Yesterday I found myself sitting next to my lanky 14 year old son at the radiologist while he filled out a medical form. "Mum, what's my Medicare number? And who do I put as my next of kin?" His right pinkie had taken a serious hit during a volleyball game yesterday at school. The joint was all swollen and bruised, so the doctor advised an X-ray to check for a possible fracture. The radiologist called us in. She was a sweet Japanese woman slightly older than me. As she adjusted the equipment, she recognised Nathan's school uniform and remarked that her son used to attend the same school. "He's at university now studying Electrical Engineering" , she said proudly. Afterwards as we headed out of the radiologist clinic, a little boy scurried past us on the stairwell, his mum behind calling out for him to slow down. I felt a wave of nostalgia as I saw myself sandwiched between the images of these two mothers. For a moment I was transported into that same sce...

For Grace... Today is the 15th of October 2025. It felt like it was only just days ago when you said goodnight that we shared a cuddle with your trademark "mmmn!" at the end. It was so important to get the tone just right. Sometimes you would make me repeat it several times before it would pass. Then we would finish off with a kiss and say goodnight. I might laugh or even seem slightly exasperated at how many takes we'd need to get our goodnight ritual perfectly right. But that was you. If something is worth doing, it's worth doing right. And I know how important it was to get every goodnight exactly right. Since that last time, I've felt a shift. It may seem like such a small thing. A little goodnight cuddle with the "mmmmn!" at the end. But it feels so big to me right now. Like the axis of my entire world has shifted. And that small tender sweetness between us is gone. Just like that. Without warning. The rug pulled from under me. Perhaps because you...

Sometime last term each of my children had some not so positive encounters with a teacher at school. This past year, there has been a bit of a revolving door situation with math teachers at Nathan's school. And the latest math teacher (who was supposedly the head of department) seemed to be picking things up several steps back from where the previous teacher last left off. Unfortunately instead of reflecting on why her students seem bored and disengaged, this teacher interpreted certain students' disengagement (including Nathan's) as having an attitude problem. For now Nathan has requested that I not intervene. He reminded me that we don't have to 'like' every teacher (or person) that we encounter. Some people are just destined to be thorns. He will manage. Grace had a new Indonesian teacher at school this year. One word to describe her would be 'finicky'. And that's putting it nicely. At the end of the semester, we were puzzled that Grace had a rece...

The clock of life keeps ticking. Quiet announcements from friends and peers appear from time to time about the passing of fathers, mothers, grandparents, uncles, aunts. I note the passing of each member of that generation as it comes. In the wise words of Mufasa, this is simply the circle of life. Earlier this week, I saw a post of one of a very close friend from my youth, sharing the news of her father’s passing. And the emotions hit me like a wave. Tears. Sadness. Of course, the depth of my own feelings was nothing compared to the ocean of grief my dear friend must be going through. To be honest, I was not close to her father and did not know him well. So at first, I puzzled over why the news struck me so deeply. I later surmised that this news hit much closer to home because of the link to my childhood I shared with this friend. I'm aware of life's impermanence, the edges of time we are all bound to, and what it means for my own parents. But moments like this bring the inevi...

"What would you like to do for Mother's Day?" hubby asked. Easy. Just us four. A lazy afternoon at the park. Sausages sizzling on the BBQ, kids running around, and me with a cup of tea that I might actually get to drink while it's still hot. As the years inch by, my babies have outgrown the playground. But they still love a good romp and game, inventing new ways to nearly knock each other out with a ball. Leaning back in my camp chair, I slowly sip my tea and watch them toss a ball back and forth... laughing loudly as they test out increasingly ridiculous ways to throw the ball. It’s part dodgeball, part interpretive dance. This is my slice of joy I savour today. In a few short years, I don’t know if they’ll still play like this. But for now, just like this, they can still be my babies for a little while longer.

In the years to come, long after my nearest and dearest are gone, I imagine I’ll still make a pilgrimage to my little hometown in the Land Below the Wind, just to indulge in a plate of one of these lovelies: |  Tuaran Mee | Beaufort Mee | Sandakan Mee | They say noodles represent long life. I'm quite content to live the average human lifespan, but if things are going well, I wouldn’t mind lingering a little longer before taking my final leave. So if a plate of noodles holds the secret elixir to to an extra moment or two, I’ll gladly eat up a bowl.

No matter how few times we have blinked the years away, the majestic sight of crisp, paper-thin, sugar-encrusted  roti tisu,  drizzled with sweetened condensed milk and towering over us, never ceases to amaze. | December 2017, 4 & 7 years old | July 2022, 8 & 11 years old | January 2025, 11 & 14 years old | What if we fast-forward a couple more years? Will Salim's roti tisu  still stand just as tall, still taste just as perfect? Or will we be simply reaching for the memory of what it tasted like before? Perhaps the taste is merely a vessel for a cherished moment with someone we love . Maybe that's what all comfort foods truly are.

As the years go by, it seems that the number of personal or family photos I post gradually dwindles, almost to a trickle. The everyday adventures of the early years of parenting seem at first to burst forth like an open dam. The memory of every dimple and smile , first laugh , first taste , first step , first fall , first penance , first tragedy , first friend, first day of school ... feels so fleeting and precious, I want to hold on to each one for as long as possible. The long days begin to quicken in their momentum, and soft little chubby arms encircling my neck soon extend into long lean muscled limbs resting heavily around my shoulders.   I  don't have to hold their hand any more when we cross the street. But they hold mine. L ove's pain grows sweeter with each passing hour, day, and year. A fleeting image captured of a moment, pales in comparison to the truth of everything it means. Some things are just too good. " ...I never tell them about our lives. You know why? ...

Today I finished reading the book 'Laurinda' by Alice Pung, which fourteen-year old Nathan recommended to me, from his English reading list last term. Afterwards I got up to throw the bunch of scrunched up tissues into the bin. The book was an easy read, but uneasy on the heart. Good stuff doesn't always have to feel good. Apart from the above-mentioned text, I've also enjoyed side-splitting funny, as well as deep philosophical discussions on other books on his list, including 'Animal Farm', 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy', 'The Martian' and 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. With my eleven-year old Grace, it has been just the best fun talking over our shared delights and exasperations over classic novel heroines like Anne Shirley, Elizabeth Bennett, Emma Woodhouse, Jane Eyre and the Dashwood sisters. ...On this side of the horizon, these are truly the best days.... Early last year, I turned the page of that last chapter of '...

. I acknowledge this long gap. . In the past several years, it has been becoming difficult to be completely open about about many things.  But like a mirror, the very same little people I taught to fly free, think for themselves and live fearlessly have reminded me to do the same for myself. These past few months, so many little things like listening to inspiring songs , revisiting favourite stage characters and reading new material had been chipping away at the dam I had erected around me over the past few years. In my fear of becoming an outcast, I silenced my voice and imprisoned myself, holding myself captive by the thoughts of others. Alone, I was most myself, most true. But the self that really mattered was the self that was visible, the self that could be shown to other people. Yet, I'd had to keep my true self apart, and there's only so much of yourself you can hide before you start to fall apart. (almagation of quotes from ' Laurinda ') So this year, I'm ...