Thoughts On Turning Thirty

Then and Now: You can't see it, but in my adult picture I am actually just wearing shorts tucked in the same way.

There are places I remember,
All my life, though some have changed.

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In several days' time, I will be turning the big three O. I will be spending it in the best way possible - fifteen straight hours at work, and the only cake I'll be getting is a big slice of reality.

I will no longer be able to refute any more little children when they call me Uncle from now on. I will just have to smile and accept it as I grab their Pokemon toy from them and throw it into the bushes with my thirty year old arms.

On our travels to Europe, as we rubbed shoulders with people from a different culture, the one thing that struck me most was how many people there were on this earth.

Six billion people. God did promise Abraham in the Bible that his children would number as many as there were stars in the skies, and if we're not there yet, let me just say that we are well and truly on our way.

It is in this sea of people that I stand, a drop in the ocean, a single alphabet in the telephone directory of life. It is easy to feel overwhelmed by how small I actually am, and to question my worth in the context of this world.

The eternal questions surface - Why am I here? What is my purpose in this life?

And then in the midst of all the searching and self-doubt, there is an answer, small, but clear, a tiny bell ringing out in the silence.

I am my mother and late father's son. I am my sibling's brother. I am the nephew and cousin of my relatives. I am hopefully a good enough friend to those I have the privilege of calling friends. I am K's lover, confidant and soulmate.

All my life I have been identified as such, Mr. Cheok's son, Joseph's or Grace's brother, ____'s friend, Karen's boyfriend.

My life is defined by the people I matter to, who matter to me.

And as such, I want to thank all of you for loving me through the years, and watching me grow from that little boy to the big child I am today.

Thank you for sharing your stories with me, and being part of my life story as well. I hope I get to keep writing our stories for another thirty years to come, at least.

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In my life, I love you more.

Like No One's Watching

Yesterday K and I attended a friend's wedding.

It was a really nice day for it - the sun was out in all its glory, pleasantly warming up the garden as we bore witness to their matrimony.

It was then on to the reception, and we laughed hard at the speeches over our meals.

It then came time for the bridal waltz, and the groom kept apologising as he stepped all over the blushing bride's feet. No one cares how well a couple dances or how well the groom sings at a wedding. Everyone is just brimming with overwhelming love and well-wishes for the couple, and were there to have a good time.

There was an invitation to come on to the dance floor to join the wedded couple, and so we did, after a little hesitation. The other guests followed suit, and soon the dance floor was filled with semi-drunk relatives and friends, who were eager to prove that their non-existent dance lessons had paid off.

I love dancing. I may not be good at it, but I still love it. I never dance to impress girls, because my good looks, charming personality (and unparalleled modesty) would have won them over long before the need to hit the dance floor. Hahaha!

But seriously, I think that dancing is a great way of celebrating the body that God has given us, and it should be done as often as possible, either at parties, weddings or in the solitude of your own home.

Like no one's watching.

Random Memories: Seven Years Old

I am at a friend's 7th birthday party, which his Dad is throwing at a pub. Don't ask me why a seven year old's birthday party was held in a pub. Ronald McDonald was probably in a corner, hitting the Tiger beer.

There is a DJ hired for the occasion, and we are playing Dancing Statues. The idea is that when the music stops, we all freeze in our positions, and whoever moves or smiles is kicked out (not literally) until the last remaining child is declared the winner.

Tubby seven year old HK was burning up the dance floor.

"Check out this boy, yeah! Look at him go!" exclaims the DJ over the booming music. "Breakdancing like Michael Jackson, yeah!"

It wasn't even breakdancing. Hell, it wasn't even dancing. It was me flapping my fat little arns like how I had seen them do on television.

I looked like a lost beached whale trying to get back to the ocean, but the DJ's encouragement has spurred me on through the years, and that's why I keep dancing until today.

Which is the lesson for today - always say encouraging things to children.

That way, you can keep them going and laugh at them for a longer time to come.

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Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't.
Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't.
Maybe you'll divorce at 40.
Maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary.
Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either -
your choices are hald chance, so are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body, use it every way you can...
Don't be afraid of it, or what other people think of it...
It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance... even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

- Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunshine), Baz Luhrmann

Sudah Jatuh, Ditimpa Tangga Pula (It Never Rains, But It Pours)

Sorry about the lack of posts recently. Work, you know. And friends visiting from the US.

Which is why this story has resurfaced.

It Never Rains...

The start of university was like the start of any school term in a new school. You quickly identify who are the cool ones, the fun ones, the Mandarin speaking crowd, the sporty crowd, the geek crowd, the Christian crowd. And then you make your friends.

I must say that as a batch of medical students, though, we were fairly friendly with each other across the cliques.

S was one of the nice guys in our batch. So nice in fact that we made him our batch representative. He was jovially plump and friendly to all, and his gentle nature and ready smile made him well-liked by all of us.

The private university's medical students were divided into two groups at that point of time - those who were really well off; and those whose parents had to slog their way through life in order give their children more opportunities than they ever had themselves. S fell into this latter category.

Which was why it became difficult for him when his Dad passed away unexpectedly in our first semester.

We tried to be there for him and to offer him words of consolation, but there was an obvious cloud of grief shadowing S during those dark days.

His smiles were now sparse and brief, and seemed forced when they did appear.

Sudah Jatuh

It was one of the small written tests for first semester , and both S and I were a little late to the test. It had been raining a little that day, which accounted for an unusual amount of traffic.

We rushed past the security guard at the door, giving a fleeting greeting as we ran hurriedly up the stairs. I was up ahead when I suddenly hear this crash behind me. It was that sickening dull thud of skull hitting tiled floors.

I turn around and I see S sprawled on the floor, his eyes grimacing in pain, his lower body lying up the steps while the upper half of his body was still on the landing.

I rush back down, my pupils dilating, my heart rate quickening. The security guard is at her feet, and some of our lecturers are streaming in to the sight of S lying on the floor. They all rush to his side, and kneel, checking his pulse and breathing.

An ambulance was called and arrives about half an hour later. He was brought to one of the hospitals in Cheras, and I followed in the ambulance. The test would have to wait. They would understand.

Ditimpa Tangga Pula

I stood next to S in the Emergency Department, trying to make light of the situation as nurses bustled around me. He groans but does not make any meaningful conversation. Someone attempts to call his family.

It is about twenty minutes before he is seen by the doctors. They say that it is probably just a concussion, and would just observe him for now.

I stand at his side, holding his hand, and trying to make him laugh. He smiles at one or two things as he begins to wake from his concussion.

"Hey, S, how many fingers?" I show him my middle finger.

He smiles.

"Do you know where you are?" I ask.

In a hospital. He says.
Which one?
I don't know.
What year is it man?
Nineteen... nine... ten... eight... no, nineteen ninety...
Do you know who I am?
He looks at me a little blankly as he struggles to find my name in the jumbled jolted recesses of his mind.

Slowly his memories start to trickle through, and he recognises me five minutes later.

... But It Pours

"Kor! (Older brother!)" I hear this cry from behind me. His younger sister rushes through the doors and pushes past me.

She grasps his hands, the worry and the strain of her Dad's recent death evident on her face, and now - this.

How are you? What happened? she asks, alternating between sympathy and annoyance at his carelessness.

He barely recognises her, and is still trying to find his words.

I... er... fall... down the steps...

I stand in a corner. He remembers that, at least, I think to myself.

Once she starts to see that he is not in any grave danger, she lets out a tiny relieved laugh and coaxes him into conversation, trying to keep him awake. She reminds him who he is, and who she is, and talked about Mum.

Er... where.. is... Pa? he asks, suddenly.

She is quiet.

I draw a sharp breath.

He thinks his father is still alive.

Er... Pa... is... not around for the moment, kor, she lies. Don't worry about that... he's... er... coming a little later.

Oh... okay, he says.

I try not to cry.

She continues to talk to him and distract him, when suddenly he remembers.

Pa is dead!! the tears start flowing. Pa is dead!! he cries. His body shakes with his sobs.

She hugs him and starts crying too - It's okay, kor. I'm sorry. It's okay. It's okay. I'm sorry, kor, it's okay. We'll be okay. We'll be okay.

I stand in the corner, and no amount of willpower can stop my tears from flowing. I step away through the door, and the last sight I see is her hugging S, who has had to grieve for his father's death a second time.

Here Kitty. Kitty. Kitty.

If there is anything that will get a normally shy, reserved Singaporean man to talk non-stop, it is encapsulated in two alphabets.

NS.

(Today's Sesame Street has been brought to you by the letters N and S).

Love it or hate it, rose tinted glasses or red, there is no denying that the National Service is a vital part of a young Singaporean (from boy to) man's life.

This was the topic we had over dinner tonight, and a friend of ours was animatedly recounting his experience in NS. He talked about the long trekking trips through the jungles of Borneo, handling weapons with live rounds and the risk of friendly fire, and flying helicopters. He talked about overturned tanks, and overbearing superiors and the great friends he had made.

Somehow the topic drifted into the subject of how Singapore would soon be looking at drafting women into NS, and he remembers the handful of women during his time in Basic Military Training and how they were as tough as nuts.

Apparently they give them dolls to keep up their feminine side, he blurts out.

We jointly laugh around the tables - Malaysians, Singaporeans, Australians alike.

We weren't sure how true it was, but the idea was an incredulous and hilarious one.

Here's your rifle.
And, here's your Barbie.
You know what to do.

*a shot rings out in the air as Ken watches, horrified*

One of the girls in the group took the idea and ran with it - if there is such great concern about women maintaining their femininity in the army, why don't they just supply them with this:

I twot I killed a puddy tat.


Say Hello to my little Kitty... Rat-tat-at-tat-at-at!

Whatever men can do, women can too, and sometimes better. But people should really be allowed to opt in to these things, you know?

Oh What A Night!

We were not your typical group of medical students.

We were all placed in groups and numbered. We ended up being Group Six, but unofficially, we later changed our name to Group Sex, which gives you a slight indication as to where our minds were.

(So far down the gutter that sewer rats were nibbling on it.)

We were not your typical group of medical students.

I remember that we were on a country rotation up in Albury, and, bored out of our minds, we decided to shoot a video, titled "Kidnap 101".

We had a video camera and seven amateur but willing medical students/actors and we had a great time.

The hospital security guards drove up to us midway through "shooting" because the nurses had reported a noise coming from the back of the hospital. It was basically R, the most petite member of our group, kicking and screaming as we threw a blanket over her head and hoisted her over our shoulders before throwing her into the boot of our car.

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We were not your typical group of medical students.

We were waiting for a tutorial in class one day. Our tutor was an Orthopaedic fellow who appreciated our sense of humour. We decided that it would be funny if one of us hid in the closet and then literally just walk out of the closet ten minutes into the tutorial and then join the rest as if nothing had happened.

And so the tutor comes in, and takes a roll call, noting that K is either missing or late. He begins his tutorial, and then five minutes later, K just walks out of the closet nonchalantly, and said, coolly, "Oh hi, guys. Sorry I'm late."

We try our best to hide our smiles while K takes a seat and takes out his notepad from his bag. Our tutor is stunned for the briefest of moments before shaking his head ever so slightly, smiling, and then continuing his tutorial.

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We were not your typical group of medical students.

Whenever we had time between classes, we would duck down to the nearby McDonald's on B__ Street.

We would sit there with our fries and Cokes, amongst the young mothers and their children running around them in between bites of nuggets.

Our conversations would start, and then one of us would then make a naughty comment or pose a totally inappropriate-for-family-restaurants "What if?" scenario out of the blue. We would all burst out in laughter, and inevitably, one of us would raise our forearm, and look at the non-existent watch, and then say "Now, how long did that take us that time?"

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We are not your typical group of doctors.

We were sitting over luscious pieces of steak and chips at The Meat and Wine Co. yesterday, the five out of the seven of us reunited after not seeing each other for months. Some of them were meeting K for the first time.

They were eager to show K how she had chosen wrongly. Very wrongly.

It was a truly magical night. We talked and laughed like the good old times, and spoke of our trips abroad. It wasn't long before the very first inappropriate comment and the ensuing "Now, how long did it take us that time?"

Our conversations weaved between the inane and important as we talked about technological advances and teleportation(!), medical ethics, the latest movies, laughed over inside jokes and brooded over our jobs. We laughed, sometimes irreverently, at the things that we had seen or done at work. It was a delayed cathartic release at what would have seemed at the time an unhappy moment or an almost insurmountable moment for us as doctors.

Not wanting to end the night early, they came over to my place, and the conversations continued over hot tea and Youtube clips. We fed off each other's humour and insights, and although we were tired, and work was waiting the very next day for most of us, we wanted to make the most of the here and now; tonight.

Words cannot express how much I truly enjoy sharing nights like these together. I know that it is more than coincidence that we have ended up as groupmates, and I thank God for their presence in my life. I have had the privilege of seeing three of them get married, and I know that this is a friendship that will last throughout the years.

I know that some of my group members who are reading this will be smiling and silently thinking to themselves -

"Man, HK is so gay..."

Ah well, whatever it is, my friends, it needed to be said. :)

So here's to you, Group Sex, atypical medical students, great doctors, and even greater friends.

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Oh, what a night!
Late December, back in '63,
What a very special time for me,
'Cause I remember what a night.

- Oh, What A Night! Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons