Lest one walks on and on confounded

Reading a novel by Joshua Ferris about a successful Manhattan lawyer who has a mental disorder of not being able to control his feet which can make him walk out in the middle of something important and go on for miles without stopping until fatigue, frostbite etc bring him collapsing at a gas station or public toilet. What I want to discuss are pages in the book where the guy talks about the inexhaustible list of treatment and cures he has sought and which have all failed. The list includes:

Neurologists and  MRIs
Psychiatrists' medication
Dieticians with their recommendation to cut nicotine, sugar, caffeine
Naturopath with magic roots, grass & carrot smoothies for body cleansing
Environmental psychologist blaming urban air, cell phone radiation, contaminated water table
Mayo Clinic (probably suspicion of addiction)
John Hopkin's suggestion of group therapy for compulsive behaviour
Cleveland Clinic's psychiatric conclusion of excessive "health-care-seeking" behaviour
Genealogical healer on the chance that something tragic had taken place in his past or that of his ancestors
Alternative medicine healer's concoction of  bat wing extract
Spiritual healer's "guided life-force energy"
Yoga, Reiki, Meditation
Panchakarma which in Ayurvedic medicine is a five fold detoxification treatment
Rebirthing therapy where he had to reenact his birth

In the story ( the storyline of which I do not intend to discuss ) the afflicted guy seeks each treatment with a new leash of hope but just as soon abandons it with disappointment dismissing some as quackery. He wants a quick fix. Of course if in Asia he would have included TCMs, acupuncture, chiropractic and other spiritual/faith healers.

I think of this list and the sandplay therapy that I am now practicing. In my research on sandplay therapy I have come across very strong comments about the absence of empirical evidence of its effectiveness. Very often when informing parents of how sandplay therapy works I focus on it being an expressive therapy whereby the child is able to express hidden feelings and surface repressed issues through the sand-picture or sand-story. I wouldn't even want to explain that sandplay therapy allows the child's psyche to unfold and constellate which brings about healing. I fear they may interpret it as some witchcraft. Already some parents give me that look of "How do you know my child is not just playing". It is difficult for them to see that even in "just playing" the child goes into deep spontaneity of their "inner language". How do you explain to them, that through play the child can draw on his own inner healing resources?

That explains the fact that parents usually place very low priority when scheduling such sandplay sessions making sure the child's tuition and other enrichment class timetable is not disrupted. Many could only afford the time during the school holidays, how sad. Can't blame them. Academic achievement comes first and tuition produces tangible results Emotional health at best ranks second and any progress is often slow and not easily noticeable. Even if they do value emotional health parents often have more faith in talk therapy believing that if they can't talk sense into their kids, surely counsellors can. To be fair there are also parents who think that sandplay session helps after just one session or 2 which I sometimes attribute it to be the placebo effect on the parents. Most however are in want of seeing quick fixes to prove time worth spending.

I thought parents nowadays, unlike my time, would have learnt to focus on emotional health  of their kids above all else. I must admit that for baby boomers it did not dawn on us that as parents we have to pay attention to the holistic development of our children; having been left to our own devices to grow up in the 60s and 70s. Looks like courses on parenting are really essential. I am glad MSF now runs a co-parenting program for couples and their children going through divorce. Part of the program aim to equip the children to express and manage their feelings.

We have to recognise that success is not only about status lest a child grows up to be a high achiever and then one day out of nowhere is hit by a compulsion to walk out of everything and continue walking miles and miles confounded by the "layers and layers of complexity ... he would never comprehend" or never had the chance to comprehend.

From London to Tebrau City

When I was in London in June I spent one afternoon at the Westfield Stratford City, a large shopping mall. After 2 hours of walking, my husband and I plonked ourselves in a MacDonald outlet near to where a group of elderly Chinese men (whom we called "uncles" in Singapore) was seated.  One of my favourite pastimes when travelling is to eavesdrop intentionally or unintentionally. From their conversation I could tell they are residents in London.  Speaking in Cantonese they were discussing about betting on the Euro cup. One guy was teaching the other how to fill up the betting ticket whilst another guy provided the odds for each match in great detail. They gave me the feeling that it makes no difference for them whether they are in London, NY or HK, habits and lifestyle remain the same. It strikes me as migration without the need for cultural assimilation especially if they live within their ethnic community.

Whilst munching the nuggets and looking up at the Uniloq, H&M, Bodyshop, Lego and Apple shops around me I felt I could jolly well thought I was in Singapore if someone just dropped me there without telling. I had the same feeling just last weekend at the Tebrau City mall in Johor with the same outlets. Indeed cities have become increasingly homogeneous because of a "global consumer culture" shaped by global branding. Cities push back on their authentic cultural characteristics to cater to demand by tourists, expats and consumers for something familiar  and universal.

I think of that group of uncles. As long as they can find a similar ethnic bunch it makes little difference whether they discuss soccer bets in the MacDonald of a shopping mall in Asia or UK or US. I used to think that living in a foreign country takes a lot of assimilation and integration. I have to ponder further.

The Blue Danube

Budapest, the capital of Hungary comprises of Buda a hilly region and Pest on the plains, on opposite sides of the River Danube. Buda is more historical with the beautiful palace and Pest is more modern and commercial, buzzling with pubs and high street shopping. The 2 are linked by bridges including the old chain bridge built in 1849. The view  from each side looking across the other is equally beautiful and stunning. Every elevation whilst climbing the hill where the castle sits in Buda and looking across the Danube at the Parliament House in Pest offers a new angle to marvel at. In the evening walking along the Pest waterfront the lighted castle at Buda across the Danube is magical. Strolling along the Pest riverfront one evening I noticed how beautifully blue the River Danube was which brought to mind Johann Strauss' Blue Danube Waltz.

My mother's younger brother introduced our family to popular classical music when he stayed with us for a few years in KL. He saved his meager income as a tailor to buy records of classical music and a good quality turntable. He would spend all his free time polishing the records until they shone like a mirror. We could not learn to appreciate his Mozart and Beethoven pieces but were quite hooked onto his Johann Strauss pieces, especially the Blue Danube and the Merry Widow. A bit of an asperger my uncle had few friends and focused on his passion; and would saved up months of salary whilst stinging on food and clothing to indulging on what he loved. Once he eyed a lovely crystal vase which cost $1700  (Imagine that $1700 in 1970s). He window shopped it for months and finally saved enough to purchase it for his pleasure viewing. As he died a bachelor my aunty gave me the vase for contributing to his funeral expenses. It still sits in my glass cabinet and makes me wonder about him every time I look at it.

Now back to the beautiful Blue Danube and the Danube at Budapest. As I strolled along the Danube with my husband in the cool evening breeze which stirred the river into a flowing rhythm I hummed the Blue Danube Waltz and thought how blessed I was. My uncle would have saved years of his salaries if he could just to see the birthplaces of Mozart, Beethoven and the River Danube. I wished I had brought back a tiny bottle of the Blue Danube to place inside the crystal vase. Perhaps on the next visit.

Meanwhile extracts of the verses of Blue Danube hummed in my ears:

"your silver stream
through all the lands
you merry the heart
with your beautiful shores"

Let me say
 "You merry the heart
even of distant shores and
 of years long past"

The Perfect Life

One thing that slaps you in the face when you walk out of Changi Airport after a trip abroad is the humidity. It weighs you down. Immediately you recall the nice pleasant stroll in the park or the cool expanse of open country just a day or two ago. Unpacking with the fan in full blast and sweat under your brows you will yell "this country is simply inhabitable".

One lasting enjoyment about travelling is the sense of objectivity when settling back into home routine. After the futile attempts to sleep from various positions in an economy class seat your beautiful bed and pillow is the first thing you appreciate about home  albeit in an air-con room. Yes, blessed are the ones who can enjoy nights of sound sleep. The routine evening swim takes on a fresh perspective too. You wonder why you never ever notice that the waters is that blue and soothing. Swimming is a tropical luxury. Bathing is now back to being more relaxed and thorough instead of the struggle to drab your body with towel and clothing to ward off the cold.

The following day you devour your favourite local bee-hoon breakfast and the chicken rice lunch. When the stomach is filled with pleasure you can feel it in your body how unwholesome our hawker food is. Just 2 weeks of eating tons of fresh green salads and absence of oily Chinese cooking, you can tell the effect of healthy and unhealthy eating. You decide you have to search for new recipes.

But most of all you also think about life recipes and not just food recipes. Overhearing the conversation between an elderly local couple throughout the coach trip from Oxford to London, you hear a glimpse of their life. Watching an old lady with a bent back dressed in swimming costume slowly descending a flight of steps with a walking stick towards a thermal swimming pool in Budapest lends an inspiration. Trying to reach someone shortly after 5pm in an office in London, you recalled that no one works as hard as Singaporeans. Witnessing some joggers in a park confronting a woman whose dog chased after a little duckling in a lake, you observe absence of antipathy. All these little observations knock into you that there are different ways of living life and some of your own life recipe can be tweeted.

The best may be to take the good of each country's delicacy. It will be ideal if one can afford to stay briefly in different parts of the world and then come home to the comfort of one's bed. That would be The perfect life.