And so I decided to revive this blog that never really died, because it never really started. With a 4 year old daughter and a 10 month old son, oh – and of course being happily (ever-after) married, it bemuses me that it took me this long to realise that I really should document our life. Not because it’s special but simply because it’s not. We are that everyday family who does that everyday routine. Work, wife, kids, football. Ok I lied. FOOTBALL, kids, wife work.
Oh and did I mention that we have a new addition to the family? Om-D Em5 aka Ork3d. The inspiration to this revival. That and the kids of course. Oh and the wife!
Posted in Uncategorized on September 24, 2010 by hanthedigitalrebel
At less than two years old, my daughter can count to 10, sing her alphabets, understand the basic functions of a laptop and TV remote control, choose her food and most definitely, work around the iPhone (or any phone for that matter).
She can point out cows, dogs, cats, sheep, fish, flowers, shoes, bags and many others, in any book we show her. This means that she can register shapes in her brain and, I must say, has a pretty good memory. She has indicated to us her changing taste in music which began with rock kapak (to lullaby her to sleep), Bollywood classics, nursery rhymes, then to anything by Elmo, to 80’s Madonna and now, unfortunately, Justin Bieber. Although, I’m glad she has both Feist and Norah Jones listed as her favourite artistes.
I’m not boasting, seriously, because, all of the above is not important. Not to me, and I hope, not to any of you as well.
Most important, my daughter can smile and laugh, when she’s happy or amused, cry when she’s sad or sleepy, and shout at the top of her lungs when she’s angry and doesn’t get what she wants.
In addition, my daughter can sit, stand, walk, run, jump. She can eat through her mouth, breath through her nose, see through her eyes, listen to sounds and react to touch. She knows when she’s hungry, sleepy, or in pain, and is able to communicate that to us, albeit in her own baby language. After all the concerns and worries of her being down-syndrome, midget, etc., during my wife’s 8-month pregnancy, and then the 1-month wait before she was actually discharged from hospital, my daughter, Zahra Iman, is normal. And we are grateful for that. If not for the fact that I empathize with parents who don’t share the same fate, I’ll shout at the top of my lungs and boast about that.
Some parents nowadays may be too indulgent in their pursuit of developing their child’s full potential. I know the pressure and expectations of education in Singapore has increased compared to when we were young. I know that everything now is a race. This “Everything your child can do, my child can do better” mentality even when covered by pretentious humility and modesty, and especially when expressed bluntly, seems to have been embedded in a lot of Singaporeans.
I have friends who have enrolled their children as young as 3-6 months, into $800 per semester courses like the Shichida method, so that their children can read/memorise flash cards, etc – much like a robot can. Parents who scour through the internet for the best nursery to place their children in, 2-3 years before their child actually qualify for nursery. I’ve heard of parents who volunteer themselves to primary schools they want their child to be in, even before their child hits kindergarten.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with all that. If you can afford it, why not? Right? I don’t know actually, but I, for one, would rather not jump into that bandwagon. Children now have become prized trophies for their parents to exhibit and show off in social networking sites, especially during their birthdays. The problem is, it’s not the children who are actually being exhibited, because no one dislikes seeing a cute little toddler in a high-fashion number, but what is actually being exhibited, is what these parents have done or can do for their children, i.e. big birthday bashes, unique baby diet, awesome baby clothes, and last but not least, most sought after baby schools.
Yes, yes. “Aku punya anak, aku punya sukalah.” YES! That’s true. But it makes me want to puke, seriously. Like seriously.
I want to let my child grow. Let her enjoy childhood. Let her learn how to socialize, how to differentiate, how to learn – in her own way, through her own observations. I have no expectations of my child. No, actually that’s not true. I do want her to grow up as a person who is logical, who knows what’s right and what’s wrong, who is morally intact, who respects those worth respecting, who questions whenever in doubt.
Of course, I have my own hopes. Hopes that she will be intelligent, be a top-achiever, a great singer, a great dancer, an artist – just great in anything she sets her heart/mind on. But never by compromising the main principles of life, i.e. to enjoy it while she still has it.
The most important expectation falls on me – on us as parents. That I can answer her questions, meet her requests and feed her hunger. That I am financially-secured to provide for her and her passion. That I can be the shoulder she seeks whenever she cries and be the first person she looks for to break the news, good or bad.
It’s not that I’m self-righteous. I’m logical, I know what’s right and wrong, I’m morally intact, respect those worth respecting and I question when in doubt. You got me. I do want my child to inherit my character, minus the ego, the arrogance, the over-confidence and definitely the vices. She will follow my wife’s humility, modesty, adhering and lovable nature, her humour definitely. My mom’s leadership and organization skills. My sister’s politeness and empathy. My father’s care and concern. My father-in-law’s loyalty, my mother-in-law’s tenderness. My family’s camaraderie.
In other words, my child’s primary education will be from home simply because that’s where it should start. Yes, I have the intention to enroll her into swimming, music, maybe even Phonics classes, but I’m definitely not rushing out to do it. If we treat our children’s lives as a race, then everything will pass by too quickly. Try asking Louis Hamilton if he had ever spotted a group of ardent fans cheering for him while he’s driving his McLaren. And in all honesty, their lives are not the product of our hard work, our money spent, those glorious birthday celebrations that they can’t even remember. No. From the moment they entered this world, our lives are the products of their existence, because they have brought meaning to us all.
And here’s me showing off my daughter, and the product of her observation – her parents’ addiction to the iPhone and her mother’s kookiness.
Posted in Uncategorized on September 23, 2010 by hanthedigitalrebel
1. I wanna be a billionaire so fricking bad 2. Buy all of the things I never had 3. Uh, I wanna be on the cover of Forbes magazine 4. Smiling next to Oprah and the Queen
I’m guessing the only person who doesn’t want to be a billionaire, is a billionaire, and that’s only because he wants to be a trillionaire. If by definition, billionaire means having more than 1 billion, then I can tell you straight up, right now, at this very moment, I’m not even a hundred-aire.
1. Do I want to be a billionaire, SO FREAKING BAD? No, not exactly, but I don’t mind being one. I won’t sell my soul to the devil to be one, but I’d probably don’t mind working for him, or his delegates. (READ: By Devil, I mean ungodly, evil, unscrupulous people or organizations. Not the devil himself, i.e. Syaitan. I mean, honestly, how dumb could you be if you thought I meant it literally. Nobody can sell their soul to the devil. Worship the devil, maybe. Act like him, maybe. Do things that he’d like us to do? Daily. Consciously. Unconsciously. Sub-consciously)
2. Do I want to buy all of the things I never had? DEFINITELY. Not only that, I would want to buy all of the things my wife, my mom, my family, my friends never had.
Like tons and tons of Blu-rays. In every title, every genre, every language. I know you don’t need to be a billionaire to buy blu-rays, but I would love to do that with what would be relatively-speaking, spare change.
Like anything and everything that’s labeled Limited edition.
Like whatever’s offered in iTunes, Apple store, and what the heck, Amazon.com
Like all the iconic designer bags, in every colour and every size.
Like a house in every city – A penthouse in every city. A beach house in every coast. A beach even. A bitch, maybe – if the wife agrees.
3. Nope, I do not want to be in the cover of Forbes magazine. Being a billionaire doesn’t necessarily make you look like you’re worth billions.
4. I know Oprah and the Queen are billionaires, but even if I did appear in Forbes magazine, why in the world would I want to be standing in between Oprah and the Queen. I would want to be standing beside my wife, my kid, my mom, my family and my friends, because if I were ever to be a billionaire, I’m pretty sure these would be the people behind my success.
Yes – which is exactly the reason I don’t want to appear in the cover of Forbes magazine.
I wanna be on the cover of BBC (Billionaire Boys Club – I’ll start on if I have to) magazine, Covered by money, women and posing like a King…
Life does not start at 30. It does not begin, does not commence. Does not launch. Nope, not at 30. Apparently, popular culture has mentioned in many mediums that Life begins at 40. I’ve seen 40 year olds in my un-popular culture, and I can pretty much conclude Life doesn’t begin at 40 either.
Life continues. It has been continuing since the day your father (or that person whom you never knew) implanted his bodily fluid into your mother (nope, she is still your mother, regardless of what she has done), in an act either shunned by the pure due to its visual and dynamic nature or shunned by Ron Jeremy due to its mundane methodology.
How these two paragraphs lead to what I want to say in this entry, I don’t know. I could have ended the second paragraph with, In other words, Life begins after sex, and it continues from there, and then continue to write about how great sex is; however, that is hardly advisable since this is my ‘inaugural’ entrance to the wordpress world. Nuances of sex will be apparent in some of my entries, but I’d rather not begin a blog with sex as a foundation.
At any stage of your life, you either have done everything, yet to do anything or are currently in the midst of doing some of those things. You reminisce about the past, brag about the present and as most of us usually do, dream about the future. For most of us, this cycle hardly ends. Those who decide to forget and those who decide to give up are merely those who decide not to tell anyone. And those who continue to brag (be it about their past, their present or their undefined future) are merely those who either really have it all or have it up their asses.
Never let anyone tell you, you don’t have potential. Everyone has potential. The potential to succeed or the potential to fail. We have the potential to do what’s right or what’s wrong. To gain or to lose.
Our life is like a colouring book. The previous pages have been coloured and while they can act as reference or guide, we can’t change them. The rest of the pages remain grey, and the colour/look can only be determined when we turn to them. What’s most important is the one we’re colouring on. The one we should focus on. We may be able to cover up a slight mistake, bend the outlines a little, cover with another colour, another shade, etc – but many of these small mistakes or a major one will inevitably produce a page you’d rather not turn to ever again, but that page will definitely remain intact in the book. We can colour the grass green and the sky blue, and be contented about it. Or colour them red and pink, and regret later. As long as it was a decision made, and not due to a slip of the wrist, who the fuck cares, right?
Right. A colouring book as an analogy to life. I’m not even going to tell myself that.
I’m married, with one daughter, working in an industry I’ve never had a love for, but am experienced in, and getting paid an amount, high enough to get by but just not high enough to be contented. I’m not ambitious but I am hopeful. I’ve been told I have potential and that a path will be laid out for me soon. I’ve yet to see that path but I trust my bosses, more so my instinct. I still have my regular pints and occasional others. I exercise my rights as a husband, as a man and as a human being – but only because that and the occasional Sunday kickabouts are the only forms of exercise I get.
It’s really not hard being me. At least, I don’t find it hard. I do, occasionally, want to be “that guy” but my big ego usually teaches me otherwise.
This is the story of my life which will inevitably include your lives. And also of lives neither yours nor mine. Their lives. Hardly factual but never fictional, and always in my opinion.
His (and sometimes Her) views of the world 