In a Race that Matters

My heart sunk when I saw him lying in that bed—oxygen in his nostrils, a wire of the cardiac monitor (that looked like it had seen better years) attached in the puffy middle finger of his left hand, a dextrose needle in his right wrist. He was wearing a grayish, faded hospital gown and his lower trunk was covered by a thin fleece blanket. He appeared pale ( though my sister Lilit commented he already gained color compared to his first few days in the hospital), and looked helpless. His eyes were closed but his brows creased from time to time, as though even in sleep, he was grimacing in pain. While the room manned 24/7 by a nurse exuded special care, the patient—my father, all of his 84 years, certainly looked like it was the last place he would want to be in had he a choice despite the squeaky clean environs and the nurses' constant, albeit mechanical scrubbing of Lysol-laced rug over the bed rails. The hustle and bustle of gloved hands and masked faces and even the o

My devotions these past these days centered on Wanda Sanseri’s God’s Priceless Woman —a 182-page study manual of Biblical models on how a godly woman should live. I went over this material a year ago, but the lessons got somehow lost with the daily grind. It took me another crack of serious studying to be refreshed anew of the timeless insights and spiritual jewels hidden in its pages. Indeed, it pays to keep books at arm’s length even as they have been read twice over. One can never fully grasp any read in just one sitting. Every flick of a page opens up to new realizations and new insights that somehow escaped my finite understanding as first time reader. This week, I was particularly struck with the lesson on Fearing God. There are two definitions of “Fear” in my elder brother’s musty, worn-out, 1996Webster Comprehensive Dictionary. First, it is defined as “ an emotion excited by threatening evil or impending pain, accompanied by a desire to avoid or escape it .” It

“You are a great teacher, Mommy.” That’s my five-year-old praising me matter-of-factly after I showed him how to brush his teeth properly. I was caught off-guard with his reaction to my three-minute demonstration. It was exhilarating-- almost like winning the jackpot of the one-hundred-million Lotto draw. Whew, I did nothing much to earn that commendation, but as we are often told, kids tell no tales-- especially if such kids happen to be “jailed” in a 67-square meter condo listening to and watching Hillsong kids’ live worship concert on DVD day in and day out. But such innocent quip has started to bug me to no end. It has become a cuckoo in my nest—it made me pause and think hard enough on what being a teacher is all about. Eversince I took to heart my role as a homeschooling Mom, I made every imaginable effort to be the best home teacher I can be. I read books on homeschooling lent to me by a friend in church who also homeschools her kids. I surfed the net, downloaded volumino

The kids and I have been scouring the libraries in this fascinating city-state. So far, we’ve been to Geylang, Toah Payoh and Esplanade. We also took a peep at the PasirRis library located in a mall beside the MRT station. If you are a book lover, you will find the public libraries here an oasis—a place where one can drink deeply from the fountain of knowledge, be mentally refreshed and reinvigorated. To me, a library (well, I refer at least to any library here) is the only prison cell I look forward to being caged in. You enter a fledgling and you leave the door an eagle, raring to flap your wings across the sea of life and towards the vast expanse of the limitless skies. Yum,yum. I practically drool over the books I missed reading when I was young--- fairy tales, myths, folk tales, adventure and what-have-you. With a plethora of books and audiovisuals at your fingertips, who says homeschooling can’t be done? This leads me to feel sorry for the deplorable state of the universit

The boys and I had a field day. We train hopped for City Hall, Dhoby Gout, Simei, Tampines and Pasir Ris.This aside from the circuitous bus ride we had going to Toah Payoh on our way to the library. We also strolled along Orchard, spent time at Ngee Ann and Wisma--shopping havens of the high-heeled. Well, I did try going out in a girlish outfit with matching heeled sandals from Manel's. The result? I had leg cramps when I hit the hay. Was down for two days after a half day of catwalk. Good thing my older son volunteered to give me a full-body massage last night. He smothered my weary bod with Bengay. Was lulled to sleep, with his labor of love. Good work,son.

Welcome back, twins. You've been on a four-month hiatus from blogging. Haven't you missed racking your brains trying to document moments of the "mist?" Do you think by putting off writing,err, blogging, you can get away with it? Nope. Been on holiday. Gotten into battle of wits against the simple (read: fools). Got stuck with domestic concerns. My hands were full, actually. A day never passed without coco exercise. Just scan through this list. 1. November --- The vagabonds were back to Mom's birthtown. We returned just in time for granny's 74th birthday celeb. After spending eight weeks in the pollution-free city-state, the kids crinched being greeted with the smog, noise and helter skelter of Manila. Orvik's skin asthma resurfaced, so march to the province did we, where the rustic ambience soothed our weary senses. 2. December -- First week we visited Aunti fashionista at MS after undergoing TAHBSO. By golly, the mas