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.
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.
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.”
Last week, after a dinner of porridge, we stopped by a neighbourhood housing estate to buy some fruits.
An elderly lady came by with her happy little Jack Russell on leash. I smiled at her & greeted her dog to show that I had no issue with her dog brushing against me as we crossed path.
As they walked ahead, I heard shrieks. They were from 3 young children who seemed to suddenly appear from nowhere.
In unbridled delight, the Little Humans huddled around the Jack Russell as the owner stopped in her track to let her dog meet his/her fans. Parents followed to supervise their offspring’s canine interaction .
While the adults chatted, the kids looked adoringly at the dog, each seeking for a cuddle with the Jack Russell.
After the Jack Russell, we chanced upon a Red Poodle sitting pretty like a toy in traditional wedding shop. Her tiny yelps alerted her owner, who was mending a quilt, to our presence. Not to be outdone, Red Poodle’s little sister, Snowy, joined in the barking.
We laughed in amusement at the cuddly burglar alarms taking their guarding duty so earnestly.
Seeing that we were not afraid of her dogs, the proprietress of the wedding shop, Ms Clara Pay, invited us in.
The Red Poodle took an immediate liking to El and had eyes only for him throughout our time there.
Snowy was a bit more selective and hesitated before leaving her basket to check us out.
Meanwhile, our eyes feasted on the splashes of red & gold of the traditional bridal paraphernalia in the shop. They had an energising effect on the viewers, and facilitated the flow of conversation between us and the shop owner.
In between asking her dogs to stop barking, Clara shared her interest in handicrafts with us and spoke candidly about her overseas travels. She visited traditional craft fairs where she learnt new skills and came home inspired.
A Malay couple passing by paused outside the shop to smile at the poodle sisters. They waved back when we waved at them.
El asked about the lacquered baskets on the top shelves and learnt that they were antique wedding baskets. Some of these black, red & gold pieces painted with auspicious symbols had found their way to Clara after their original owners who had lived a long & rich life passed on.
She restores the baskets if needed, displays them and safe keeps them till these heralds of joy find new owners who can appreciate them all over again.
On the surface, Clara may seem like an ordinary Singaporean woman running a traditional bridal shop in an ordinary housing board estate in the west.
Clara & I happened to share similar sounding Chinese names. She is 素珍 (su zhen) while I’m 淑贞 （shu xhen).
But to me she’s an important custodian of heirlooms of people unrelated to her. Her shop holds pieces of someone else’s personal histories & memories, much like how she mends and stitches together the tears on the old quilt on her glass counter top.
So even as life can be fragile and uncertain, there are people not necessarily medically trained, such as little children who gush over a Jack Russell, and Clara, who runs a bridal shop, affirming life in their own exuberant and quiet ways all the time.
I didn’t witness the stalking nor the hunting. But the little black cat, crouching by the dead bird on the pavement in the midday sun were some tell-tale signs that I might have just chanced upon the aftermath of a hunt.
Picture for illustration only. This is my own cat who never leaves the house or hunts any live creature.
Arms folded under his velvety chest, the round headed feline, barely out of kitten hood himself, seemed stunned at how quickly he had brought his prey down.
He scampered off as I got closer, probably afraid that I would hurt him. But I wasn’t even going to chastise him because a cat’s instinct is to hunt.
It was very unfortunate that this bird, still a fledgeling herself, met her end so soon. Her soft feathers of black, green & yellow were not yet fully grown. Parts of her delicate skin were still visible under the downs. I found out later that she was a Black-naped Oriole.
Could this have been her first attempt at flying? Or did a strong gust of wind toss her in the direction of the cat waiting below? Or did she know her time was up & offered herself to be hunted? But most of all was she frightened during her last moments?
She was bleeding from the beak, indicating something inside her was broken. The rest of her 100 gram or so body was still intact as I picked her up from the pavement with tissue papers.
“You’ve just died. But don’t be scared. You’re not alone.” I communicated my thoughts to her.
I didn’t save her life, but I could at least make her last memories on earth a little less traumatic. As far as I understand it, death is not an easy experience even if we know it is inevitable.
So I brought her home and placed her facing the sky & windhorses. Then I lit incense to purify her trauma and a butter lamp to light her way.
I anointed her feathered head with essential oils to purify her mind, and asked her to forgive the cat and go in peace.
A sprig of flowers from the red radish plant was placed on her heart to purify fear.
And between her perfectly formed talons which hadn’t been to many places yet, she held a rose, so that in her next birth she will walk freely without mishaps.
All was peaceful and quietly completed.
During the lunar new year a month ago I was intrigued by the gold & red offering papers for invoking spirit horses to send gods on journeys. I bought some just for fun.
And now these Spirit Horses would accompany the Oriole home.
In the evening, I wrapped them in a khata and buried the bird under a young tree, with my mother’s help.
I’ve named the bird, Beauty, because this was the word that kept coming to mind as I prepared the Oriole’s body for its return to Mother Earth.
First Tutee learnt his first poem by heart this afternoon.
“Hurt No Living Thing,” by Christina Rossetti may only be 7 lines long, but for a primary 3 boy who not long ago mixed up letters, the poem felt long.
Initially he refused to commit the poem to memory. And when he tried, he got easily flustered when he couldn’t recall a word or he skipped a line.
I told him that meltdowns took up energy and prevented his brain from growing. And if he continued like this he wouldn’t be needing tuition because throwing tantrums is too easy.
He listened quietly, and then asked, “Can I try again?”
This time when he got stuck during the recitation, he didn’t want to be prompted.
He just said, “Wait, I know…let me think.”
And think he did, looking all grown-up and serious as he furrowed his brows and focused to deliver all of 7 lines on his own.
When I told him there would be a new poem to learn by heart next week, he didn’t resist. He only asked to be allowed to recite Christina Rossetti’s poem again before learning the new piece.
A good memory for words & phrases is the foundation to all types of learning. Remembering the basics help to free up space in a learner’s mind for more complex ideas to come.
I have seen children and even adults literally shutting down when a line of reasoning is too foreign or doesn’t agree with them.
So I’m determined that First Tutee builds up his working memory while he’s still young so that he’ll always have the means to manage new knowledge and new experiences awaiting him.
Ollie, my own cat, approves of my shelter work. I hope many cats at shelters will have access to bigger spaces.
The skinny Girl Cat hurried towards me, pressing her bony face against the wire mesh, seeking comfort.
She’s been on medicines to manage diarrhoea. Meanwhile her beddings were soiled and her fur were unkempt from the runs.
My friend, with clean beddings in hand bravely entered Girl Cat’s enclosure. She had to remove the dirty ones from their aerial bed frames before putting on the fresh ones, while trying not to inhale the smells.
Prayerfully, I wiped down Girl Cat’s body with donated good quality wet wipes and removed as much stains from her fur as possible. Her tail was crusty.
Like all children, Girl Cat received the cleaning of snot and tear stains on her face with a bit of protest, but was generally grateful for the human touch.
Admittedly, the handling of bodily fluids or wastes of another creature is not a task to be taken lightly. So we wear gloves and masks for protection & to create a psychological buffer for peace of mind. But the heart is a store house of emotions.
And even as we flinched at the sight of a sickly cat and her mess, the awareness of how her tummy must have hurt, and how sore her lower body must have felt, gave us the power to overcome our personal misgivings and get on with the cleaning.
Girl Cat would need time to respond to her medications. Till then she would continue to soil herself and her beddings. Till then she would need help in keeping clean. She was hand raised from birth, and now in sickness, continues to be cared for at the shelter, the only home she has ever known.
But in her sickness, Girl Cat has cured us of our fears of bodily wastes & reminded us how wonderful it is to be alive and to be able to offer up our breaths, our strengths and our sensibilities for the mitigation of misery in others.
For my friend who was born and raised in comfort & cleanliness all her life, making her rounds of litter box cleaning and bedding changes for 100 plus cats at the shelter the whole afternoon afternoon had successfully freed her from her scatological anxieties.
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.
Lisa Ong 