As I struggle with try or die trying, I’ve been seeking inspiration.

I’m wont to burden my team when I’m in these pensive moods, with the most random of questions. Like, who do you admire? Whilst they were hammering away on the keyboard at 4 in the afternoon. But they always indulge me, bless them. Dutifully, they stopped the hammering, tore their eyes from the screen and considered my question. Oh, the bemusement on their faces.. They must be wondering if this is part of their job description, playing shrink to their boss. Someone decided to take one for the team, and offered that the guy who broke the world record by solving the Rubik cube in 4 seconds must be admirable.

That got me thinking, and spared them from more random questions (it worked!). As they happily returned to their screen, I retreated to my thoughts. Let’s see, I admire LKY and Deng Xiaoqing first and foremost – they are in a pantheon of their own. It’s not just giants of history though, as I admire Stephen Hawking and Steve Jobs too. What do all these people have in common? Talent? But the Rubik cube guy has talent too, surely, but I don’t feel anything remotely resembling admiration for him. The common factor then became clear to me – it is the spirit and the commitment to contribution.

Spirit as in the strength of their mind. All of them have experienced unimaginable hardships, difficulties and setbacks. Endured fear, despair and doubt, of the deepest kind. Yet they were never crushed. They never sought excuses. They never succumbed. Deng Xiaoping was thrice purged. Thrice. The last time lasted almost ten years. During which his eldest son was crippled in the Cultural Revolution, and he was sent to the countryside, confined to menial jobs in a factory. There was no way out. He took long walks every evening, thinking. Thinking of what went wrong with his beloved country, and what had to be done to save it. This went on for years, until the opportunity arose for him to be accepted back into the political fold again. He did not hesitate. He was 70. 70. An age when most would have asked themselves – why bother? But he was clear about what had to be done, and devoted the rest of his life to doing it, until he died aged 92. His strength, his uncrushable spirit, and his commitment to contribute to his country and countrymen, his whole life. That’s what I admire, greatly.

You may point out the flaws, often deep, of these people. Yes, I know (lah). Steve Jobs’ “reality distortion” was probably a mean of bullying his staff into doing what he wanted of them no matter how impossible it might have seemed. He refused to acknowledge his daughter for a long time, demonstrating a capacity for cruelty that has to make one wonder. LKY was autocratic and heavy handed, taking no prisoners and brooking no dissent. I don’t dispute that. I’m inclined to think however, that none of those flaws detract from the fact that there was, in their spirit, a steel that embodies the best and biggest of human capacities.

Strength is a fascinating concept to me. It is not in whether one cries. Steve Jobs cried often apparently. LKY cried too, on national television when we were separated from Malaysia. Tears say nothing beyond that a person feels very strongly about something at that point in time. It is far from a sign of weakness. Strength is not in the appetite for extreme endeavors like skydiving or racing either. That’s daringness which is something different. Strength for me is in the choice we make. The choice not to succumb to fear, to stress, to setbacks, to difficulties, to disabilities, to illnesses. The choice to reach for the sky despite all these.

Come to think of it, the most interesting aspect of strength being a choice is the equality of it. God (or Nature, depending on whether you are religious or scientific..) may not have given me Einstein’s IQ but He has given me that choice to make. As He has given you. I can’t be much cleverer today than yesterday even if I decided to. But I can be much stronger. As can you. I can’t land a right hook KO today anymore than I can ten years down the road, no matter how hard I train, but I can certainly train my mind to be stronger. So can you. In that, everyone is equal. Our intellectual and physical abilities are not ours to decide, but our spirit is ours to define. To have that choice but not seize it seems then so very wasteful, no? The universe would have been a lot more forbidding, had Stephen Hawking not chosen to be defined by his boundless mind, than be constrained by his condition.

So try or die trying? Team, get ready, for I think I have the answer now.

It has been a difficult few weeks at work. I’ve always believed that there are very few things that you cannot achieve if you want it bad enough, and try hard enough for it. Both of which depends on the mind. You’ll want something bad enough if you have clarity of the role it plays in the scheme of your life. And you’ll be able to try hard enough if your mind is strong enough, unbeatable by stress or setbacks. As such, I’ve always placed a huge emphasis on the mind, as I’m convinced every battle in life is won or lost there. Of course there are always limits. I can never be Muhammad Ali or Stephen Hawking no matter how hard I try, but most things in life do not require the insane physical or intellectual abilities of Ali’s and Hawking’s. Most things, and certainly those of a corporate nature, are a function of effort and drive, I think. Because of this belief, it’s quite difficult for me to be deterred. I’ll try or die trying. In recent times however, I’ve come to realize that the latter is more probable than I thought, because success in a large organization can never solely be based on individual effort and drive. I’d quite like to stay alive though, so is the answer that I concede defeat or that I try even harder?

Everyone of us is given a certain number of years on Earth, for us to spend whichever way we choose. We know however that there are really only two options in terms of the end destination – six feet under, or two thousand degrees within. So does it really matter whether we drift and cruise, or try and strive through it? I can see the cases for both but belong firmly to the second camp. 60 years – or more if I’m lucky – is really not a lot. I’m already two-third through.. I’m not hugely religious so don’t derive the meaning of this life from an eternal afterlife. To me, this life has its own meaning and that is the purpose we give it. Purpose can come in many forms – to serve your country a la LKY, to save mankind a la Elon Musk, to make your mother the happiest mother a la Shoko Kanazawa, to take care of your child a la Shoko’s mother. I’m simplifying it but you get the picture.

I want to take a small detour here. If you haven’t read about Shoko, please do. She’s a Japanese calligrapher with Down Syndrome. Her mother was racked by grief and guilt for having given birth to an imperfect child. Her father however decided that she was special and saw her gift in calligraphy. Her mother, a calligraphy teacher, eventually did too and devoted herself to teaching Shoko the art. Whilst Shoko may not always understand what she writes, she seems to understand her mother’s grief and practices hard, often accompanied by tears when she was a child, to make her happy. At a UN speech, Shoko said her mother was once the saddest mother on earth, but now she’s the happiest. Shoko’s father died when she was a teenager and her mother led her to believe that his soul had entered Shoko. This is why Shoko prays each time before she begins to write. I went to see her last weekend. She was immersed in the paper, ink and brush, trying to perfect each stroke. Her mother was focused on dabbing away the excess ink on the paper from her brush, to aid her achievement of perfection, that very Japanese concept and pursuit. It was a touching sight. Shoko and her mother’s devotion to each other and the art, each the other’s purpose in life.

Purposes don’t have to be grand. I don’t think Shoko and her mother’s purpose is any less than LKY’s or Elon Musk’s. Less in impact perhaps, but no less in value. I think it’s far worse not to have any purpose at all and just to drift through life, or to have one built on ultimately futile pursuits like wealth for its own sake.

Anyway, where was I?! Right, whether to die trying. As I explained in “Be myself”, I see who I am as a collective of all the roles I play. In terms of my relationships with others, I want to be the best I can be in each role, i.e., mother, partner, daughter, sister, friend, etc. In terms of my relationship with myself, I want to in the span of time given, discover who I can be, as defined by what I can do, what I can achieve, and what I can contribute. These two aspects, in summary, constitute my purpose.

Achievement is thus important to me, which is why I am the workaholic I am. It is however not about the size of my paycheck but what I am able to do. From managing a region to managing a global business, from solving smaller problems to solving bigger ones, from being a happy go lucky (actually have I ever been happy go lucky..?!) team member to intense firefighting leader. This progress of roles and responsibilities represents achievement to me. I want to give my all to see how far I can go. But alas, beyond a certain point, my all is not enough. In a large organization, you pretty much need everyone else to also give his or her all. Is that possible statistically? For so many people to share the same sense of urgency, and to be similarly motivated? And even if we achieve this statistical feat, there are also larger external forces at work, shaping the landscape in which we operate, that I cannot bend to my will no matter how strong that is. What is the appropriate response then? Accept that there can be honour in defeat or die trying? If you have any bright ideas, do share. In the meantime, please keep watching this blog. For if one day you stop hearing from me, it means I’ve died trying.

I was advised against writing pieces like “Shopping is hard work..!”, because of what people might think.

I suppose they might think I’m spoilt, superficial, snobbish, or worse, brainless. That consideration crossed my mind too, before I posted that piece. But it was quickly subdued. I shared frequently and openly in this blog that growing up, my family didn’t have much, and how we struggled through my childhood in a kampong and adolescence in a HDB. I’m not ashamed of my past – quite the contrary, I’m proud of how we have come as a family – and I don’t want to be ashamed of my present either, even if it’s one that involves Alaia and Gucci.

There is an irony though, as I’ve indeed been a lot more comfortable talking about my past than my present, because it is far easier to be judgemental about a woman who shops at Harrods and Harvey Nicks, than one who struggled to change her and her family’s life through hard work and determination. Even if it’s the same person. I know that. Which is why all these years, I avoided discussing my fashion choices with anyone apart from Husband and occasionally my closest of friends. It just seemed easier. But turning 40 has changed something in me. I feel a tad more liberated, to just be myself, even if a part of that self suggests frivolity and may invite ridicule. Age has also brought about more wisdom and strength, such that I now have a higher conviction of my own views, than ever before.

Everyone of us plays a variety of roles. A parent, spouse, child, sibling, friend, mentor, subordinate, superior, colleague, citizen, human kind, and finally, self. We are, each one of us, a collective of all of these roles we play. They define who we are, as a complete person. Whether we have lived a worthy life, and been the person we want to be, in large part depends on how we have played each of those roles to the extent they apply. This is not an easy topic but I’m inclined to think only you, and the person in that relationship with you, really has the right ultimately to judge you in that role. Are you a good mother? What makes a good mother? To me, that is for you and your kid(s) to decide. Not society or social media which as we know is not short on self-proclaimed experts and judges. Who by the way, don’t even know you or your child. Likewise, whether you are a good friend to your friends is for you and them to decide, and reciprocate with each other. It is quite a different matter from the number of likes you get on Facebook.

And then there’s your duty to and relationship with yourself. Who but you can hold yourself accountable to that? Have you lived your life the way you set out to? Chased your rainbows? Loved how you wanted to? Given your best shot with the time on Earth you’ve been given? In your role as a citizen of your country and the world, have you tried to make a difference? To give back, or to pay forward in whichever manner suits you? If you have, in the way you want, then that’s all there is to it and it really doesn’t matter what others think.

Everyone else can have an opinion (and most won’t hesitate to offer it!) on each of these roles that make you whole, but that’s really just that – an opinion. And not the most valuable one if you ask me, unless of course you actually value it. The most interesting bit? You can play each of these roles that define you as badly or as well as you do, whether you’re wearing H&M or Hermes.

Therein lies the point, no? Our choices and actions define us, not the clothes we wear or handbags we carry. Otherwise life will be too easy. Me? I know what I want to give of myself to, and what I want out of each role that I play. And I want to be myself whilst playing it. That self, according to a wise colleague, is a socialist in Jimmy Choos.

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There I was, in the Alaia fitting room at Harvey Nicks, stressing out over not finding anything that fitted, despite having successfully acquired two pieces at Harrods just the day before. My stress had nothing to do with my shopaholicism withdrawal. Everything to do with the poor salesman who was trying his best to nail a sale (and presumably commission). I desperately wanted him to get something for his efforts. But I couldn’t make a dress that was a tad too long, just right (you can’t alter an Alaia..). And there was no way I could stretch my torso to fit a garment designed for someone 10 cm taller. But me being me, I kept trying – there must be something that works?! If not a dress, perhaps a skirt? But all my optimism (stubbornness? Fine line..) did was really just to prolong the agony for both of us. It’s like a couple knowing it’s not working but holding and holding onto the illusion until reality hit them in the head. When it did for me, and I eventually conceded defeat, it was one hour down the drain. The look on his face when I said, meekly, sorry, nothing seems to work.. Oh, that look… I wanted to say – it’s not you, its me… I felt bad as I scurried out of the store, reminding myself that there’s a reason I’m now an online shopper par excellence. There’s just too much emotion involved in real life shopping, no? The guilt, the desire to ingratiate, the reluctance to disappoint, the pressure (the not-so-subtle being the easiest to deal with and the imperceptible being the masterclass)… All of which leads to a potentially stressful experience when it ought to be joyful one, and a far higher risk of mis-spending.

Case in point. I was at the Gucci store in Central, Hong Kong, the week before I found myself in London. I really just wanted to buy a small handbag, from their beautiful beautiful Spring/Summer floral collection. As you know, HK sales assistants are the most effective in the world – the definition of masterclass. After I’ve picked the handbag, she swiftly convinced me I ought to consider a wallet with a different print from the same collection. Ok, I suppose it is quite adorable. How about our latest pret-a-porter collection, they just arrived and are really pretty? Pretty? Oh ok, let’s take a look. And so, 30 minutes later, I added a very cute butterfly embroidered skirt (meant probably for someone twenty years younger but that’s another story) and a pair of very gorgeous emerald green heels to the haul. As I walked out of the store with a huge paper bag that bears the same beautiful floral print of my handbag, I had my moment of truth – oops, I did it again… Don’t get me wrong, all of those items are beautiful. But would I have bought the a-tad-too-short skirt and the adorable-but-otherwise-quite-useless wallet as my cold rational online shopper self?

There was much doubt in the early days if women would buy clothes and shoes without touching and trying them. That debate is of course now history. If anything, men, known for their assassin approach to shopping – a clear target in mind, zero in, done and gone (allegedly) – have not quite embraced this most efficient mode of buying things. I wonder why. It’s so much quicker and easier, no? In the comfort of my grey sofa (it’s always this grey one I’m lying on right now), phone in hand, tap, tap, tap, pay. Two to three days later, the goodies arrive. I try them on in the comfort of my own dressing room. No queue, no hurry. And if something doesn’t fit or look good, then it doesn’t. There’s no one who is obviously conflicted in interests to sow any seeds of doubt. I fill in a form, someone collects it, I get a refund. No fuss, no guilt, no drama a la Alaia and no capitulation a la Gucci. Life is so much simpler..!

I know, I know, online shopping isn’t quite the same. You don’t see these beautiful things proudly on display, at their best. In a box, they are never quite the same, are they, even if it’s a pretty box with tissue-lined garment bags. There’s something unceremonious about being packed off like that, even if it is a Dolce & Gabbana or Stella McCartney. Nothing beats strolling through rows of exquisite dresses, smelling and feeling the fabrics. The fantasy, the experience. That’s it, online shopping lacks the experience. Shopping can no longer be an end in itself, it is more an effective mean to ownership. This change has propelled me to EIP (E for extremely…) status at one very popular online store but yes, I’m rapidly losing my VIP status at many bricks and mortar ones.

I admit I miss that experience component but dealing with the human drama is a price I’m increasingly unwilling and unable (no time!) to pay. I can’t help but wonder about the longer term implications though. I’m but one of a whole army of shoppers shifting online, and bricks and mortar shops are losing ground. The demise of these stores will drastically change the face of malls and high streets. Can we really imagine a mall or high street that is dominated by services – laundry, real estate agencies, banks – but no longer offers anything beautiful to look at, entirely devoid of fantasy?

Perhaps bricks and mortar stores will have to evolve – a showroom of sorts where merchandise gets checked out but with real transactions taking place online? Or perhaps they have to make shopping a more covetable experience to get shoppers like me out of our grey sofas and into their stores again. DSM (Dover Street Market) comes to mind. DSM is a concept store set up by Rei Kawakubo , the designers’ designer behind Commes de Garçon, that offers more than just a tightly edited selection of her own as well as others’ collections. It’s no longer at Dover Street by the way, it’s moved to Haymarket. You can eat there (I recently had my first Whole Earth Cola there – the organic version of Coke…), read the funky magazines there (I came across a most interesting article on Elon Musk while sipping my Cola) and browse the collections relatively undisturbed. The staff is too cool to care whether you buy anything. You get the feeling that if you don’t get the avant garde designs, they deem it your loss. It’s almost like they are so self confident of what they have that they don’t need you to open your Gucci wallets to endorse it. But if you need/want attention, you’ll get it. I didn’t buy a single thing as I ran out of time, but walked out totally guilt free, and determined to go back again.

I know what you’re thinking but it’s not that!

I read in the papers that a Taiwanese actress recently took her father to Kyoto. She must be in her 50s now so I surmise he is in his late 70s. Whilst they were out and about, he needed to relieve himself and she helped him to the toilet. He was embarrassed about his wearing a diaper and asked her to look away. She told him – I’ll change your diapers the way you changed mine. No matter how old you are, I’ll always love you.

For some reasons, the narrative and focus of family love has shifted firmly towards children. Facebook is the place to look. It is filled with pictures of happy kids on holidays, happy kids in restaurants, happy kids going about their lives. I have nothing against that of course but I often wonder why there isn’t more of happy parents on holidays, in restaurants, and going about their lives. Perhaps Facebook doesn’t tell the whole story – social media is for the young after all. Or perhaps it does, and we just don’t share our lives, and love, with our parents the way we do with our children.

Has it always been like this? I’m not sure. Growing up, the importance of filial piety was drilled into us, in school, on television, from books. Err.. Chinese ones, that is. That we have a lifelong duty to our parents is as unquestionable as Earth being round. Do they still teach that in school, the duty bit, that is? I must ask Son.

The logic is irrefutable to me. Our parents gave birth to us. They fed us, clothed us, educated us, supported us, protected us. And they still love us, even if we are middle aged uncles and aunties, whether we are successful CEOs or struggling professionals. The same way we are feeding, clothing, educating, supporting, protecting, and loving our own children, even if they are not Joseph Schooling. So we owe our parents a fundamental “debt”, no? Which ought to be repaid? I know there are always exceptions, parents who are absent or abusive etc. and that’s a difficult topic. But I imagine most of us have fairly “normal” parents.

Husband explained to me the “Western” perspective. You are born, you grow up, you leave the nest when you’re 18 or so, and your life from that point on is yours. Yes, you call, you visit, and you do your Christmas dinners, but your and your parents’ lives are like a Venn diagram in which the two circles only just touch each other. You share a history but you no longer share a future. The cycle repeats itself with your kids. You live your life around them until they leave the nest. And then they’re gone, and you get on with your own life, hopefully happily with your partner.

In many ways, this model is much easier. It’s paying your debt to your parents through your children and that debt is repaid when the kids leave, and no one owes anyone anything anymore. Easier, but somehow also feels emptier, at least to me.

I don’t have such expectations of Son by the way. As I discussed in “My gentle giant”, my working assumption is that I’ll only have 15 or so years of his life. The relationship we have after that is up to him to define. I can only hope I would have done sufficient right things during the time we have for him to want a relationship Venn diagram in which two circles substantially overlap. Partly, this is my acknowledgement that he doesn’t share the same background as me, and partly, I do not wish to saddle him with the burden of expectations.

But I do have those expectations of myself as a daughter. I see it as my duty to take care of my parents until the very last moment. For all that they’ve done for me, this is the least I can do for them. I’ve chosen to live very close to them so seeing them is as easy as popping over. Husband, bless him, has always understood. We have dinner at theirs and Mum does our grocery shopping – I know, we’re very lucky – so that even if I can’t tell you the price of spinach, I have time to tell you many other less useful things through this blog!

In the last couple of years, Dad and Mum have aged significantly. They were both very good looking in their days, as I was frequently told and can tell from old pictures. Mum is almost seventy, and Dad is a couple of years younger. Age spares no one but I’d like to think has treated my parents relatively well. I hope it continues to. Mum is still super energetic. Dad, less so. He has more health issues but relatively minor for which I’m thankful. I know he thinks about his mortality, how much time he has left with the family he loves. I think about that too, how much more time we have with them. I wonder too what it’ll be like when they become even older – will they remain lucid? Will the day come when they can no longer take care of themselves? What’s the solution? In my mind there’s only one – they’ll come live with us. Bro has three kids and it’ll be tougher for him. I’m ready for that, having spent the last 15 years preparing (Husband) for it!

Dad in recent weeks finally embraced whatsapp. He sent me a video, of a pair of birds, building a nest for their nestlings, feeding them worms painstakingly caught until the moment came when they were strong enough to take flight. And all that was left were the two of them. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to tell me something but Pa, no matter how high I fly, I will never forget. And I will always come back.

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Do you have a frenemy? Or an idolenemy (I just made that word up)? A friend cum enemy, a la Lee Chong Wei/Lin Dan. Or an idol cum enemy, a la Joseph Schooling/Michael Phelps. Someone who pushes you, through competing with you in the best possible way, to be the best you can be.

I watched Lee Chong Wei defeat Lin Dan at the Rio badminton semi-finals. The man who for more than a decade had stood between him and victory at a major competition. It was a thrilling match, but Lee Chong Wei was hungrier, and more resolute, driven perhaps by an acute awareness, given his age, that it was then or never. And by his desire too I suspect to redeem himself by defeating his frenemy for once, on the biggest of stages. Lin Dan was gracious in defeat, secure in his knowledge perhaps that the outcome of that match has no bearing on his position as one of the greatest players of his generation.

They exchanged shirts and then they hugged. It was at once a comical and touching sight – two grown men, topless, still breathless from the toil of the match, with sweat flowing off their bodies, awkwardly staging what the Internet fondly billed as the definitive moment of their “bromance”. I’d prefer to think it’s their way of saying to each other – thank you, I could not have been me without you.

Lee Chong Wei would go on to lose in the finals to Lin Dan’s compatriot, thus being denied yet again the grand prize. It is very likely now that he would be one of the most talented players, a World Number 1, to have never been World or Olympic champion. Much has been said about how unlucky he has been, and how life has been unfair to him. I’m inclined to think that that’s a very narrow way of looking at life. There can be glory in defeat, and success is defined not only through a piece of metal (or is it plastic?). Glory is in the relentless pursuit of self betterment, and success is in having achieved that.

Not all of us are lucky enough to have a frenemy to thus realise ourselves, or an idolenemy to push us to greater heights, the way Michael Phelps has done with Joseph Schooling. But we can, in our normal lives away from the world of sporting demi-gods, seek out our own frenemy or idolenemy.

Years ago, at one of those endless Oxonian student parties with plenty of cheap booze, someone asked if we would prefer to be a small fish in a big pond, or a big fish in a small pond. I remember most of my friends opting for the latter. I did not hesitate in my choice for the former. For the simple reason that being in a big pond is the only way to be stretched and inspired, by the bigger fishes, which is the only way to grow bigger, better and stronger. And that to me is a worthier life journey than atrophying in complacency in a small pond without challenges, or worse, in ignorance of how many bigger ponds and greater fishes there are out there.

I don’t know how big your pond is and what kind of fishes there are in it. If you’re an ikan bilis (anchovy!), fret not. Go in search of a frenemy, or an idolenemy. A peer or senior who challenges and inspires you. Who keeps you on your toes and makes you think twice about hiding behind excuses. So that one day, you too can become a tuna. And just to be sure, as I see this term used a lot by girls – a frenemy is not someone who makes you feel you have to carry a Hermes Birkin to be cool, or to have a boyfriend/husband/kids to be worthy. That’s just a toxic friend. Keep them at bay! A frenemy is someone who brings out the competitive best in you, so you can reach for the sky (like a dolphin!).

Find yourself a frenemy. Life will not be truly complete without one.

 

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It was a howl, like his heart was torn asunder. Mine was, at that moment. I was expecting it, as I do each time, but each time it hurts.

Son was crying in the dark, in his bed. A heart wrenching howl. Blondie and his girlfriend Brunette had just left after spending three weeks here. Strawberry left earlier. As I described in “A modern family”, Strawberry, Blondie and Son share a bond that transcends distance and blood. He is overjoyed when he sees them, and sorrowful when they leave. I sneaked in to give him a hug, armed with the same old arguments made in the same artificially high tone – you’ll see them in a few months! And you know that’ll come very quickly! In between heart breaking sobs, he responded with the same old words – I love Gor Gor and Jie Jie very much and I miss them badly. Entirely true to form, I teared too. I keep hoping for the day when he outgrows this. But I know you never outgrow sentimentality. I’ve never succeeded.

Son burst into our life eight years ago. For a very long time in my youth, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a mother. I didn’t know if I had it in me. I had never been particularly maternal and didn’t grow up seeing myself in that role. But when he came, I knew I could never again imagine a life without him.

He was the biggest baby in the nursery even though he was 4 weeks early. And he continues to tower over his peers due to his European genes. He reaches my nose now and I often plead with him not to grow up so fast. I’m not able to carry him anymore, which both of us regret. Instead, every morning, he sits on my lap for a minute or so before heading off to school. A ritual both of us are holding onto, because we know there shall come a day when he’ll grow too big for this too. A giant he is, but the gentlest one. Polite, considerate and sensitive. Funny, witty and cheerful. Warm and loving too. He’s not capable of bullying anyone except his mother. Husband and I often worry that he’s not tough enough for this world.

He’s also an accomplished little giant. He is one grading test away from a black belt in taekwondo. He just finished his grade 2 piano exams. We’ll see if he manages a distinction this time as well. I haven’t watched him play tennis for a while as that takes place during the week but I was told he’s now rather good at it. He has also the tendency to seek mastery of a subject matter that interests him. Between 3 to maybe 4 plus, it was dinosaurs. After that it’s been Star Wars. He has impressed me – you know that bloody difficult women are bloody difficult to impress.. – with his grasp of not just the movies, but everything related. Do you know which Sith Lord created the rule of two? And why?

I have greatly enjoyed having Son in my life. My working assumption is we only have the first 15 or so years of his life. Ok, 16 if we’re lucky. After that, he’ll start in earnest his journey (metaphorically) in search of his own identity, to build his own life and eventually, devastatingly, redefine our relationship with him. I am under no illusion – like it or not, this is how parenthood works. In the first 15 or so years of our kids’ lives, we define our relationship. After that point, they do. As parents, we can only hope that we have done enough right things in those first 15 or so years to influence the process of redefinition but ultimately the outcome is theirs to decide. We are at the half way mark now with Son…

You probably wonder why then I’ve chosen a career over full time motherhood? Why I wouldn’t want to maximize the time I have with him in these 15 years? As I explained earlier, my choosing a career has nothing to do with my love for Son, it’s everything to do with what I need to be happy in my own right. Another consideration is precisely my belief that I can really only have 15 years of my child’s life. What will I do after that? Most important however, is my conviction that the strength of my relationship with him that’ll influence his redefinition of our relationship is underpinned by the emotional and intellectual bond we share, as he journeys through life. And that, I can achieve alongside a career.

I have thus chosen my battlefields. To pursue my career in the form I want, I have to relinquish the taking care of his physical needs to our nanny/helper. It’s not possible to do it all, much as I’d like to see myself as a bloody difficult Superwoman. I can’t tell you what he eats everyday for his breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. I don’t chauffeur him around for his classes/lessons. I can’t keep on top of everything he’s up to at school and track his every progress in his activities. But I pour all my energy and time I have to understanding and developing him. I would like to think – and he tells me so – that I know him better than anyone else. I know what goes through his little mind. I know exactly what bothers/upsets him when something does. I know what makes him tick. I know his strengths and weaknesses and try to manage them, consciously and proactively. He knows that I do.

This is my choice, which I made years ago with my eyes open. Thankfully, it has worked well for both of us so far. There are moments of doubt of course, if I’m missing too much of his childhood. I will never know the answer. I do know however that we have a bond that is irreplaceable. I hope this closeness we share will never wane – I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t – and what he will want of our relationship when he’s grown up will be close to what I want.

Bao Bei, one day perhaps you’ll read this, and feel in every word a tiny bit of Mama’s endless love for you.

That’s what I’ve been called, and probably often thought of as. It’s far from the worst though – that has to be, hands down, “pitbull terrier”.

I saw that Theresa May, the new UK prime minister, was described in these terms (the homo sapien version that is, not the canine one) by a colleague. A man, of course. It made me smile. What did he mean, I wonder. That she’s not a pushover? She stands her ground and fights her corner? She is demanding? Or she’s simply impossible to manipulate/cajole/coerce into doing something she doesn’t believe in?

I can think of many men who possess those attributes. Steve Jobs is notorious for being demanding to a fault. That’s how we get the iPhone with only one button. LKY is known not to take any prisoners. That’s why a tiny island could be transformed from third world to first in one generation. Churchill refused to yield to Hitler, nor the pacifists in his own country. That changed the course of World War II. Similar traits, no? But none of them has been called “a bloody difficult man”?

Don’t worry, I’m not going to rant about the double bind/standards between men and women. I already did so in “It’s tough being a woman!”. My mission with this post is to explain to the uninitiated and the intimidated the phenomenon that is being bloody difficult, and that sub-specie, the bloody difficult woman (“BDW”).

There are quite a few BDWs in The Firm. I count Equally Fierce and Little Swallow, and a couple of others from Legal and Ops. I’m in good company! We’ve all had the honour at one point or another of being branded a BDW either secretly (by our wiser detractors) or openly (by those clueless ones). How do you identify a BDW? Let’s see. Our focus on (and command of!) detail, refusal to suffer fools, aversion to NATO (No Action, Talk Only), animosity towards “cannot do” and its cousin “yes, but”, our insistence on discipline, thriftiness with praise, and our sense of urgency. The list goes on! These behavioral traits often confound people. So out the labels come. Nouns like task master, slave driver and dragon lady. Adjectives like cold, insensitive and inhuman. The semi-polite catch-all phrase? Bloody difficult.

As a leading expert on this sub-specie (!), I feel compelled to explain. Far from being cold and insensitive, our first problem is actually that we care too much.

We care too much about our duty. In the words of Theresa May, we have a job to do, and we get on with it. With single mindedness. Rain or shine, summer or winter, weekday or end, we get on with it. Problem is, we expect others to, too. Doesn’t sit well with a variety of people, we know.

We care too much about being fair. We hold everyone to the same (high) standards, and praise is for those who meet those, not a tool for (dare I say, soul destroying) ego management. You know how easy it is to slap “well done”, “good job” and “awesome” on every piece of work? It’s called lying. What do you say to differentiate excellence then? “Very well done”, “truly good job” and “totally awesome”?? Husband just told me that at one of his previous companies, there were four grades of “good job” – that, great job, excellent job, and the piece de resistance, outstanding job. Err, really?

We care too much about progression. We cannot help but urge improvement towards a stronger (professional) self and we see it as our duty to point the way. That’s our maternal instinct at play, really. Unfortunately, it entails navigating the tricky path called “constructive criticism” and our lack of direction sense often trips us up here. Our preferred mode of delivery is straight up, guided by our best intentions, but alas we often end up blowing The Ego up. Unintended collateral damage.

Our second problem is our conviction. Of what is right and what is worthy. An unshakable belief in, translating into a steadfast commitment to, the cause, whatever that may be. And this usually means we don’t lose sight of the long term goal, and will not sacrifice that for short term gains. And it also often means we consider the greater and common good first and foremost, not individual preferences. We know what others call this – rigidity. And we know that doesn’t make us hugely popular. But you know, we are not in it to be liked. So whilst it sometimes hurts (there, I’ve just conceded we have feelings too!), we accept that as the price we pay for the cause, and we just ahem, get on with it.

Since I alluded to Theresa May, it feels only symmetrical to mention David Cameron. I like him, his wit, charm and eloquence. If you haven’t watched his last Prime Minister’s Questions, go You-Tube it. I’ve watched it half a dozen times. But equally I can’t help but feel that he made a huge mistake. He faced tremendous pressure from the eurosceptics in his own party. He yielded. He took a gamble on his country’s future to solve an immediate problem. He lost. Maybe it’s the expediency of politics. Or maybe, just maybe, he simply wasn’t bloody difficult enough.

I hope I’ve contributed a tiny bit to your understanding of this phenomenon and sub-specie. Next time you encounter a BDW, see beyond how she looks (she usually looks good, by the way) and hear beyond what she says. Beneath that icy and tough exterior and within those blunt and unflattering words lies a heart in the right place. Look into her soul and you’ll find it.

I have two other children. A daughter, Strawberry and a son, Blondie. No, they are not a result of my teenage irreverence. They are Husband’s kids from his previous marriage, and live with their mum in Europe. It’s that time of the year when we get to spend some time with them, and Son is beside himself with excitement.

When I first met Husband, he was already separated. I believe everyone enters into a marriage with the best of intentions but intentions alone do not decide the outcome. Circumstances change, people grow but not necessarily together, they start to realise they want different things in life, etc. Life is so long yet so short. Long enough to make eternity out of every minute of loneliness in an unfulfilling marriage, yet too short to justify scarificing a lifetime at the altar of convenience or fear or obligation. Of course those best intentions when rings are exchanged and vows taken should mean that neither party gives up easily. But if everything’s been tried, in honesty and fairness, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to concede defeat and move on so both parties can have another shot at happiness, rather than grind each other’s soul down to nothingness. That’s death’s job…

A marriage may break down, but that will never severe the relationship between a parent and his/her kid(s). That love is solely between a parent and his/her child, entirely independent of the love between the parent and his/her partner. And that responsibility survives any relationship the parent subsequently has or doesn’t have with anyone else.

On both of these aspects, Husband has clarity. It doesn’t mean he didn’t struggle emotionally with the end of his marriage, or having to live apart from his kids. But he knew what was not in his capacity to excel at – his marriage – and what was – his parental duty and love. He accepted the former and focused on the latter. I’ve always admired him for this clarity.

In the years that we’ve been together, he’s never stopped loving and caring for Blondie and Strawberry. Distance is obviously a big obstacle when we moved back to Singapore but he speaks to them every week and tries to see them as frequently as possible. He makes it a point to stop over whenever he travels to Europe for work. Blondie and Strawberry are grown up now and both have turned out nicely, leading their own lives responsibly. The bulk of the credit goes to their mum of course. But I’d like to think Husband played his part too. Don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t always been hunky dory. There were many difficult moments too, but that’s life, no?

As for me, The Step-mother, I’ve been grateful for having them. They’ve offered me a fast track insight into motherhood, and how fast kids grow! I still remember the first time I met them. They sat at the back of Husband’s car and stared out tentatively as I approached, this strange woman whom they probably feared would be their new mum. But I never tried to play that role. My complete incompetence aside, I also believe that’s not my role to play. I try to be their friend instead. Offering advice, especially on how to manage their dad!

What has truly amazed me is the love the three of them – Strawberry, Blondie and Son, that is – share. Son absolutely adores his elder siblings. Nothing excites him more than the prospect of seeing them. Well, except perhaps for some extra iPad time.. And I can see they love him dearly too. Distance hasn’t diluted that bond. Nor the fact they have different mums. One of my happiest moments is watching them play together. A reminder that out of Husband’s difficult decision came this three bundles, big and small, of joy. In life, making a difficult decision for the long term good is not usually the worst thing. Not making it due to short term pain often is.

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