Dream awakened?

Clasping my wife's hand, we waited with bated breath.

Glued to the tv set were 3 generations of my wife's family - her parents, her aunt, her brother, and her cousin.

Unanimously, we were all rooting for the same person.

Of course, we all supported him for various reasons.

My wife finds him very suave, second only to me.

My parents-in-law supported him because he sounds better to their ears.

I supported him not because he was the better singer (he wasn't), but because we were from the same alma mater and he sings the rock songs that I like.

My aunt loves him for his sincerity and is determined to send his son to the very same secondary school where we both hailed from.


The suspense was killing us.




We were lost for words when the results was announced. In a way, we already knew. And the country did the right thing. The better one won.

I was quite deflated after that. My wife was clearly disappointed. My aunt was grumbling cheerfully and muttered threats about complaining to TCS. Hilarious.




Having watched this show over the past few months, I realised one thing about me.

There is a big part in me that has already been imbued with an utterly unshakeable pride in being an ex-St Joseph's Institution boy.

I think one of my dreams would be to teach in this great school.

Someday.

Friendships that rise and ebb with time

I was shifting uncomfortably in my chair.

Seated around me at the dinner table were friends, who used to be very familiar with me.

Notice the past tense.

A year ago, we would banter easily, ask each other out for meals, sit down together for a chat after a hard day's work.

Sharing our sorrows and joys had cemented the friendships that we shared.




However, some months ago, once I heard that some of them would be shifting to a place further away, I could not help but feel somewhat uneasy about it.

I realised that it meant less opportunities for us to meet up. It would no longer be just a case of popping to my desk and having a quick chat. The sheer distance would grant us fewer chances to see each other.

In spite of this, I made reasonable attempts to pop over to them, whenever I could, to have a word with them. I'd ask them about their day, chat with them about the high and low points. Even when they were ill, I'd drop in the sms and tell them to take care.

I'd still do all these, even when my work became more demanding over the course of time, and consumed more and more of my energies and time from the office.

But my fears still came to pass. Our conversations became rarer. Sometimes, I'd only see them once or twice a week. Sometimes, a whole week would go by without saying a word to them, simply because our respective work duties took us away from the common office that we shared. We simply met no more, except in sporadic instances.




To be fair, there is one or two of them who also worked as hard as me to keep the friendship going. Whenever we meet, it wouldn't just be me who would take the initiative to ask, "How are you?" Sometimes, these people asked me back the same question, and I'd think to myself, "That's nice."



I think my notion of having a proper conversation doesn't simply have to revolve around gossip, complaints about colleagues, mundane jokes and other superficial issues.

It's about asking the other person, "How are you?" I believe that this question opens up possibilities and whenever I ask that sort of question, I'd like to think that I'm genuinely interested in the life of the other party and finding out how's life been good or tough on him or her.


I've met many people in my journey of life, and I'm glad to say that I've had the pleasure of meeting some who are simply a joy to talk to. One hallmark of such people, I must say, is that they make it a point to ask about your life - and we can have a heartfelt conversation that transcends the mundane and superficial matters of the world.

On the other hand I've also met people that I simply cannot connect with. It's fine, of course. It's completely unrealistic to expect myself to get along with everybody I meet. But I certainly won't bother myself nor worry unneccessarily if I have nothing to say. No need for pretensions. If there's nothing to say to that person, I'll just leave it as it is.




And so, over at the dinner table yesterday evening, I found it difficult to talk. Yes, there were humourous jokes, words exchanged to and fro, smiles all around between the others seated at the same table as me. But in such a large company of people, paradoxically, it became even harder for me to talk.

Having too many people, I have learnt, diminishes that chance of having a meaningful conversation with that one or two persons.

I am not convinced that many people would understand this.




My stand is this: friendships takes both parties to work at it in order for it to blossom and enrich the lives of both. Distance should never be an issue if both takes extra measures and a little bit of time and initiative to communicate with each other and to say 'Hi, how are you?'

That means a lot.

The absence of communication, on the other hand, can cause a friendship, no matter how strong, to crumble into ruins.

Finding hidden strength in others in the midst of adversity

When the opportunity came, I could not give it a miss.

At the end of it all, I trudged home, afflicted with raging itch from sandfly bites, chafed fingers, sunburnt skin, new friends, and newfound respect for another person.

You can get all these, and more, once you complete a 60km kayak expedition.

And this was exactly what I got myself into, once I accepted the invitation from MOE to participate in the inaugural kayaking expedition.

My kayaking partner was Joan, a lively PE teacher who, unfortunately, succumbed to sea sickness midway through our 7-hour first leg of our journey.

You see, we started from Changi Coast MOE Adventure Centre on Wednesday morning, and we had to traverse treacherous conditions before we could safely beach up at Ubin's Jelutong campsite. Along the way we kayaked past the seemingly endless Changi coast, where heavy reclamation work was taking place. It looked like a forsaken land to us.

All in all, it was a 7-hour battle against the elements: choppy waters that at times threatened to flip our kayaks over, and thunderous storm clouds that hovered over us, seemingly mocking us as we did our best to outrace the turbulent storm clouds. Futile, of course.

Straining our muscles, Joan and I pushed on, at times against the current. But she must have been feeling unwell. I could see her weakening paddling strokes, and she even stopped paddling altogether at times, and put her head down.

I asked her a number of times, "Are you all right?"

She lurched sideways and began to throw up.

There was no way anyone can hope to continue, when you are in the middle of the unforgiving sea, far from land, and motion sickness engulfs you from within.

I raised my paddle and swung it furiously, over my head, and managed to get the attention of the safety personnel on the powerboat.

Once she was hauled up onto the powerboat, another teacher, Jason, who had been resting on the boat, took over her place.

By now, we were far behind the rest of the expedition menbers, who had forged ahead. I made up my mind to close the gap, and with this new partner, I was confident of doing just that.

No. It didn't happen the way I wanted it to be.

You see, we lagged even further behind, in spite of our relentless paddling.

I looked around and realised that the currents became even stronger. We were being pushed back.

I told my partner to paddle harder, but to no avail. Instead, we seemed to stay still.

Then I noticed my partner's strokes becoming weaker.

When the powerboat came to us, my worst fears came true.

He vomited.

The safety officers pulled him over to their boat.

There's no way I could paddle a double kayak on my own. Thankfully, one of the safety officers took up the vacant front seat and we continued our journey.

As we reached Ubin, we were all exhausted, but there was still much work to be done: loading the equipment and stores to our campsite, carrying the kayaks up the shore, pitching our tents, cooking our dinner, and holding a meeting to plan for our return leg back the next day. We studied the tide tables and realised that we would be kayaking against the current again in our return journey. None of us said anything but mentally, I braced myself for another hard day tomorrow.

Before we turned in for the night, Joan and I agreed that we would stay together as partners and complete the return leg. I asked her if she's feeling ok, and she grinned, reassuring me that she was feeling much better.

The next day, all of us started brilliantly. Many of our backs were stiff from sleeping on the groundsheets and we were scratching everywhere from the vile sandfly bites. Nonetheless, we cleared the campsite in record time, thanks to everyone who packed the logistics, kept the tents, prepared breakfast and loaded the equipment onto the safety boats and kayaks.

By half past 9, we launched our kayaks, our bodies primed for another punishing day of kayaking.

This time, Joan and me coordinated smoothly, and we stayed ahead of the pack this time. Even at the sea waters of Changi, where the tumultuous waters were, we paddled continuously and steadily rolled over wave after wave as our kayak pierced through the restless waters.

Unfortunately, Joan motioned to me about her growing headaches, which severely affected her ability to continue. Soon, her condition deteriorated. She could no longer keep up with the paddling rhythm. A number of times, she leaned forward, paddle on her lap, as the debilitating combination of nausea and headache rendered her powerless to continue.

Through it all, I worried that she might not just be suffering from sea sickness, but she could be suffering from heat exhaustion, which is far more pernicious.

I splashed sea water on her, hoping to cool her down. A couple of times, the safety boat was by our side and the safety officers wrapped a ice-cold towel around her neck, to relieve the symptoms.

She flatly refused all offers to rest on the powerboat.

By then, we could make out the outline of Tanah Merah Ferry Terminal, which meant that we were less than an hour from our destination. She was not going to give up.

So what we did was to kayak for two to three minutes, then we would halt and take a rest. I would splash water on her and she would take a drink. I even lent her my Oakley shades, to keep the glare of the sun away from her eyes. Then we would resume our paddling. We maintained this routine for a few cycles.



In spite of our measures, Joan's condition did not improve. I knew that she wanted to fight to the end. But I was not willing to take any more risks. We had done what we could to ameliorate her condition. But she was feeling more ill every minute. The rocking of the kayak exacerbated her sickness further.

Finally, I called for the safety boat. Even though we would not be able to complete the return leg together, I was relieved that she could rest and be spared of the excruciating feelings of nausea and incessant headaches, once she got onto the safety powerboat.

Another teacher, Pete, took over Joan's place. Together, we powered our way back to the shores of Changi Coast Adventure Centre, relieved that our ordeal was over at last.




Driving a car became a labourious task, as I made my way home after the expedition debrief was completed.

My chafed fingers, stiff with fatigue, could hardly wrap themselves over the steering wheel.

But I am filled with a sense of admiration at Joan.

She showed me what fighting spirit was all about. I wouldn't know for sure, but I am quite certain that she must have bore the sickening nausea and headaches for a long time without telling anyone.

This is a quality I hope to possess in large measures.

In order to succeed in life, I acknowledge that it is essential to have the persistence and resilience to push on, in spite of setbacks and difficulties, in order to achieve what you have set out to do.


As for myself, I realised that, in the key moments during the expedition, what mattered most to me was not finishing first in the expedition, but it was more about finishing together with your teammate, your partner, and finishing the endurance race. Joan's sea sickness is ultimately of no relevance, for even if all of us to be given the freedom of choice of choosing our kayaking partners again, I would be proud to team up with Joan again.

Fallen hopes?

"Guys, I've got news for you!"

Jessica got our attention.

"Max and I have applied for a flat already!"

We clapped and congratulated her. "Details, we want details," we urged her.

Dinner with this group of friends is never boring, especially during this particular occasion on Tuesday evening at Curry Favor, which serves Japanese curry.

The tempo was positively buzzing. Earlier, another girl in the group was sharing with us how her boyfriend knelt down in front of her and proposed, in front of friends and relatives.

She was gushing as she shared, and her fiance was eager to add in parts that she missed out.

And it's beautiful, the story of their proposal.

But for Jessica, a shadow lurked behind her joy.

The reason was, we knew the boyfriend hadn't proposed yet. Nonetheless, they had applied for the flat together first.

It did not sit down well with my spirit. Surely, this is not the proper order of things; it is not a logical procession of events.

Isn't it supposed to be like this: the man proposes first, and the lady accepts. Then they sit down and look for homes together.



So we asked Jessica, what's the next step? Is Max going to propose?

She shakes her head in a resigned manner.

She said, "I'd better not keep my hopes too high. I might get too disappointed."




How I wish I could help. My wife looked at me. Max and I are friends, but I know what he is like. He is headstrong, and I am not surprised that he has channelled his energies into his career, and he even juggles work and a part-time course in the evenings.

But I am loathe to judge him and criticise him. For I am not in his shoes and I certainly do not know how their relationship is really like. Max has his own qualities which I do admire too. For example, he is disciplined and once he knows what he wants to achieve, he will plan his way and take concrete steps to achieve it.

Some of the girls on the dinner table turned to me and said, "Ken, you gotta tell Max how to treat a lady! Tell him he's got to propose!"

Now this poses a dilemma to me. Do I even have to tell Max? Even if I need to, how should I put it across to him? Here's Jessica telling us how much she yearns for a proposal that is long overdue, and is Max oblivious to it?

I do not know what to do, but my inclination towards this matter is to let Jessica communicate to Max about this. There is very little justification for me to step in. After talking with my wife about this, on the drive home later in the evening, we did concur that it is certainly an issue which both of them will need to resolve.

The very next day, during my English class with 3e3, I shared with them about this issue. I turned to the guys in the class, and declared to them that they have to get this matter straight: you always propose first before you look for a home together with your partner.

It's interesting, that in my English lessons with 3e3 and 3e5, we do touch on matters of the heart. A constant theme in my English lessons is the importance of gentlemanly conduct in relationships. The teaching of chivalrous behaviour is notably lacking in schools these days. In my daily classroom teachings, I try to include bits and pieces of how to behave chivalrously. I believe that the guys need to hear it, and I also want the ladies in my classes to be aware of the high standards of courtesy they deserve to get from the boys.

Indeed, if a young man accords the proper respect and dignity to people around them (not just to ladies), he will stand out from the rest and become different from the other ordinary lads in a very refreshing way!