Mother of Universe

I had a challenging client yesterday morning.. When I went to the Home for my first session with this girl, she was nowhere to be found. They had to track her down. When she entered the room she just plonked herself angrily on the chair, staring into space, seemingly oblivious to the vast collection of colourful symbols, figurines and little toys displayed on the table in front of her. I remarked softly that she seemed to be a bit upset and that it was ok for her to sit there as long as she wanted. I sat a metre away to gave her space. Awhile later I drew my seat a bit closer but remained quiet. I was reminded of Robin William in "Goodwill Hunting" and psycho myself that it was ok to sit with the client without uttering a single word for the whole session.

We sat there in silence and through the glass doors stared at the heavy rain beating onto the floor of the basket ball court outside. It was a gray and wet morning somehow befitting the mood of the teenage girl whose face gradually looked more sad than angry. "Being there for the client" I experienced this at another level yesterday.

Gradually she gingerly poked one finger into the sand tray, drawing patterns on the surface with it. With a bit of prompting she progressed to engaging a hand and then both hands. There is something about the texture of sand that draws people in once they touch it. From then on it was a lot of feeling, lifting, sprinkling, scooping, sculpting and shuffling with both hands. Younger kids sometimes tell you straight in the face that they love the sand or they want to eat it or they want to step into the tray and bury their whole body in it. Perhaps it is some form of tactile connection with nature or earth or perhaps it is like letting go and trusting Mother Universe to take us into her charge when we are lost. Almost inevitably there will be some ease and some relief.The girl went on to select a few symbols to place in the sand, all rather reflective of her inner issues.

I walked out that morning with ease and quiet peace because the picture of her last tray bears much hope despite the hurt reflected in the interim trays. The last tray was that of levelled sand adorned with a myriad of colorful marbles and topped with a glass prism. When reviewing a Sandpicture there is a checklist to guide therapists. Under a sub heading called 'Therapist's feeling response" is one which prompts the therapist to recall any image emerging in his or her mind.

For me the last tray was like a universe of planets and stars. It lifted me and I hope  her too.

Early retirement?

25 responses were published yesterday in response to Straits Times' question 'At what age do you wish to retire, and why?'

I did a brief summary of them. Out of the 25 replies, 7 or 35% targeted 60 as the age they want to retire. At the same time another 7 do not wish to retire at all ie. preferring to work as long as health permits albeit at a slower pace when age catches up. 2 remark that a person should look for a job which one is passionate about so that it does not seem like work quoting Confucius "Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life." At the other extreme 3 out of 25 want to call it a day at 45 so that they can travel and indulge in their hobbies. To complete the statistical count, another 3 wish to retire at 50, 2 at 55 and 1 at 65. It seem that 60 is the most desired retirement age with a minority targeting to retire younger.

Amongst the reasons for wanting to retire, the most often quoted is the longing to travel, followed by the wish to spend more time with family and the urge to do community or volunteer work. The wish to continue working on the other hand is supported by the need to be socially engaged, to stay relevant, to keep the mind and body alert and to impart their know how.

Placing myself against the above sampling, I belong to the minority having retired below 55. There were more push factors than pull factors in my case. The benefits of early retirement are indeed as described by these people; more frequent travel and more importantly travel without a worried work- burdened mind, certainly more time with family (including extended family) and of course more time for volunteer work.

On the flip side of the coin, although I went on to pursue some studies, I must admit that only a demanding job can keep the mind really rigorous and alert. Even ST journalist Dennis Chan had to admit in today's Sunday Times that nearing 50 he is now no longer so presumptuous as before that his cognitive faculties will forever prevent him from falling prey to swindlers out to cheat old folks of their money. I think the surest way to keep the brain cells active is  having to solve daily work problems. Just a stormy weather forecast from your boss' secretary will keep your brain juice churning summoning all your EQs and IQs  on how best to avoid being caught in the storm. On the other hand one must of course be aware there is a wealth of data to show that stress is harmful to the brains.

At the end of the day I will still opt to enjoy the benefits of retirement, forgo the stress and just find happier ways to stimulate the mind. My only challenge is disciplining myself to engage in daily  activities that keep the brain juice churning and minimise  lazy hobbies like watching TV dramas.

Musical Evening

Reluctantly I accepted 2 tickets from my sister for the Harmonica nite. She performed in 3 items including the first. During the first piece when certain high notes almost pierced my ear drums I whispered to my husband that I have never liked harmonica music and I needed to brace myself for a tough evening. I was even contemplating an excuse to leave after the break if I could meet her during the interval. As the majority of the performers were senior citizens, the audience also comprised largely of middle aged and senior citizens with some grandchildren in the crowd.

Surprisingly as the evening progressed the expected boredom that I perceived turned to light merriment. In fact I must say my husband who grew up listening to folk/old songs over Chinese radio stations seemed to be enjoying himself. What a far cry from the deadpan look and steady stream of yawns during Western concerts which I used to drag him along in a blue blue moon. To be fair to my initial misjudgement , the first item had the disadvantage of teething mike adjustments and my sister's group was relatively amateurish. As better trained and more experienced harmonica players took the stage, some good pieces were show cased. A more youngish group put up a remarkable composition of  斗牛士进行曲 (les toreadors) and other popular western classical favourites. What was more unexpected was the spontaneity of the audience. All the 'uncles', 'aunties', grandpa and grandma clapped along when told to do so. I also found myself singing along with many others when even my sister's amateur group struggled to keep the right tempo whilst playing TV themes and karaoke favourites like 万水千山总是情  and 越来香.

One item which left an impression on me was a rock and roll piece performed by a male soloist in his early forties. It was not perfect harmonica music but it was his total enjoyment delivering it accompanied by his own choreographed movements, the authentic joy exuding from his whole embodiment that led to a roar of applause from the audience. The guy's 2 young daughters were excitedly taking snapshots of him downstage, what a gift from dad.

He expressed the joy in music and I was reminded of it and wondered why I had abandoned it. Andrew Lloyd Webber was once my favourite and I often remarked to my children "What would the world be without Andrew Lloyd Webber!".  I used to love singing, was in a choir once, had the dvd player on whilst bathing or sang in the bathroom. Somehow along the way everything stopped beginning when the nature of my career took a very busy turn. Inexplicably the pleasure of music just floated away in thin air.

The evening ended when the combined groups, for encore played 高山青 to the delight of the audience who spontaneously sang along in great merriment. Think again if you think our generation and that before us are not sporting at performances!

Yesterday I was reminded "What would the world be without music"

Sympathy needed

Today whilst taking a shuttle from SGH to the Outram MRT, a heavily overweight man got up from the National Heart Centre. I don't know his name but did recognize him as an ex-colleague. He looked very much older than when I last saw him 7 years ago and can certainly be considered as obese.  Instinctively I lowered my head to avert meeting his eyes as he occupied 2 seats in the small bus. Rightly or wrongly I thought he might feel embarrassed about his weight when meeting someone he knows . At the bus stop I was behind him whilst waiting for the senior people in front to take their time to alight. As he stepped down slowly one old man in the bus commented loudly "What a clumsy man". I was taken aback and gave the old man a dagger stare.

Of course the old man's behavior is not typical of the general public but I do get a feeling that most Singaporeans tend to be sympathetic only with people who are afflicted with physical illnesses (which they too may succumb when bad luck strikes) and less with people afflicted with mental disorder, addictions, differing sexual orientations or physical appearances out of the norm.

Not long ago at a gathering of friends the conversation turned to another friend who is suffering from depression and who did not show up. A remark was made by someone that if the depressed person chooses to be so inward looking and does not help himself by being more active socially no one could help him. Another person in the group was puzzled as to why someone can suffer from depression without a circumstantial trigger,ie. when things seem fine for him.

Generally there is a lack of sympathy when one is deemed to be not making sufficient effort  to get better when it is within one's perceived ability to do so. Unfortunately  this attitude is increasingly extended to physically ill people who may be accused of not having the will to fight the disease when they turn down more aggressive treatment options.

I guess the least we can do is not to be judgmental and if possible be patient and just be there for them. I should have acknowledged my ex-colleague with a smile.

In a trance from China TV dramas

I have a weakness for China made TV dramas in a historical setting especially those during the pre and post WWII China (in particular with CCP vs KMT conflict and civil war). Recently I watched 2 of such, "Red Dust" on Starhub and "Huang Yanpei" on dvd. Since both are made in China there is of course loads of KMT slandering. Refusing to adopt a more objective view, I just enjoyed believing that Chiang Kai Shek is a true villain.

Inevitably, however, I would walk away after these shows thinking about the lives of ordinary people in China during that era. Of course my perception is obtained mainly from such dramas and the limited modern Chinese history I took in school and may in no way represent the real facts.  Nevertheless I am always kept pondering about the Chinese people who had to make decisions in 1949 whether to flee to Taiwan, HK and overseas or to remain in China. In particular I wonder how those intellectuals who remained (believing in the making of a better society under Communist rule) and later suffered the persecutions during the Cultural Revolution would have felt about the road they had chosen.

I imagined to myself 2 persons, one a corrupt official under KMT who amassed enough wealth to flee overseas versus perhaps an academician or engineer who remained in China to help rebuild a new country but who was later declared a counter revolutionist by the Red Guard and persecuted. If I were in the latter's shoes where my best intentions lead to disaster, what philosophy in life or approach I would need to adopt to lessen the feeling of painful injustice in destinies.

Heritage trail

Last week my siblings and I made a short trip (out of nostalgia) to KL, the place where we grew up. It is quite amazing that the flat that we lived in still stands, though in a state of filthy grime and debilitation. Jalan Alor more than 50 years ago where I first touched foot as a child was a quiet dead end street with a row of 3-storey residential flats. From the balcony of our 3rd floor flat we could gaze at the moon above a durian tree, standing tall amongst other trees and undergrowth in a piece of unused land across the narrow street. Jalan Alor now is a busy food street lined with food stalls and listed in TripAdvisor as one of KL's top attractions. In addition to spending time sipping coffee at a coffee shop which gave us a direct view of our flat, we also climbed the filthy steps that led to the flat and took several pictures of its front and back. We were also enthusiastically sharing with my sister in law amusing anecdotes that happened in that neighborhood.

On the coach trip back to Singapore I began to daydream as usual. I thought of my mother, the centre of our universe within that unit. I could even feel her hopes, her worries and her dreams for her whole brood that pulsated within that abode. I reflected on how we have turned out and concluded that most of her worries were unnecessary but at the same time nothing which she tried so hard to plan could forestall  some unpleasant experiences that befell us. In other words we have our own life destinies to follow.

Yet with the image of the flat lodged in my mind, I imagined what I would do to it. I felt the urge to clear the flat, empty everything in it, scrub away all the grime, suck out all the filth, pull down all fixtures, whitewash the empty walls, strengthen the pillars and rebuild a home.

Another day we also did a short heritage trail retracing by foot the route which my brother took to go to school and then continued on foot to the road where my father's shop was situated. St. John's institution still stands in all its grandeur on the hill top but in place of my father's shop is  a boutique hotel. We joked that we should check into the exact room where the shop used to be, just to relive the presence of the past. There was and still is a western colonial cafe just opposite my father's shop. I had always wondered what the interior was like. Fifty over years of wondering materialised when we stepped in for coffee last week. We examined the old photos on its walls just to see whether our father's picture is amongst those faded yellow frames. My brother then chatted with the guy manning the counter who seemed to be the boss and discovered they were from the same alma mater. We also got from him the direction to the famous Ampang yong tau fu. Before we left we asked him whether he actually owned the cafe to which he retorted, "If I am the boss, I would be like you going places and looking for Ampang yang tau fu."

We also fantasized what we would have been had we remained in KL and not come back to Singapore. "Haha I might have married a Datok and became a Datin," I jested. However given the lack of equal opportunities, being a taxi driver or a hawker might not seem impossible or for that matter a cashier helping tourists find the famous Ampang yang tau fu.

Who Knows?

This too shall pass

Did a bit of counselling with a relative who is advanced in age and feeling lonely and distressed when his wife is hospitalised.

Sometimes when counselling people especially adults, the things I say occasionally bounce back into my consciousness as if an inner voice tells me I should respond to those words at my own personal level as well. So for instance when I asked my relative to recall a past worry that turned out to be totally unnecessary, an inner voice seemed to remind myself of the very same follies I made. Also when he called God a fake for not answering his prayers, I challenged him whether the things he prayed for were really the best solutions. This in turn makes me ask myself how certain I can be that the things I quietly wish for are really in my best interest too.

Then there is " The Story of My Life " which everyone has one and which can be so real and painful for each Ego that writes it. The stubbornly held beliefs, perceptions and memories, the unrelenting habitual emotions that may seem so blatantly logical to abandon; and yet so difficult to do so. I wonder how I would react when put to similar test and whether constant awareness and disciplined rational thinking can override emotional distress.

Witnessing the exhibit of deep hurt reminds me that endurance is so often called for in life.I got him to hold his palm over the pain he felt in his heart and I noticed the constriction eventually subsided for he suddenly began to engage me in mundane conversation.

I then make it a point to remember that no matter how difficult a situation " This too shall pass".