasking their barely containable pent up feelings as they pounce on the next mask-less person whom they perceive to be not doing his part to fight the pandemic.

Apology as Medicine

20 April 2020

Twenty years ago, I taught English & Literature to a Science Class whose students were mostly aspiring to be engineers, doctors, accountants and businessmen, and maybe lawyers.

Looking back now I can see the glaring mismatch between my subject offering and the boys’ subject combination & career trajectory.

When their literature exam scores didn’t measure up to their science and math scores, Literature was the blight that marred their otherwise pristine achievements of straight “A”s.

For every difficult student there is an unusually mature one like this Asean Scholar who made sure his Literature teacher doesn’t die under the pile of admint paper work.

A couple of students who understood the relevance of Literature fought the school admint tooth & nails when they were asked to “drop Lit so that they could better focus on other subjects.” They got to keep Lit and did well in it.

However, I would learn later about a boy who questioned my teaching abilities and actively sought to humiliate me at every opportunity.

He contradicted me during lessons or asked me questions he had read elsewhere about the texts which he thought I wouldn’t be able to handle.

He even included plagiarised materials in his essays and showed off to his classmates that I wouldn’t be able to spot.

In hindsight, it was an act of grace that I didn’t know about his acts of mischief.

Had I known of his stealth, I might have become nervous, and started to channel all my productive energy to prove him wrong, and ended up neglecting my teaching, and thus becoming exactly the lousy teacher he believed I was.

Hence blissfully ignorant of the childish traps he had set for me, I continued to entertain his questions to the best of my knowledge and complimented him for his essay writing.

Years later, this boy got to study in one of the Ivy League universities in USA.

My intelligent and wonderfully compassionate girls.

By then I had moved on to teach English and Literature in a girls’ school. That year I was teaching Amy Tan’s “The Bonesetter’s Daughter,” when the boy who had become a young man dropped by my school during his vacation.

Right on the bench outside the staff room, this young man surprised me by holding both my hands in his, and asked if I could ever forgive him for all that he had done to make life difficult for me during his school days.

He revealed that we had met in a period when he was facing some unresolved personal issues and I had unfortunately become the target of his bitterness.

Over the years he matured and became reflective. The turning point came when his sister became a teacher, and was treated like the way he used to treat me.

I thanked him for the courage to confess and even though there were some awkward times between us, I didn’t take his defiance to heart.

School teachers have thick skins or else it’s a one way ticket to the asylum.

Looking back now I see that in a weird twist of fate, a brother’s pranks on his school teacher not only did not achieve the intended results, but had been eerily stashed away for his own sister who at that time was not even a teacher yet.

By seeking me out to make peace he had offered me a valuable lesson on never to use personal problems as an excuse to hurt others. And in apologising, he had also released his own sister from the torment of her students.

“Feed others as you are fed.”

15 April 2020 (三月二十三）

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. 🙏♥️

Invoking Grace

13 April 2020

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.

May ALL be well. 🙏🌈🐾

Holy Week

10 April 2020

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.

Tools of Compassion

6 April 2020 (Holy Week)

When the old cat draws her breath, after her blocked nose is cleaned with a freshly wrung warm towel;

When her thirst is quenched with honeyed water syringe fed via the side of her mouth without bruising her gum;

When her blind eyes shone with eye drops carefully applied without shocking her;

And when she finally settles down to rest;

I know why I have hands.

Refuge in Reading

3 April 2020

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.

Goggled Grandpas

26 March 2020

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.

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.

New Moon Mandala of GRACE Dedication

24 March 2020

We give thanks for the new moon who accompanies us faithfully in times of laughter & tears, in times of plenty and scarcity, and in times of sickness and health.

May the new moon bless all departed sentient beings with her healing light of peace.

May the new moon grant the living, the grace & sensibilities of Mother Mary, as the human race pass through this current pandemic in kindness, for our benefit, and the benefit of ALL sentient beings.

Always Apart, but Never Alone.

20 March (Spring Equinox)

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.