Contemporary Co-Living Arrangements

This is not a genre I'm keen on reading. However, with all the hype, I decided to have a quick browse. This is 'Two Women Living Together' (first published in Korean in 2019) by Kim Hana and Hwang Sunwoo. This is translated into English by Gene Png and published in January 2026. 

It's a memoir, about the lives of two single unmarried women in their 40s living together. These are real people. They had a career in advertising and magazines. They're writers, editors and hosts of podcasts. They are friends who got to know each other as adults, and on Twitter. They were both born in Busan and separately, went to work and live in Seoul.

As a practical arrangement, the two women pooled resources to buy a home. They chose to live with each other. They are friends, not partners or in a romantic relationship. They have common interests and passions, and also share similar outlook on life and the philosophies of living. (Reviews here, here, here and here.)

49 chatty essays invited readers into the life Kim Hana and Hwang Sunwoo share with four cats — Haku, Tigger, Goro and Youngbai. You hear from both women, and you get to know them a little more. Sure, there's something to be said about chosen companionship, creating a life together in a home when you're not romantically or sexually involved, but closer than roommates. I suppose we could call it a platonic partnership then. They still form a family unit, albeit not a traditional model that society understands. 

The more I think about it, the more I realize how good Sunwoo and I have got it. If each of us were to get married, would we be this comfortable with our husbands' families? I feel like sons-in-law are always treated well while daughters-in-law are expected to treat other people well. In fact, Sunwoo and I enjoy a much more comfortable status than a son-in-law - as 'the friend our daughter lives with', we are free to accept kindness and hospitality without feeling obliged to the other's parents. I can savour Sunwoo's mother's delicious yeolmukimchi without worrying about planning a filial piety trip or whether I should buy her a new home appliance to show my thanks. All I have to do is say, 'Tell your mum the food was great!' Sunwoo and I adore each other's parents. We're always happy to see them and are always thankful for their kindness. And that's probably because our relationship doesn't come with strings attached. Thanking our own parents, though — that's self-service. 

This is a glimpse into Kim Hana and Hwang Sunwoo's slice of life. Readers see how they reconcile household chores, and other responsibilities that come with being a home-owner, a pet-owner and as rather grown women. They had to navigate finances, and also support each other through career changes and personal loss. They have also built rapport and a community with their neighbors in the estate. 

At the end, they wrote a little about now, five years later from 2019, the year the book was released. The women are still living together now. They have lost Goro, Haku is on meds for her kidneys. They have paid off their mortgage on the apartment. They're co-hosting a podcast on Spotify, Apple and Podbang. Yeah, it's in Korean, and obviously I don't bother since I don't understand the language, and ermmm have no interest in acquiring any sort of proficiency in it.

This book and what it revealed about cohabitating with a platonic partner created a stir in the staid and stodgy Korean society. The memoir resonated with a generation of Korean women defining their own paths. This type of co-living arrangements in platonic and romantic LGBTQIA relationships challenges the patriarchal and chauvinistic familial structures in South Korea. 

I grinned. This can be quite the norm in Singapore nowadays. It is an extremely practical arrangement when we have many elderly who live alone. Well, some are cranky and prefer to live alone. But many would like some company, if they can figure out how to live amiably together, sharing chores and not shirking and basically not being a moron. Remember the ma-jie (媽姐) of the olden days? Many of them band together to live in a flat together, as bonded sisters who never married, looking after each other till death comes. We need to be able to freely talk more about chosen family and the evolving definition of partnership. 

I was right. I didn't like it. Try as I might, I couldn't get into it. I recognize that this book holds great themes and ideals. It's a pretty good read, but it's not my cup of tea. I do push for the ideals it represents. We must be able to celebrate different kinds of life when they've been built on friendship, trust, mutual respect, and a solid moral compass — a kind of life and living arrangement that might not require a romantic partner or the structure of a traditional marriage, and still equally fulfilling. 

SIFA 2026 :: 'Last Rites'

“If you could envision your last performance, what would it look like?”

'Last Rites' brings together five icons of Asian performing art – Didik Nini Thowok (Indonesia), Kanji Shimizu (Japan), Jung Dong-hwan (Korea), Yong Ser Pin (Singapore), and Nam Geung-ho (Korea) – to confront this soul-searching question. 

This landmark cross-cultural production by Emergency Stairs avoids the clichés of mortality, turning instead to the artistic calling of these five masters (with an average age of 74). Through deeply personal – moving from legendary milestones and hidden struggles to the sacred pursuit of truth on stage – the work traces what it truly means to devote a life to the arts.

Written and directed by Liu Xiaoyi, 'Last Rites' moves fluidly between the virtual and the real, the body and the soul. In an age of fleeting spectacles, it asks a vital question: After the final curtain falls, can an artist’s spiritual legacy achieve immortality?

We heard 78-year-old Yong Ser Pin's profound bond with his mentor, Kuo Pao Kun, and even the mentor's last moments. It was so much spoken of that I almost forgot who Yong Ser Pin is and his own achievements in the Singapore Chinese theatre scene. We admired renowned actor 76-year-old Jung Dong-hwan's commitment to treating every show as the last one. There was Busan-born mime artist 65-year-old Nam Geung-ho's journey in theatre and mime, which led to his radical street performances, and one-time arrest.

There was master Kanze-style Noh actor 73-year-old Kanji Shimizu’s visceral contemplation of life and death through Noh, and his dedication to his art. Then we have 71-year-old Didik Nini Thowok's dedication to his dance forms in the face of poverty and adversity, and his idea of looking at the world and viewing himself as an "empty glass" so that he could absorb all the dance knowledge there are in the world. 

I don't know why every actor and director wants to do long plays at some point in their career. I don't like watching long plays. In this show, many long plays were mentioned, especially Samuel Beckett's 'Waiting for Godot' (published in 1952), which sees all the characters in a state of existential uncertainty. These are themes that theatre always gravitate towards.

I was so tickled that at that start of the show, they could all comfortably sit cross-legged. When the performers' average age is 74, then I'm very impressed by their mobility, memory, clarity of speech, and gorgeous lines perfected in their respective crafts. They sang, they danced, they talked, they mimed, they acted. I was mesmerized. These are truly masters of their craft.

I love the different languages used by the actors— standard Korean, Busan Korean, Javanese Indonesian, Mandarin (olden pre-1965 style), and Japanese. In this edition of Singapore International Festival of Arts (SIFA), I think 'Last Rites' might just be my favorite show of all. There is depth, alot of emotions, reflections, talking about proud achievements, and many lines spoken indicating lives well lived, although the lament is how limited time is. 

From left: Nam Geung-ho (Korea), Yong Ser Pin (Singapore), Jung Dong-hwan (Korea), Kanji Shimizu (Japan), and Didik Nini Thowok (Indonesia). 

Rebuilding Choya's Gut Flora

I had hoped against hope (based on patterns and scientific data) that when Choya completed her seven-day course of antibiotics, she would be well. She wasn't. Three days after completion, the diarrhea returned. I recognized the patterns. I knew it. We have clostridial diarrhea happening. Dammit. 

When her diarrhea stopped after the first tablet went in on 4 April, I knew it was a matter of time before the clostridium in her gut got controlled for a bit; exactly for how long, we wouldn't know. I didn't have high hopes. It was the week after the antibiotics that I was worried about. Acute colitis can be sorted in a week. However, SIBO/SID doesn't just go away magically overnight. She has chronic IBD and stress colitis, so the moment a flare happens in the form of SIBO/SID, it's bad. It goes on for a month. 

I had a bad feeling when her poop was less than ideal on Monday 13 April. Direa didn't even help. When Choya woke me up at 5.32am on Tuesday 14 April and did a shitsplosion, that was PTSD and total deja vu sial. Groundhog Day. We're back to 1 April. SAME PATTERNS. I don't even know what to write in my notes. 'Round 2, Repeat.' At least this Tuesday morning, her stomach hasn't made gurgling sounds yet and she isn't in pain or distress. I do not want it to deteriorate to that level. This means the clostridium is really flourishing and refuses to go away. The expensive tests I ordered to be done at the clinic during Round 1 cleared her of contagious or more serious things. 

We went back to the clinic to see a doctor we trust. It was a wonderful discussion. This is an experienced doctor with a good head on his shoulders. It confirmed my thoughts and the doctor's proposed plans aligned with mine, and we had an agreement. The math is sound. Here we go, Part 2. Her first poop two days after Part 2 super-low dose of metronidazole went in on 15 April, was exactly the color and mushy texture I expected. Much much better than what Part 1 produced.

I really dislike metronidazole, but it couldn't be helped. Most clinics only stock metronidazole. I very much prefer talking to my trusted vets. Tylosin is the better choice for colitis, EPI/SIBO and IBD. But Tylosin is OOS at this clinic. I have no choice but to administer this second course of antibiotics, but at a different dosage. This will be done at a super-low dosage over 14-15 days in order to eradicate the worst bits of clostridium, and hopefully the probiotics, B12 and food will sort out the rest and balance the gut after that. Food goes back to the basics. Fresh, whole and good. No unnecessary treats because I doubt I can negotiate with Choya about cheese. 

I'm literally unfazed by most things, but I'm battling anxiety at managing her stomach. I rarely cry, but if Choya is in pain, I feel it, and I cry. I'm reading, researching, and studying. Then I put it aside to take a breather and recalibrate. No, AI doesn't help beyond highlighting research topics and broadening the scope of reading. My moods are set daily according to the quality of Choya's poop. I can deal with mushy poop done during the usual walk timings. I cannot deal with shitsplosions. The main issue is control — I don't have control. I can only try, and pray. 

There might even be a Round 3. Damn clostridium dunno-which-strain. This Round 2 antibiotics will taper off in another week. It's meant to be given for 14-16 days. Choya's doctor and I agreed to do a super-low-dosage and tapering off instead of an abrupt end, giving her stomach time to reset and build its defences. It would be an uphill climb to get her gastrointestinal tract balanced — 16 to 20 weeks. We'll get there. 

Global Travel Chaos

Before I know it, it's already the end of February 2026. Where did all this time go. The Lunar Year of the Fire Horse hasn't gotten off to a smooth start by any means. It's meant to be bring chaos, volatility and recklessness. It sure has been. 

I've never been fond of working or even vacationing in the Middle East. Once I've gone there round the seven states and Riyadh, I never wanted to go again. They simply doesn't hold any attraction. I also didn't want to be stuck in a city that could be caught in the middle of a war any time. But many people are, unfortunately stuck there now for a week at least, be it as tourists or people on work trips or as long-term residents and expatriates. 

Stocks have taken a giant tumble, and are still rolling. Gold prices remain exorbitant. Nobody wanted to spend extravagantly for the festive season, and we rather be conservative because the economic outlook is damn bleak. This is the bleakest since '97, tbh.   

The incumbent American President has a way of fucking up everybody's new year and everything good. His definition of 'good' and 'wonderful' isn't by any means many people's idea of 'ideal'. America is run by a child-dictator, and he happily instigated a war between US-Israel and Iran. If the seven states of the UAE didn't see it fit to bomb Iran, why should Israel do it? Is there a point in killing the current Ayatollah? What could you hope to achieve when there would be more Ayatollahs stepping in? What are you advocating? Sanctioned killing? wtf.

The Twelve-Day War between Israel and Iran in June 2025 resolved nothing, except whet the leaders appetite for farther warfare. In all these power play, who suffers? The civilians. The people. And all the expatriates stuck in the UAE and Saudi Arabia. Would there ever be peace. Is peace such an alien concept that people can't sit still within a hundred years of the last world war? Has history taught us nothing?

I can't pretend that the global events don't affect me and hide in my little shell. We can't just wallow in transport woes and the demise of Deliveroo, and think about the perilous state of the national TFR. There isn't TFR to be concerned about if we get wars coming to this region, or inflation hitting bad. This little haven in our corner of the way is at the mercy of global economic trends and movements. 

When it comes down to it, we have no way of retaliation. Beyond a carefully worded courtesy statement 'protesting war, showing grave concern and protecting civilians' sent out by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Singapore has been silent about specific stances about it. We call for a return to political dialogue, which has been what has always been done, to no avail, but we stopped short of pointing fingers. With Malaysia and Indonesia being pretty vocal, I think we should just shut up for now. 

A Lot Less Alcohol This Year

This year, I shall watch how much alcohol I drink. It's in relation to the muscles I wish to build, and how I feel while working out and such. I do have IBS and I have no wish for alcohol to induce flares. As we age, we lose muscle mass and water, so we feel the effects of alcohol a lot more. I'd rather build my muscles and not have that as a reason to continue drinking.

Anyway, I don't like drinking till I vomit. That's a horrible feeling. The headaches are really bad. I limit intake to a max of three glasses now, and not at dinner every night. I'm just glad I'm not actually a raving alcoholic. I don't feel uneasy or have physical symptoms of withdrawal from having less alcohol. It's A WHOLE LESS than what I'm used to having. No regrets at all. This is a form of addiction after all if I don't watch it.

I have nothing against alcohol and I like my favorite drinks. No cocktails, no odd mixes. I like my highballs and whisky. Of course I can do wine and champagne. I go a lot easier on beer and Guinness because they trigger my IBS quite badly. 

It's quite funny when many conversations among friends circle around after-alcohol pills and hydration jelly packs. We have all stocked up on it. It's to the point where many of our alcohol tolerance have decreased so much till we need these external aids to relieve hangover queasiness.  

I'm not going to say that I'm quitting alcohol. I won't be doing that, tbh. A glass or two is fine, as long as it's not a daily affair. I'm past that now. However, it's imperative that I down the volume of alcohol imbibed. This isn't a new year resolution. Nobody cares about that. I don't want my body and organs to be dehydrated either. 

Here We Are, 2026.

No thanks to a mad 35-minute New Year's Eve fireworks display at Marina Bay with extra loud booms and the floofs being sus, I couldn't sleep before midnight. I was awake at the stroke of midnight on the last day of 2025. So I swopped out the calendar to a new year.

Yes I still have a use for calendars. They're aesthetically pleasing. I generally have three at home. One from the animal shelters, one Shiba-ken cut-out thingy from Hands, and one main calendar at the counter next to the dining table. These calendars have been supplied by J for the longest time. I love how she generously does that for me! And this is the one Christmas present I cherish. 

I looked at this new calendar. It's another gorgeous one. Here we are, 2026. The Gregorian calendar indicates that it's a new year. But I've always felt that time moves linearly. It doesn't really matter, all the festive fuss. Social constructs imply that one must celebrate all the things new.

I'm not bothered to do a 'wrap-up' post. The years go on. Every year is different. What you make of it is what you will. If you want to make fundamental changes to how you live, then you must change the way you are and what you do. If you don't, it's just going to be the same shit in the new year while hoping for it to be different. 

Time and the fates have a funny way of toying with humans. Depending on what religious beliefs you hold, you might have faith that all will be well, regardless. But mostly, we don't know what the future holds and we can only control it as much as we possibly can. And it shall be so. We move with time, hopefully anchored in common sense and kindness.

That said, I ain't bending over backwards to accommodate anyone who trespasses on my well-being and attempts to push my boundaries. Saying no is an excellent trait of mine and I intend to hold on tight to it. This is a privileged corner of the world I live in. I have no illusions about that. May we hold on to peace. 

Rooted in Town

I never regret traveling so much when I was younger, and went all out in my twenties and thirties; rarely staying in Singapore for more than three weeks at a go. Every weekend was a long weekend hanging out in nearby cities less than a 5-hour flight out. Those memories made and experiences absorbed, truly last a lifetime. While I do get a touch wistful every now and then about not traveling, I'm not resentful or discontented. I made a conscious choice to stay in town for Choya. I don't want to miss out on her short years. Well, it's not as if I don't travel, I do pop out on short trips. Like really short. Well, the husband cannot manage Choya on his own for more than six days. 

'Bring Choya to travel', people say. I had a serious whirl about it. No. Weighing in at 7.5kg and totalling 10kg in an airline-approved carrier, Choya busts all weight limits aboard commercial airlines. I'm not checking her into animal cargo for no good reason; a vacation isn't sufficient. To each pet owner's choice. 

I could fly her in a private jet. I do not want to join those newly popped up pet travel agencies because I can do a better job at logistics and sorting out administrative details even for pets. You know. Ha! BUT. Excuse me, I don't print money, so no to flying in a private jet to a vacation unless we have the free schedule to close up the flat for six months, put aside work and head out of town. Of course we can. But neither the husband or I are inclined to.  

I love it when friends send me photos when they're on vacation. I could stalk their social media, but when they take an extra step to send it to me in our chat windows, I feel extra loved, like they brought me along for that hour to their location. When people ask me if I'd like anything from the city they're in, there's usually nothing I want. I appreciate these little texts and words and photos. These make the best souvenirs for me. 

When J sent me a photo of the last bits of autumn, and blue skies and all, I sighed. This particular photo of gingko leaves on a sunny day. It's a gorgeous shot. (Who isn't in Japan right now! Tsk!) Ahhhh the turn of the seasons. I kinda miss that crisp feel of the cold. I shall renew all these experiences and begin the traveling again in the next season of life. For this season, I am rooted here.  

イチョウ 葉っぱ.

เจอกันใหม่นะกรุงเทพ

I don't think Bangkok will ever feel like Singapore. It's too big. Too sprawling, and the culture is quite different. It's got its own identity rather entrenched. I'm glad that I stayed in Ladprao this time. I didn't need to be in 'town' along Langsuan or Sukhumvit's main stretch. I know Chaeng Wattana well, and because it's so residential, I would have moved over to that side if I were staying longer in Bangkok. I simply hung out in Ladprao and soaked up those vibes and learnt the beat of the area. 

We didn't even take Bangkok's taxis this time. I would have preferred to take tuk-tuks. But we had a car at our disposal and the Grab app worked fine. You don't even need to speak much Thai as long as you key in the correct address and you're on the right side of the road and the driver can get to you easily. 

I was thrilled to find some street stalls still operating at Talad Noi. I happily ate there. No need to squat because those tables and chairs are high. Hahaha. Chinatown is gentrifying and I hope it does it right. I ate loads of foods that I wanted to eat. The only regret, I didn't have enough stomach space to take in more food. I don't know when I'll come in again, but when my tastebuds crave for Thai food, I'll come up! 

I managed to see some friends that I didn't get to catch the last round. I was a little reluctant to leave the city. Each time I come in, it's too short a trip. I didn't know why I didn't extend this trip to stay here on my own for two or three more days. That would have been great. Ha! Ah well. Next time.

Bye bye Bangkok. 🖤

Four Floofs Tonight!

Our neighbors had to work late and asked us if we minded taking Maya and Ivy for an evening pee and a stroll so that they didn't have to wait till 11pm. The husband enthusiastically said yes even before I read all the texts. Pfffffft. He said yes, without asking me. Except that I would be the one doing it and not the husband. 

The last time the husband agreed to pet-sitting without asking me, I refused to help him at all. When he didn't clear dates with me and I was flooded at work, I had no mood to be helpful. I let him experience it full-on and he decided he'd never do it again if I'm not around. Well. He is really not a ‘housework and cleaning’ sort of dude. Our friends will be sorely mistaken to think that he is. He never has had to change even the toilet rolls at home, or mop the floor. He has never done housework in his entire life. At the end of the day, I’m the one cleaning shit. 

This is why people shouldn't ask friends to pet-sit. It's not just about cute floofs. When friends ask me, it's never about the floofs that will influence my decision. I'm not flattered that you think I can handle your dog. I know very well that you're viewing me as a useful tool. You know very well how superficial our relationship is; you just want someone to care for your dog. I will consider my friendship with you, and I consider why you're asking me this, and I think about your living habits and hygiene. I will consider what you expect versus what I'm willing to do and why you would even expect me to do this. 

It's an enormous responsibility. On top of my work day, and daily obligations. If your dog comes over to me, he's invading my space and I have to shift my schedule around his needs too, and if he doesn't get along with Choya, that's a firm NO. Not many dogs meet my house etiquette requirements. If I go over to walk your dog, you do realize that it's a seismic schedule shift that I am most reluctant to accommodate? Especially if you don't live near me at all. Do you realize that I have to wake up at 4.30am or 5am, walk my own dogs and then drive 20 minutes over to you, walk yours and feed, then get to work. And I repeat this at night, delaying my own bedtime, quiet-hour, and even having to decline evening social invitations to dinner and even having to skip gigs and shows that I have booked. 

WHY DO PEOPLE THINK IT'S OKAY TO IMPOSE ON FRIENDS LIKE THIS? DO THEY EVEN KNOW WHAT IT TAKES?

IT IS ALSO NOT OKAY TO IMPOSE ON FAMILY MEMBERS IN THIS MANNER TOO. Please don't expect your family to care for your pets just like that. 

I'm not unemployed and so damn free till I'm happy that you're offering something for me to do and not even paying me. I can do it for a day or two for friends, and never more than that. I will take Ryo because he's a Shiba-ken and his pawrents and us have a firm friendship. I will never do this for anyone that I don't have a solid friendship with. And this is a very narrow circle.

I have to take on everything that comes with caring for your dog, including vet visits and cleaning the house. Make no mistake in thinking that just coming in to walk the dog is easier than boarding the dog at mine. It's equally painful. I'd have to do a cursory clean; I surely can't just leave litter sand, fur and mess around for a week or two right? That means spending 2 hours a day at said home. More to do if it's a dog. That dog needs to be walked, cleaned and entertained. Food needs to be prepped and dishes CLEANED UP. 

I'm not sure if people know exactly what they're asking, or why they even think it's okay to ask this of friends. If being friends with you means that I have to check in and care for your pets too, then I’m glad we’re not friends and are simply acquaintances. I have no wish to be your valued friend. It's a very huge favor to ask. I could never.

Maya and Ivy.

I had a think about our neighbors' not-too-difficult request, and I was okay with it. They live in the estate, it's not much effort to do it since I didn't have a prior engagement. At the end of the day, we're neighbors, not friends. We have a cordial relationship based on civility; we do not have a friendship. I have Ryo this week, so Ryo and Choya's needs are priority. But doing a quick walk and feed for Maya and Ivy wouldn't be a big issue. Luckily these girls listen to me and are not difficult to walk since they know how I handle their leashes, and they do respond well to me.

What I didn't bargain for, was the unintentional 5km run this evening. Hahahahaha. I jogged Maya and Ivy for 3km around the estate. Then later in the night before (our human) dinner, we took the Ryo and Choya out and it was not that warm, so we ended up jogging 2km. Okaaaay, I got all my cardio in. 

What made me happiest at the end of the night was seeing all four floofs eat up their dinner and slurp up all the nutritious bone broth. They ate well tonight for sure!

Choya and Ryo.

I Like This Chunk of Work

I didn't have to, but I found myself agreeing to cover a facilitator-associate's 'night shifts' at three focus group sessions over three nights. She fell sick, but she had done all the prep work. She just needed someone competent to deliver it. It's an easy three nights, and it pays nicely.

It isn't a particularly crazy week of deadlines in my bread and butter freelance projects, so I decided to do it. I need to keep the brains active, sharpen my edge and see if I can still match the market demands. I didn't agree to these 'night shifts' out of ego lah! But since the organizers/clients welcomed me to join in the group facilitation for these sessions, I really didn't mind. After all, nobody ever minded more (legitimate) income. This decision might also have been pushed by the fact that my annual medical insurance coverage increased (age bracket lah), and last week, I literally just paid a bomb in premiums.

As it is, my hours are pretty flexible, and since I'm willing to put in these hours at work, then I might as well do it if I have a window. How much I earn is directly proportionate to how hard I work. I earn enough to pay all my bills, spend on whatever I want to, and on Choya. Yes, I have to pay taxes. I'm comfortable. I'm thankful for that.

With this freelance gig that has sort of organically developed and trundled along for the past decade without me having to schmooze much, I'm very pleased. This means that the classic concept of retirement from a job doesn't apply to me. I probably can do this for another 6-8 years. It could be more, but we'll have to see what the market says.

As I near 50 years old, of course I wonder what this freelance gig would become, and how the projects might dry up. That's not my worry. One must diversify income streams. When I have no children's trust funds and medical insurance to consider; if I haven't done my Math and financial planning by this age, I'm not much of a competent human living in an urban city, am I? 

The worry is — I need to have a think if my sense of self is also shaped by my work identity. That is the thing. I'm not obligated to offices and the social circles of colleagues and the peripheral matters like that. Well, I've never really bothered about 'belonging' to any office. While I like the administrative and tech support that an office provides, I don't like anything else about it. Synergy, dynamism, buzz and all that, sure. But I do not like the politicking. However, I'm not immune to the saying 'work keeps one relevant to society'. 

One day, the projects will dry up. When that day comes, I don't know if I could swallow that realization graciously. I'd need to find something else (on top of my charity projects) to do on a regular basis to maintain the mental sharpness. Intellectual skills need to be constantly honed. 

The Emptiness of the Body

Waited so long for a digital copy of Amanda Lee Koe's 'Sister Snake' (2024) and was so pleased to finally read it.

We all know the story of Chinese Legend of the White Snake — Bai Suzhen and her sister Xiao Qing. In this book set in this era, we have the two sisters Su living in Singapore, and Emerald living in New York City. Su is a white krait and Emerald is a green viper. Both are venomous, of course. 

After eight hundred years of cultivation, they stepped out of West Lake as humans in 1615. Shortly after, they split ways over a human male. Yawn. And out of anger, Su left Emerald for decades before they met again elsewhere. Then they began separate lives and only keeping in minimum contact. Then came today and they reunited in New York and then Singapore.

One is predictably married to a conservative politician with the incumbent government and majority ruling party in Singapore. She's living a sheltered life and wants to keep her head low. The other is living it up as an artist and creative in NYC and not really being too quiet about what her nature is. Su, Suzhen, Emerald, Xiao Qing. The names used in this book are all referring to the same two people.

Su is a planner and has understood the concept of money and has stashed away sufficient funds to last the centuries. Emerald is happy-go-lucky and didn't think she needs it. But she always ends up calling her sister to bail her out from sticky situations. The snakes didn't exactly need human food. They needed the humans' qi, and if they're careful and don't take too much and too fast from one human, said human wouldn't die. Su prefers not to take qi from humans, opting to take from animals. But in New York, she did. It's not as if Su is all innocent. Her nature reared its head. When she went to see Emerald in New York, she killed her sister's sugar daddy Gabe, and also her sister's best friend Bartek. She took all their qi. 

I laughed when the writer included a pregnancy for Su and attributed to parthenogenesis. Her medical scans showed an 'abnormal fetus' that was "completely limbless, without even stunted or irregularly formed stubs. It had only one lung, and where a human had thirty-three vertebrae, this fetus had at least a hundred." When her husband Paul had his doctor friend Wilson do an abortion for her, she lost it. She was enraged that her opinion wasn't consulted, and her views weren't respected. That was the end of it all. She couldn't stem her nature anymore. She murdered Wilson. Then she moved to search out Paul, who was at work. There was a massacre in the Singapore Parliament, while a session was in progress. I was like, is this satire? Hurhurhur. 

Between a third-term checkup and a fertility consultation, Wilson saw the three women who descended upon Su's recovery suite—fashionista taitai snob types—even he had misgivings about whether they were the sort of support network that Su should wake up to. But that was above his pay grade; he'd done his part. 

I honestly didn’t know what to make of this story. To begin with, I’m not a fan of xianxia-contemporary crossover films, dramas or even stories. The ending was expected, but kinda anti-climatic. I can't say I enjoyed this story. The writing is fine, along with character development, but the story and the plot itself aren't arresting. I'm not even going to think about the idea of assimilation, true selves, found family and biological family and sisterly relations. 

I don't see this as a queer novel or about queer characters. To me, it's so normal. It's about society, and everyone lives in it. It's about power-play, respect, individualism and creative outlets of expression. Sure, there's a criticism and such, but every society is different. You can't expect each city to be exactly like the one you want to live in. There is a mantra in this book that repeats and seems to be an anchor for both snakes, although it would have been forgotten periodically, and then dug up again. 

“This body itself is emptiness. Emptiness itself is this body.”

This line is extracted from the Heart Sutra in the scriptures of Mahayana Buddhism. 为《般若波罗蜜多心经里》的 ‘色不異空。空不異色。色即是空，空即是色。’ 

I suppose, on many occasions, we could all do with a bit of meditation on the five Buddhist aspects of human existence, which aren't very different from what all philosophical outlooks speak of — form, feeling, volitions, perceptions, and mind.

It Was Then Kampong Potong Pasir

While I know that Potong Pasir literally means 'cut sand' because of the many sand quarries in the area pre-war and for a few years after, I didn't know anything else about the area. I can't quite call it town because Singapore is so small that each 'estate' is literally an 'area'. Not quite a town even. Anyway. 

I had to know more about Potong Pasir back then. So I picked up two books by Josephine Chia. While the author isn't new to me, these two books are — 'Kampong Spirit' (2013) and 'Goodbye My Kampong' (2017). These books hold the author's childhood memories of growing up in a kampong in Potong Pasir. 

The language is a tad, reflective of the way authors of a generation write. It's highly repetitive and sometimes a tad over-detailed and slow. The author writes like the way an English school teacher talks. She has enormous respect for her mother, and her stories about her mother, especially the sewing of new curtains and clothes are repeated almost word for word thrice over. These repetitive narration of the personal details, is a bit overdone. 

But I get how she is grateful to her mother for pushing the case to allow her to go to school, to learn to speak English, to write, and have the opportunities to expand her horizons. Those are the precious opportunities not available to many kampong dwellers without money.

Kampong living was truly a different way of life. I can't call it better or worse. It's simply different. People lived life at a slower pace. Time and steady urbanization have forced all kampongs to disappear (except one — Kampong Lorong Buangkok built in 1956, and is still home to 25 families on half the size of the land then, on three football fields), and in its place, the buildings we know today, and many more being built. 

It's ironic, isn't it, that when we travel now, we seek out nature and 'kampong living'. 

'Kampong Spirit - Gotong Royong' (2013) / Life in Potong Pasir 1955-1965

This book addresses the author's growing years before Singapore split from Malaya became independent in 1965. Nobody spoke Mandarin. Everyone spoke Malay and dialects, and some spoke English in order to be employed by British firms.

The author's Peranakan family lived in a Malay kampong in Potong Pasir, as opposed to a Chinese kampong that reared pigs. In post-war those years, Kampong Potong Pasir lacked electricity and running water. Toilets were communal, and people used chamber pots at home; no flush toilets, no toilet paper. There wasn't such a thing as a refrigerator for them either. Electricity only arrived in the village via a generator in 1962. The family were poor too, and food wasn't plentiful. But there was harmony, help and camaraderie in the kampong. Life was hard but seemed happy. 

Born in 1951, the author lived through the Hock Lee bus riots in 1955, David Marshall becoming the first Chief Minister of Singapore, the political excitement of all the political parties and PAP's rise to power in Lee Kuan Yew becoming the first Prime Minister of Singapore in 1959, the big fire at Kampong Bukit Ho Swee, the chaos of Konfrontasi (the MacDonald House bombing happened today in 1965, 10 March), racial riots and bombings, and the ultimate painful separation of Singapore from Malaysia, et cetera. 

She tried to link those historical events to the happenings in the kampong, and in her family life. She mourned the loss of her best friend, an older girl named Parvathi who at 17 years old, chose to take her own life rather than marry a husband she didn’t want but her father insisted on. In those days, uneducated girls are totally at the mercy of their families. 

This book ended in 1965, with the separation of Singapore from Malaysia. The author was 14 years old, and getting an education and beginning to dream of more schooling and becoming a writer. 

Sports back then were a huge thing. It seemed to have united the kampong and residents, regardless of race and religion. Sports united a fledging country when our athletes won many medals in the SEAP Games in December 1965. Is it still a thing now? Sports in Singapore is like... muted — a good to have, and a wonderful activity for school-going children and young adults, and that be all. 

Well, thanks for kicking us out, Malaysia. Giggled when a familiar term came up, 'OCBC' — orang cina bukan cina. LOL Isn't this identity crisis still prevalent today, albeit in a different manner? 

In many ways, when we didn't have television, the horror of an incident was not brought home to us so tangibly. But now the sight of moving images with all their sound and fury made it hard to escape the drama and pain of the people engaged in conflict. Technology was both a gift and a curse. 

'Goodbye My Kampong' (2017) / Potong Pasir 1966-1975

This is like a follow-up to Josephine Chia's first book about Kampong Potong Pasir which ended in 1965 when she was 14 years old. So this one addressed the next stage in the years 1966-1975, when people have already chosen their identity as Singaporeans in a brand new Singapore. When the changes came, they arrived fast and furious.

"Though this book is specifically my final goodbye to my own kampong, it is also a goodbye to all the kampongs in Singapore and a now-extinct way of life."

1966 saw the protests by the Chinese-educated students of the Nanyang University, who demanded jobs in the civil service, and were upset that only English-educated students got that privilege. Mandatory National Service call-ups began for young men. The author's father also died from abdominal cancer. It was quick.  Floods were still prevalent in kampongs and villagers still die of cholera after.

I grinned when it mentioned Led Zeppelin's canceled show in Singapore in 1973 over their long hair, and how the Bee Gees refused to play a second show after having to wear hairnets on their first night of the tour here. Also, 'STOP AT TWO. Boy or Girl, Two is Enough.' Ahhh yes. This was the period of stupid social campaigns. 

And I had clean forgotten how the Malaysian government wanted to extort $70 million dollars from us if we wanted to keep the acronym of MSA (Mercury Singapore Airlines) for our national carrier. Walao, they don't even want us to use MSA because it's too close to MAS. FINE. SIA it is. And SIA soared. Remember this is what in essence the Malaysian government is. Tsk tsk.

The author graduated as a full-fledged dental nurse. Her other best friend Fatima would marry and move to Kuala Lumpur. 

The book ended in 1975, as families in the attap houses in Kampong Potong Pasir packed up and prepared to move out. Their landlord was relocating soon and wanted his compensation from the government. Many moved to better housing and amenities. But nobody was prepared for the loneliness and silence in a complete change of lifestyle. In 1975, the author was then 24 years old, and had applied to university to read literature, and had been accepted. She dared to dream of a future and better prospects. 

The end of the kampong came swiftly. Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew was tough and decisive. No more firecrackers, no more kampongs, no more cholera. Building a solid military and a strong economy, modernization and hygiene were key words. Kampong Potong Pasir along the Kallang River was prone to floods, and the last major flood in 1978 devastated the remainder of the village. 

Two thousand poultry and pigs died, floating belly-up down Kallang River and making a great stench. The low-lying farms and houses were destroyed by the heavy rain and mudslides. After that, the final clear-out began. Bulldozers, diggers and mechanical cranes invaded the village, like alien monsters. They uprooted ancient trees unceremoniously, some of which we had climbed and loved. The attap houses were broken and crushed, years of history tumbling down and disintegrating. None of these things mattered to the labourers. They did not feel what we felt about the place. On the outside, it was just a shanty village of wooden houses with old-fashioned attap-thatched roofs. How could they know what the village had meant to us?

The whole kampong was razed to the ground. Totally wiped out. 

The elderly folks of that era who moved from kampong to these high-rise flats struggled to cope. Living in flats is a different thing man. We certainly don't talk to our neighbors so much. It was a changing landscape, a changing city, and it's very discombobulating. 

Time and urbanization wait and care for no man. It is what it is. Preservation and heritage took a back seat to city-building and country-saving. We had an economy to churn, jobs to create, and people to feed. Those were more important than any arts and culture campaigns to remember any sort of 'heritage'. 60 years on, in 2025, these years would become our heritage.  

Selamat tinggal. Those were the days. 

Turning 47

My heart has beaten for 47 years. How long more, I wonder. An adult female's heart weighs between 230-300g. That doesn't seem like much huh, but it is the one powerhouse keeping everything running. I'm not sure what more I can do to improve heart health. I just keep everything I eat and drink in check, and in moderation. 

47. 

What weighs heavy on the heart? 

What have I achieved at 47?

Life and living to me is not about achieving social or family milestones. It's not about gaining medals or accolades or societal recognition. When getting excellent academic grades came easy to me, I started wondering what else is beyond academic achievements. I didn't walk the path the parents set for me. I didn't want to be the CEO of anything, and I knew for sure I never want to be the CEO of any business either. I don't have the smarts to be a CFO of any sort either. I like assisting. I like being an assistant. I like being No.3 or No.5 in a hierarchical structure of either a corporation or a charity. I like fading into the background. Let me do my job quietly.

The country of birth and the family born into create privileges that allow for more privileges. What I choose to do with these given privileges is how I decide what to do with my adult life. I've never had an identity crisis. I'm not given to feeling imposter syndrome or anything inadequate. Since I was a kid, I've been told that I'm an overachiever. I've always been comfortable in my own skin doing what I want to do even as 'elders' question me. This confidence that I've had since I was a kid, never diminished. I've not lost it. I do things as I deem fit, not as what society sees as appropriate. 

Yet I have zero heroic aspirations. I do not want my name in any society magazines, entrepreneurship journals, environmental activists kind of thing. I just do me. I do what I can for my community and my sphere of influence. Put me in a war zone, and my conscience and learnt behavior will be very much different. 

Who I am married to doesn't define me, but how this marriage navigates life, will affect my confidence since this is supposed to be a loved one, a confidant. I didn't know what to make of marriage. But I know what it takes to carry on with a long-term relationship. That said, I wasn't prepared to let it dictate my life. I am still cognizant that I need to be seriously independent to move on with life if separation, divorce or death happens in this relationship. 

I'm fairly pleased at how life has panned out. I am contented. I am thankful. I am still Catholic, but I am not religious. I have allowed my conscience and instincts to guide my choices and attitude towards people, situations and circumstances. I am glad that my education and beliefs allow for a morally strong conscience in this particular set of social norms. 

I love my friends for thinking of me this month. I don't need presents. Their friendships are my best gifts. An easy meal is always welcome. I don't need fancy; I love comfort food. A coffee too, works beautifully, if that means I get a precious hour with a loved one. 

I'm spacing out meals because I definitely can't do heavy foods daily, and I need to go easy on the alcohol too. Not everyone's schedule can squeeze me into this week. Hence, I decided it's prudent (for my stomach and people's calendars) to space out birthday meals to span the whole month.  

47. Hello.

Hello 2025.

I didn't do any wild parties last night. We made sure to come home to the floofs by 10.45pm in case the fireworks booms are crazy. (We live in the middle of two venues that held mega fireworks. The booms were surprisingly low and limited.) They also needed their bedtime pee and supper. Everyone ate well. Nobody was drunk. Everyone had a good night's sleep.

It's a brand new year. Dunno if it's the same shit, different situation(s). But we certainly keep moving on because that's the only way to go. Time will move along at its stately pace, and the days will churn along. There is only this life, and there is how we choose to live it. 

At 10am, an invitation to a dinner (via a text) upset me first thing on New Year's Day. I was highly irritated by the phrasing and high-handedness of it. And honestly, sending an invite on this day at this timing seemed precisely engineered to piss me off. I took a deep breath and decided that while I could easily control my reply to this invite (it's a 'NO'), I need to better control my emotional responses in its wake.

If I could completely justify declining the invite, as well as not feeling any guilt about it or not being emotionally blackmailed, then I need to adjust my own responses of anger and retaliation about my own decision. After all, why should I let stupidity spoil my day and my mood. I am in control of this response. I need to learn to be adept at training this response. Then I wouldn't be angsty about it. Gotta learn to let it go. It's easier said than done, but I have to do it.

If I'm pissed, I'd just allow myself a short window. Stop stewing. You know what, I can always take it out on the laundry, vacuuming the flat and mopping the floors. These chores never end. They'll always be waiting for me. LOL

I inhaled the coffee, took a deep breath, and let it go. 

Happy New Year. May we all guard our mind space amongst the muddle. 

The Last Day of 2024

We're right on New Year's Eve. Where did the year go?!!! A year well-lived means I am without regrets on this day, the last day of the year. Does it count for something if I haven't made anyone cried. Anyone who is displeased with me should check their own opinions and discern whether they're displeased because I didn't do what they want me to, or I truly did them wrong. 

I have learnt to distinguish between doing something in order to make someone happy and whether I truly want to. I have come to realize that when people are displeased with me, it's usually for their own selfish, entitled reasons. And I'm equally selfish because I do not want to fulfil their sense of self-entitlement and obediently play my part in their picture of things. 

I have learnt so much from the dogs. I'm very partial to this breed, and their traits align with what I seek in friends too. While I'm very logical and methodical, I sometimes lose the human touch in handling matters. I don't have a low EQ. I'm just not partial to having it guide my decisions. I'm not too bothered about being tactful. To that, I still have so much to learn about getting along with people, keeping friends, and being a friend and a half-decent human being. 

What is Morality? What is Reason?

Since it's the year end round-up for so many things, of course as one of the final reads of 2024, I had to also read Nikhil Krishnan's 'Does Our Morality Do Us Any Good', published in The New Yorker on December 23, 2024. There's a lot to chew upon. 

This is pretty much a book review of Hanno Sauer's new book, 'The Invention of Good and Evil: A World History of Morality' (September 2024). It's written in German and translated to English by Jo Heinrich.

The author is a Fellow at Robinson College, with an interest and a doctorate in philosophy. As such, this book review became a thoughtful essay too. The essay/review opened with the author's personal opinion, 

Naturally, I hold slavery to be an abomination and liberal democracies to be better than totalitarian dictatorships. But why? I could draw on my years of education to tell you it has something to do with my belief in freedom, autonomy, the awfulness of treating a fellow human being as a mere instrument. But a skeptic can point out that I had these convictions before I was ever in a position to articulate a cogent argument for them. The arguments came afterward; they are rationalizations of things I already believed.

Philosophers through the ages have long been divided as to whether there's such a thing as 'moral progress'. We also can't avoid talking about Frederich Nietzsche and his 'On the Genealogy of Morality' (1887) — guilt, conscience, responsibility, law and justice. Immanuel Kant believes that 'reason is the basis of morality', and in freedom, there is moral constraint. Well, then we have many unreasonable immoral people in this world, isn't it?

Elizabeth Anscombe famously opposed Oxford University's move in conferring an honorary doctorate on Harry Truman because she said that Truman was a murderer. She argued that killing innocent people in Nagasaki and Hiroshima seemed necessary only because the Allies stupidly insisted that Japan unconditionally surrender. The brilliant Elizabeth Anscombe's philosophical work always give me a migraine. She is also a staunch Catholic. In her essay 'Mr. Truman's Degree' (1958), She argued that, 

To kill someone deliberately, she notes, is to kill someone either for its own sake or as a means to some further end. Such killing is intentional. By contrast, Anscombe claims that the distinction between the intended and the merely foreseen is “absolutely essential” to Christian ethics. Some actions (e.g. murder) Christian ethics always prohibits or forbids, and intentional killing of the innocent is on this list.

We are all a culmination of our education, families and society, isn't it? Math and natural sciences, as well as our beliefs in moral beliefs, and the religion we subscribe to. We are a product of our environment, all factors included. 

How we think, how we live, is exactly how we think the world ought to be. What is self-entitlement? That itself is a privilege. How I write, how I think, how I problem-solve and approach people, are a sum total of my education and my life's experiences. How would that morally justify me in any means to an end unless it's acknowledged by society and whatever done is within the laws of my resident city. 

That brings us to the past fifty years, decades that inherited the familiar structures of modernity: capitalism, liberal democracy, and the critics of these institutions, who often fault them for failing to deliver on the ideal of human equality. The civil-rights struggles of these decades have had an urgency and an excitement that, Sauer writes, make their supporters think victory will be both quick and lasting. When it is neither, disappointment produces the “identity politics” that is supposed to be the essence of the present cultural moment. 

His final chapter, billed as an account of the past five years, connects disparate contemporary phenomena—vigilance about microaggressions and cultural appropriation, policies of no-platforming—as instances of the “punitive psychology” of our early hominin ancestors. Our new sensitivities, along with the twenty-first-century terms they’ve inspired (“mansplaining,” “gaslighting”), guide us as we begin to “scrutinize the symbolic markers of our group membership more and more closely and to penalize any non-compliance.” We may have new targets, Sauer says, but the psychology is an old one.

Look at the world this 2024. Natural disasters notwithstanding because of climate change, wars and more wars with the Middle East going up in flames, and a return of Trump to the US Presidency, as well as some weird tweaks to the American medical and justice systems, et cetera. It's pretty much doom and gloom every day. 

I'm not sure I can simply stick my head in the sand and not bother about all this. If I do so, it's because I live in a weird little construct called Singapore. I don't know how future generations will survive. My scenario planning skills don't stretch that far. 

Is this a more pessimistic world now? I suppose each generation's 40-50 somethings will feel the same? Like we're embracing mortality, and along with it, a shift of morals even? That's for the philosopher within  every one of us to mull over. Deep thoughts for the second last day of the year. 

Thinkers who see morality as having been constructed are often supposed to have trouble accounting for the possibility of moral progress. What is progress, after all, if not swapping error for a timeless truth? The anxiety induced in us by genealogical reflection comes, in large part, from having to accept that what we’d taken to be an eternal verity might be a fairly recent product of human history, biological and social. If our moral commitments don’t rest on deeper truths, how can we hope to resolve the conflicts that continue to divide us? Sauer’s perspective here is notably sunny. He sees a possible future in which our values do not so much converge as reveal themselves never to have really diverged in the first place.

Merry Christmas

Christmas time doesn't always mean fuzzy warmth to many people. The 'most joyous season' of the year doesn't bring joy to many, even Christians. The season always brings regrets and nostalgia to many. My faith is always tested during this period. I'm not particularly religious. As it is, I don't go to Mass often. Well, I do turn up four times a year. That's about it.

Holiday blues are real to non-Christians too. There's too many social gatherings to think about. Unless one chooses not to attend. For Singapore, Christmas 2024 melts into Lunar New Year 2025 within a month of each other. For introverts, there's hardly time to breathe. In supermarkets, Christmas gold and silver decor on sale are placed right next to the new displays of Lunar New Year reds. 

Do Christmas the way you want it. Do holidays the way you want it. Guard your heart, secure your mind space, protect your solitude. If you do it to what society and your family expects or demands of you and you're exhausted, I feel sorry for you. Learn to say NO. If you don't, then you will just have to deal with it. 

Christmas to me, is a blessed season only because it's a generic time to popularly count one's blessings. I do too. It's pretty much joy, but how much of it is superficial in saying 'Merry Christmas'? I refuse to say 'Merry Christmas' if it's just that. I refuse to send a dumb gif or pic with just that line. Whatever for. That message should be accompanied by a heartfelt line, or a note. Unless we meet regularly or we're that close to know each other's tone in that very simple line of 'A very Merry Christmas to you.'

Anyway.

[14] And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we saw his glory, the glory as it were of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth. 

~ John 1:14, Douay-Rheims

Illustration by artist Izumi Kamoshida / 鴨志田和泉.

Reminders of Mortality

I turned up at the old folks' homes and the hospice as usual this week. I'm still not fatigued from volunteering with the team and doing what I do best. I've always preferred to devote charity efforts to old folks in need and those on palliative care. It has been three decades and I'll do it for as long as I can. It isn't emotionally taxing for me, and I've long learnt to draw boundaries.

Hitting 50 years old soon meant that I'm seeing my friends succumbing to illnesses. Over the past few months, attending a few funerals and learning news of friends being diagnosed with cancer and such is sobering. It keeps in full view, our own mortality and vulnerabilities.  

Their choices of treatment, or not, is fully dependent on their illnesses's prognosis, current life's circumstances, as well as discussions with their family. Some people are great patients and some aren't. Some people choose to deal with their diagnosis calmly and matter-of-factly. Many place their trust and lives in their respective religious faiths. Some got berserk and totally emotional. Nothing is wrong or bad. It's your choice of reaction. Your entire outlook and philosophy about life might likely change as a result of your own diagnosis. 

Everything about how you choose to view being stricken with cancer or other autoimmune diseases, cholesterol, heart and kidney issues, is entirely on yourself. You decide whether you choose happiness or optimism, or choose to spiral, and remain at rock bottom, or push the blame on something else. Asking 'why me' doesn't help. None of us are so special. If we have the privilege of health, then please use that to serve your community. 

I can't judge you or tell you what to choose. I'm the worst at that. If I'm a close enough friend and you choose to ask, I can only tell you a logical course of action. Otherwise, I treat you as per how I always do, but I will support extra and spur you on in terms of dietary choices or whether you feel like going out. However, no one person can be a sole caregiver and not get burnt out. Aside from your medical team, you will need to roster a team of friends and contacts to look after your daily and emotional needs. I tend to treat you exactly how I treat my old folks (we're all getting there) — with civility and respect for your choices, whether you're throwing a tantrum or not. I'm excellent at ignoring you and taking you at your words. BUT being sick doesn't give you the right to be cruel or mean, or play manipulative games.

Over the decades, I've learnt to compartmentalize my emotions towards human illnesses and death, and tragic as they maybe, they don't hit me as hard. Or rather I have seen so much physical pain (from illnesses) and emotional angst and dead bodies that I've grown a tougher shell against it. I honestly think I can even deal with any potential illnesses for the husband and myself. We get our administrative affairs in order, and will deal with the unpredictables when they arise.

It's probably Choya falling ill that I can't bear.

Why Is It Always The Women and Their In-Laws?

I literally laughed soooo loud while reading this. Ruth Chew's article on CNA published on 14 October, 2024, 'Ways for women: 5 tips on how to say no to your in-laws to maintain boundaries and harmony'. It gives you some ideas in saying no nicely. Well. 

These helpful suggestions are angled for women. I wonder, do the men ever need these sort of tips? Do they not put out articles to advise the husbands? It's always us women, isn't it? When I have no children, it makes it easier since there're fewer opinions and demands imposed on me. 

This CNA Lifestyle site has a whole section of women, and not enough on the men. The content is making me feel like women have to bear all the burdens too. And these writers really should know that there is male menopause even writing in the context of menopause. The CNA Lifestyle site writers need to be go deeper and be better educated in their research. 

This article suggests that women with 'difficult' in-laws try to, Define Boundaries, Communicate Clearly But With Respect, Get Your Husband's Help and Support, Reinforce Boundaries and Find Middle Ground, and to See the Big Picture.

There are no right answers. Boundaries are different for different people. For example, some in-laws expect to see their children (and grandchildren) every day, while others feel that once a month or fortnight is fair, to cater more time for other activities. Don’t forget to share your boundaries with empathy, considering that your in-laws may not have had experience with the “younger generation” telling them no.

I won't comment much. You know where I stand on these issues, and you know I can say NO very well, till my in-laws have either come to fear me or view me with disgust, both of which I DGAF, because when I no longer respect them or view them with much warmth except as a fellow neighbor/human, their approval or opinions don't matter anymore. Civility is now all there is. 

Actions speak louder than words. So the best way is to act the way you’d like to be treated. Show empathy, gratitude and respect for one another. Be mindful of their needs and wants too. This may require a change in behaviour or disrupting your own patterns to initiate this “change”. For example, setting time limits on the weekend for extended family visits. When you feel the tension building, take deep breaths and redirect the conversation, or step out for a quick walk.

I choose to distance myself from the in-laws and their toxic emotions and gaslighting perspectives. I do not share the same opinions and views and feelings on many matters, especially on the treatment of helpers and foreign workers, educating children, and how to best raise them, Palestine and Israel (and now Lebanon), etc. I don't even share their liking for their preferred food and meals. But man, even just having a dog, gets stupid and ignorant comments from them (they refused to be educated) till I'll never ever leave Choya with them. Tsk tsk. 

It's pretty much, if I ignore you, please leave me alone. Nothing I say here on this blog is secret. I have told the in-laws to their faces, in about a thousand different ways, many times, as to what I think. I do not play games. I choose frankness. I also prefer to to avoid confrontation by keeping quiet. I don't enjoy conversations with them or their company. And the best thing I have done is to silently get up without responding, to leave the table or to leave the entire dinner altogether. I won't shove my opinions down your throat. But when I'm pushed into a corner, and being gas-lit, I'll tell you what I really think. 

All adults require time to adjust, including the elderly. It pays to have patience in seeing the big picture, which is the well-being of those in your family unit. 

Some battles cannot be won, so don’t sweat the small stuff. Being assertive is important to communicate your boundaries, but you don’t need to win every argument. Consider if this will matter in five or even 10 years. If it doesn’t, let it go. 

Learning to say no and setting healthy boundaries is not about keeping your in-laws out – it’s about letting others safely into your life. Steering your relationship with your in-laws can be confronting, especially in our Asian context. 

Remember, the goal is to create a balanced environment where everyone’s needs are met and respected, allowing you to lead a more peaceful life with a supportive family dynamic.

Singapore Turns 59

Remember how we always say ‘it doesn’t rain on National Day’? Well it did this year. At least it stopped right before the official start of the annual National Day Parade (NDP). Even if nobody minded the rain, to have everything soaking wet would be a tad annoying. Not that people wouldn’t have been drenched in perspiration from our relentless heat and humidity.

I paid scant notice to the National Day Parade. It’s not my thing lah. I would just read the summary of the events in the official channels and on social media. This year’s NDP show’s creative director is Brian Gothong Tan. From all NDP previews, it’s a coherent and cohesive one. 

Singapore turns 59 this year. The theme of the National Day celebrations this year is ‘Together, As One United People’. Apparently, we celebrate diversity and inclusivity. I certainly hope so. In Singapore social spheres, inclusivity and diversity are celebrated insofar it complements social norms and don’t push the limits, and preferably adhere to all religious sensitivities. 

What I surprisingly paid notice to, are the songs. There’s an original composition sung by Amni Musfirah, titled ‘Hold Up the Sky’. It’s written by Kaylene Tan, composed by Bang Wenfu. It’s nice… catchy and very cliched. The segment at the show was absolutely stereotypical, with a familiar voice talking about mudflats. Ugh. Never mind.

I didn’t bother about the official theme song, #sorrynotsorry, but what I really liked, is the original composition by weish and Claude Glass (Isa Ong) — ‘Horizon’. It’s not your typical four-chord ra-ra Parade song suitable for mass sing-alongs. It’s done weish-style. Sent chills down my spine when I listened to it on repeat.

I wish Singapore would truly embrace diversity and make a continued concerted push beyond the horizon. Let’s not sit around and point fingers and make snide remarks about ‘liberal weird people’ who aren’t your everyday neighbors. Make the everyday fun! Stop being insular. Stop complaining about trends and thw chamging world and new habits. Stop harking back to ‘how things were done’. Singapore is an odd engineered construct that ought to be protected. But not to be conservatively ostracizing. Let’s embrace weirdness. We’re all little oddities.