Before I left for my work trip (which explains my radio silence in the last few days), the story of a feud between Dr Lee Wei Ling and her brother, our current prime minister, broke. Dr Lee was upset about the commemoration activities held islandwide for their father, our founding father, Mr Lee Kuan Yew. I touched on her reasons in my post “The giant and his daughter”. She felt that her brother was dishonoring their father by allowing, even encouraging, those activities in his capacity as prime minister.

I am convinced both Dr Lee and PM Lee love their father deeply. That love is palpable from the tears in his eyes and the quiver in his voice when he announced his death to the nation. It is evident in her words as she wrote about coming to terms with his absence in her column, and in her deeds as she sought to protect his legacy, fiercely. How is it then that they found themselves in a conflict over their father? Love is complex, isn’t it? They love him, but they love him differently. They want to honour him, but in opposing ways.

Dr Lee loves their father purely as a child. She takes his wishes literally and they become her overriding objective. His wishes were not to be hero-worshipped, and for his marital home to be demolished, not turned into a cheesy place of attraction. She’ll take anyone to task for not respecting those wishes, including her own brother.

PM Lee loves their father also as a political mentor and predecessor. He does not want the nation to forget the many contributions Mr Lee made. Understandably, he wants to keep his political flame alive. There’s also the nation’s wishes he has to respect and facilitate in his role as PM. And those wishes – to preserve his marital home and to express our gratitude on his first anniversary – run counter to Mr Lee’s personal ones, as perceived by Dr Lee.

Thus, the conflict arose, and there are no easy answers, as is often the case with Love. It reminds me of my own relationship with Mum and Dad.

Dad and I are like yin and yang. Our relationship is very easy. We see each other frequently and travel together at least once a year. I want Mum and Dad to see the world and experience what life has to offer – the world that I am able to see and life I am able to lead, on the back of their sacrifices for me and Bro. Sadly, Mum doesn’t like traveling so has never come with us apart from the trip we took as a family when I graduated from Oxford. It’s always just Dad, and we always have a good time. Loving Dad is simple.

Mum and I are like yang and yang. I take after her, you see. We are both strong willed and somehow always managed to say the harshest things to each other in the heat of the moment. We had some of the most violent clashes I’ve ever had with anyone. We have found a modus vivendi over the years, which unfortunately involves very little daily interaction, apart from the big meals we have together around someone’s birthday, Mother’s Day, and Chinese New Year. Which I deeply regret. The irony is Mum knows me better than anyone else. And I know her pretty well too. Because we are just so similar. I have no doubt she loves me, as I love her. She was my supporter in a couple of critical decisions I took, against Dad’s preferences, because she understood. And for which I’m grateful. How is it possible then that we haven’t been able to find a way to parlay that mutual understanding into a warmer and closer relationship? How is it that we’ve both struggled to express the love we know we have for each other? It has confounded me… There’s still time of course, though it is running out, and I hope I will find some answers in the not too distant future, as will the Lee family.

 

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The topic of schooling came up over lunch on Friday with some friends. Son attends a local primary school. We could have, on account of Husband being an ang moh, sent him to an international school but I never saw the point or merit of that. I went through the local school system and emerged, I think, fine. If it’s good enough for his mother, it’s good enough for him.

When queried why I decided to put him through a system notorious for its high pressure and seemingly narrow focus on academic achievements, I often offer the explanation that no system is perfect. It sounds lame, I know, but that’s how I view it. Systems are by definition, devised to meet the majority needs of the majority. This means it is inevitably inadequate. And it gets even more challenging when it comes to education, of which academic competency is a necessary but insufficient component. For something as wide ranging as education, it would be unrealistic to expect the system to be able to do it all. Parents, like it or not, play a critical role.

Local schools are known for their relentless focus on academic achievements. This brings with it pressure, and a requirement for hard work and discipline. International schools on the other hand, embrace creative learning, with much less focus on homework and exams. I’m generalizing here but you get the idea. Which is better? I think the more relevant questions are – what makes for comprehensive learning, what will equip the child to survive and thrive in the world he grows up in, and how do we get there?

Is it possible to excel in life with just rote learning and no creative problem solving skills? Of course not. But is it possible to get far, from bouncing around with ideas but with no hard work and discipline to achieve a direction? The road to success is littered with failures. Does the child have the ability to deal with the stress and pressure that comes with the pursuit of success, in anything, and the resilience to keep going when (not if) he’s tripped up by failures? Even in the world of technology, that most creative of industries, name me a titan who isn’t known to be a workaholic never-say-die perfectionist? Steve Jobs? Elon Musk?

Survival is not, and never meant to be, easy. A variety of skills, soft and hard, are required. Systems have to choose a position in this spectrum and then structure it for the majority, which makes it as I mentioned, inadequate by definition, for any one child. So parents have to step up, to fill in the blanks. Just because we pay taxes doesn’t mean our kids’ education is solely the responsibility of the state’s!

I chose the local school system for Son because I believe discipline, hard work and resilience that comes with the ability to manage pressure, are the bedrock upon which everything else will be built. Given my demanding job, it’ll be hard for me to create the environment at home for purpose of training these skills. So I “outsource” this part of his education to the system. My focus as his mother, as I ask of myself, is to fill in the other bits the system can’t deliver. Hence, I encourage his pursuit of music and sports. I balance the high stress environment by allowing him, as I have found out from casual conversations with other parents, rather generous TV and iPad time. I believe, strongly, that we have to subsume our instinct to protect our children from pressure/stress to the longer term responsibility of equipping them to deal with it, because we cannot always shape reality to suit them. The world in which we live, is stressful.

I try to inculcate independent (and hopefully creative!) problem solving in the day to day – my first response to his cry for help is “动脑筋” （exercise your brain). I don’t prescribe one way of solving his “problem”, nor do I allow Husband to (I’ve discovered men have the tendency to think theirs is the best way, but another story for another day!). And I don’t help until he’s tried everything he can. I drill the messages of the importance of filial piety, generosity and kindness, with stories I tell since he was little. And I watch like a hawk, ok, tigress, how well he puts these values into practice, far more keenly than I watch his grades. Through these efforts, I hope to provide him with as balanced an environment as possible in which to learn, for a lifetime.

Yes, I’ve obviously got the grand theory all worked out. Ask me in ten years’ time how it has worked in practice!

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Is that the right term? No? Facebookie then? Or Facebookian? You know what I mean.. I’m a new citizen in the world of social media, having acquired a fb account only recently. It’s been almost two months and I must confess I’m a bit lost.

Facebookland must be the happiest place on Earth. I see a lot of happy pictures and happy faces, which makes me happy, but also somewhat bemused – am I the only oddball around with neuroses? Did I miss a memo upon obtaining my Facebookland passport that I ought to put only my best face forward? Is there an unspoken rule I haven’t grasped that when you enter Facebookland, you leave all your real world baggage behind?

What about the issue of etiquettes in this new utopia? Let’s take the ubiquitous “like”, which has totally floored me. Is it a judgement on contents or a measure of friendships? Do I put a “like” only on posts I truly like, or for the friends I like? I’d prefer the former, as a matter of principle, but are principles, like aerosols, not allowed onboard? If I don’t put a “like”, would my friends think I don’t like them or want them as my friends? Should I put a “like” on at least one post per friend, in the name of fairness? There’s only one problem with that though. I recently realised, to my horror, that what I “like” would appear in my other friends’ pages too. Am I cluttering up their space because of my complete incompetence at maneuvering this new landscape??

Oh, and can anyone tell me if “heart” is just a variation of “like” or is it a step up from “like”? And if someone “likes” or “hearts” my post, what is the cyber equivalent of “thank you”? I “heart” them back?

It also appears to me that there is a certain desirable words to pics ratio, and mine is marching firmly in the wrong direction. I have posted primarily my blog posts and only one other picture than my profile one. This would be quite easy to fix – it takes far less time to produce a picture than a post. But alas, I fancy myself a writer than photographer. I hope there’s a place for diversity and inclusion in Facebookland too?

Don’t get me wrong. It hasn’t all been confusion. I’ve reconnected with long lost friends and in two minutes, got right up to speed with where they are in life now. But two decades of void can’t be filled just by scrolling photos. I miss the sort of face to face catching up, where I can slowly fill in the blanks of twenty years, with trials and tribulations that tell me so much more than a emoji and outsized thumb can ever do. But would they want to see me?

Yes, I’ve over-thought myself into a state of paralysis – I haven’t checked in for days now. So my fb friends, this is why you haven’t seen a like from me. But please don’t “unfriend” me just yet! The problem is me, not you. I’m lost.. Though perhaps you haven’t even noticed if you, like my twenty-something, have more than 1000 friends. Any help you can offer this useless Facebooker will be greatly appreciated. Even more so, an invitation to catch up over a cup of tea.

I bumped into Tall & Slim from the marketing department yesterday on my way to lunch. She told me she’s been following my blog eagerly, and enjoying it. How very nice to hear on a lethargic Thursday afternoon! It perked me up instantly. I’ve had the more expressive amongst you tell me similar things. Thank you, it means a lot to me that you care to share those precious minutes of your busy day with me.

It’s been 1.5 months since I started writing. I remember well the initial struggle – of all the things that interest me, what should I be focusing on? What would people like to read? I expressed those doubts in “What the blog?” and “My words vs Kim K’s butt”. It’s very clear that my words are still not a match to her butt, and certainly not her nude selfies. She recently posted one and almost crashed the Internet (please finish reading this before checking that out!). But I’ve done better than I ever imagined possible, receiving a higher readership than I allowed myself to hope for. It’s a surreal, and rewarding experience.

What’s not clear to me yet though is what YOU like to read. Some posts receive more views than others but there doesn’t seem to be a clear pattern. I wonder at times how those figures would look if adjusted for those of you who “follow” me via email notification. When you read my post on your email, the blog’s readership count doesn’t register it. For that to happen, you’ll have to click on the link (the title of the post) and go into the blog itself. If you’d like to help me understand better how each of my posts is doing, and what you like more than others, please click on that link! I’ll be grateful.

I’m seeing Peter Pan for lunch, which I’ve been looking forward to. We’ve decided (well, I forced him..) to indulge my one great food sin – pig’s intestines! I’ll send him your love.

Have a nice weekend!

I was getting ready for bed, when I saw them. Unmistakably, undeniably, there. Dancing above my scalp, taunting me, mocking me. I had to act, to go on the offensive. How dare they!

Out came my trusted weapon of choice. The mission was complicated by the fact that I was half blind at that point but I was focused and determined, contact lenses or not. Peering into the mirror, and trying my very best to avoid collateral damage, I exterminated them, one by one.

My white hairs!

I know, I shouldn’t pluck them. There’s the immediate collateral damage – you inevitably pull a few of the black ones out too – and the longer term one. I was informed by various sources that plucking one white hair hastens the whitening of the black ones around it. I’m usually pretty long term in my approach but when it comes to my hair, instant gratification is the name of the game.

I’m nearing the mid point of my time on Earth. Assuming I’m given 80. Ok, fine. I’m almost 40. There, I’ve said it.. I never thought I would be 40. 40 is my mum, my aunts, my teachers. 40 is not me. But here I am, on the cusp…

Husband, bless him, would tell me I could pass as 30 – on a good day. Otherwise, 32. Son says mama looks like 29. He’s my darling for a reason. I can feel you rolling your eyes, but cut this auntie (to-be) some slack!

Youth, or the loss of it, is a key component of my petrification. I dread the day when I look into the mirror and know that that McQueen doesn’t belong to my body anymore. Or those Stella McCartney metallic brogues are somehow out of sync with the rest of me. When I’ll want to cover my knees not because midi/maxi skirts are in fashion but to hide those telltale folds (knees and elbows are the worst betrayers of your age so grease them up religiously). When I actually prefer those Dolce & Gabbana lace sneakers over the Saint Laurent Tributes gathering dust in my shoe cupboard. Don’t worry, I won’t wait until someone tells me I’m mutton dressing up as lamb. Not because it’s my calling in life to fit into moulds created by others, but because I have exacting expectations of myself. So when the day comes, I shall accept it with dignity, and tears.

The larger component though, is Time. The passage of Time. The loss of Time. Everyone of us has a finite amount of time, though some have more than others. But none of us knows how much exactly. Which makes planning a somewhat useless exercise. I can say I’ll do this and that when I’m 50. But how do I know I have 50? All I know is with each passing year, I have less. When my time is up, would I have achieved what I set out to? Would I have become the person I aspired to be? Would I have loved all those I love the way I wanted to? Would I have seen and experienced as much of what Life has to offer as I dreamt of?

This obsession (fear) drives me to a large degree. It explains why I refuse to just show up at work, put in 9 to 5, and then go home. I want to find out how much I can achieve in one lifetime.

It explains why I’m learning Japanese now, and will pick up Spanish next. Plus why I’m writing this blog. I am curious how much I can learn in the time I’m given.

It explains why I make it a mission to take Dad to see the world at least once a year (Mum, alas, doesn’t like to travel). Which reminds me – I haven’t planned this year’s…

It also explains why I don’t tend to bear grudges and indulge negativity. There’s way too little time for that. When Husband wanted to give entrepreneurism a shot, I was all for it. It meant I had to be the main breadwinner for a while, but that cannot compare to the value, and magic, of chasing the rainbow.

Ironically, given the way I inject a sense of urgency into everything, my lifespan will probably be significantly shortened. But hey, I’ll never know that for sure. I’ll know though if I haven’t tried to make the most of the precious and finite time I had. It’s a regret I never want to have.

I was in Australia for work earlier in the week and started thinking about a piece on our founding father, Mr Lee Kuan Yew, one of two men I admire greatly, as discussed in my earlier post, “Admiration”. This week marks the first anniversary of his passing.

I returned home to a country immersed in all sorts of memorial activities, and engaged in a debate triggered by Dr Lee Wei Ling, his daughter. Dr Lee objects to this veneration of her father, which she sees as hero worship. There are many responses to her position. I see her love of her country, and her father.

I greatly enjoyed Dr Lee’s book, A Hakka Woman’s Singapore Stories, from which I obtained glimpses of her life. She traveled extensively with her father, and shares many of his views. One of these is a rejection of personality cults. They witnessed and understood the destructive impact of this from Mao Zedong’s China. Dr Lee doesn’t want Singapore to fall into the same trap, to become a nation held ransom by one man, in life and death. She wants Singaporeans to move on, to focus on working for the well being of Singapore. Therein lies her love for her country.

She fears too, that such veneration could create the impression in subsequent generations that LKY was motivated by his desire for fame, or creation of a dynasty. She wants posterity to remember her father for the type of leader he was, one who placed his call of duty ahead of personal glory. In this is her love for her father.

Her first fear, a personality cult taking hold, I’m inclined to think is unlikely. Demographics is against it. We are living in the Facebook world, shaped by the millennials and post-millennials. In which attention spans are short, and getting shorter. Where there are ten thousand distractions per second. It’s a small wonder that sufficient momentum could be gathered for these memorial activities. As much as it was a miracle, acknowledged by Dr Lee herself, that an otherwise generally apathetic lot like us Singaporeans could be capable of the collective outpouring of emotions this time last year.

I still remember vividly how Husband, Son, Bro and me queued, alongside many others, for hours under the blazing sun to pay our last respects. I remain very proud of Husband, the ang moh, who didn’t have to, but wanted to, because he understood. Understood LKY’s contributions to the country he now lives in, and my gratitude. Even prouder of Son, who was then aged only six, but did not fuss a second about the heat and wait, because he too, seemed to have understood the significance of the event.

That was a very unique moment in our history, which I doubt could ever be repeated. Demographics aside, our political landscape has changed. Giants of history, a la LKY, will be much harder to come by. I think our desire for remembrance is on balance, a good thing, and to be enjoyed whilst it lasts. As apathy and the mentality of entitlement are, in my mind, more likely to ride the tides of time, than the formation of a personality cult.

As for Dr Lee’s second fear, that subsequent generations come to view her father in the wrong way, I’m inclined to think history is the fairest arbiter, and history will be on his side. Mao could control 1.3 billion people, but he could not control how history would judge him. Thus, his immense contributions would always be measured against his equally immense mistakes. Likewise, Deng Xiaoping’s efforts to dismantle personality cults would always be seen as one of his greatest contributions to his country. And one of LKY’s greatest was to ensure that Singapore could run on smoothly without him, well before his passing. This, history could never interpret as the pursuit of his own cult.

I hope Dr Lee finds some comfort in these perspectives. I am often touched by her devotion to her parents, which is evident in her book, and columns. She, in my mind, embodies LKY’s achievement as a father, beyond his many achievements as our founding father.

What I left unsaid in my previous post was the unequal playing field in the corporate world – or indeed any world – between a man and a woman. The things I have to think about, like whether I can break the glass ceiling teetering on my stilettos, a man will never have to. The only ceiling he has to think about is the one at home.

Let’s face it. If you are tough as a man, you are a leader. If you’re tough as a woman, you’re a b****.

If you’re soft as a man, you are understanding. If you’re soft as a woman, you’re indecisive.

If you’re a demanding man, you have high standards. If you’re a demanding woman, you have low EQ.

If you go out drinking all night with your colleagues, you’re networking. If you do the same as a woman, you’re asking for it. Gossips, that is.

If a man travels often, that’s because he’s ambitious. If a woman does, she’s too ambitious. Poor husband and kids!

I recently found out, whilst following Hillary Clinton’s campaign, that there’s a term for this. It’s called the double bind. A double bind means that there are two commands to obey, but anything you do to fulfill one violates the other. The requirements of a good leader and a good man are similar, but the requirements of a good leader and a good woman tend to be mutually exclusive. A good leader must be tough, but a good woman must not. A good woman must be self-deprecating, but a good leader must not be. And so on. I call it double standards.

Why is this? I guess the simple answer is that men have dominated all the major fields – political, corporate, culinary, even fashion – for so long that the rules, spoken or otherwise, are built by them, for them. Once women started playing in these same fields, society somehow decided that not only do we have to abide by those rules, we have to be held to a different standard. Thus, we have to be tough to get things done, but not too tough as to be hard (read: unfeminine). We have to be sociable, and expand our network, but make sure we get home in time to be the great wives and mothers we are too, with not a single strand of hair out of place. We have to be decisive, but not so decisive as to dent the egos of our err.. male colleagues, as that would make us a Dragon Lady! Ooooh, God forbid!

I’ve long given up trying to understand these rules and standards. Or playing by them. According to the article, the most difficult aspect of the double bind is that it is invisible. In other words, people are not even conscious of it. It seems to me then that we will be better served by introducing our own rules to the game. Here are some of mine.

McQueen or the Queen? That’s our poison to pick. Jimmy Choo or Bata? So long as we can walk in them.

Drinking to network? No, thank you. We’d rather network with our husbands and kids. But lunches? Sure, and surely they are no less effective.

Travels? As much as needed, yes. Poor wife and mother? Let the husbands and kids be the judges, no?

What about the trickier bits? You know, to be tough AND adorable, decisive YET gentle, demanding WITH high EQ? I say sure, if they are so important, let’s ask these of everyone. Men and women. That must be the fairest approach?

Cannot do? Well then judge us solely on how well we do the job we are hired to do. Not how we look whilst doing it. Or whether we brought our maternal instincts or inner SYT to work, because really, these are reserved for our kids and partners. What do you say?

It’s Friday and as I was pondering over what to wear, I recalled with great fondness how Equally Fierce once advised me, with the best of intentions, that I ought to reconsider my dressing, after I was promoted to a global role.

Come to think of it, I’ve only ever dressed “appropriately” in the first few years at my first job. I put that down to a huge desire to blend into what was a conservative corporate environment, and to conform to the stereotype of a “professional/serious/intelligent young woman”. Hence, sensible suits. Pant suits a la Angela Merkel and skirt suits a la the Queen! Ok, collect your jaws from the floor. That phase didn’t last very long.

Now, please don’t get me wrong. I don’t show up in the office in leather (Christine Lagarde, admirably, did – leather pants AND jacket), shorts (I’m not into the Singaporean “uniform” of shorts and T-shirts) or midriff baring tops and cut-out dresses (I did get the memo that The Firm is not Hollywood). What I do is embrace fashion. That means I am attuned to fashion trends, and will build into my wardrobe elements that work for me (note: I’m not a fashion victim). Florals? Check. Prints? I love Mary Katrantzou. Culottes? Sure. Pleats? So long as they don’t add bulk. Short skirts? Depends on your definition of short, but don’t worry, no minis. Metallic brogues? Why not, on casual Fridays. Otherwise, it’s killer heels. Four inches, no less. Median is probably five.

Of course, there are pitfalls. People on first meeting me tend to assume I’m very junior, maybe even ditzy (stereotypes, remember?). I recall attending meetings with a former male subordinate and the assumption would invariably be that he was my boss – until I opened my mouth. I must confess to enjoying, just a teeny bit, the surprised look on those faces. I can’t help it if people judge this book by its glossy cover, but I can at least have some fun out of it, no?

At times I do wonder if I ought to play the game a bit better. You know, go back to the suits, and embrace sensible footwear. I have not found the conviction though. I mean, I can see how Alexander McQueen or Roland Mouret can be a constraint if I’m trying to get the most out of a buffet, but getting the most of my team? I can certainly appreciate how Bata and Geox would perform far better than Jimmy Choo or Sergio Rossi if I’m running after a bus, but running a business? Everything I ought to give to my job – my time, my brain cells, my energy – I give 110% (though my boss may disagree..!). This final bit, my fashionista wannabe identity, I’d like to keep for myself. I hope this won’t affect my chances at breaking the glass ceiling, but time will tell.

Most of you will know Peter Pan, the character. Some of you know Peter Pan, my friend. He with the vast toy collection and a deep love for Lego, who would send me pictures when he completes a set. He’s also a Star Wars fan, and very generously gifted a Darth Vader mask to Son, a fellow aficionado. In return, Son played The Imperial March, theme song of the series on the piano, which I recorded as a present last Christmas. An unlikely friendship in the making, despite almost four decades between them.

Peter Pan has a medical condition that means he could leave this world any moment. It was diagnosed a few years ago and he has stopped working since. It is very easy to, but I am determined never to view him through this light, and not to allow himself to do so, as much as possible. But if you know him, you’ll know he has his own will!

I joined The Firm almost ten years ago, when I could still pass as a SYT – ok, just about..! For some reasons, it was not sweetness that I projected. As I found out years later, I could easily come across, initially that is, as aloof, “atas” and err.. intimidating. Peter Pan was not the least bit put off though. On my first day, he approached me at my desk – the first person to do so – and offered me a biscuit. I ought to provide some background at this juncture. I was hired by The Firm to set up a new business unit in Asia Pacific so there was no team to start my new job into. My then boss was based in Europe. So it was me and me. I wasn’t bothered, as I had been in a serviced office for eight months prior as my previous employer figured out their game plan for Asia. Me and me in a sea of people was a vast improvement on me and four walls. Maybe I had been working alone for too long, I hadn’t expected that someone would bounce up to me to offer a biscuit on my first day. He also informed me somewhat gleefully that he had read my CV, and that we had attended the same junior college. It was a warm and unique gesture of welcome, as only he could do, and an abiding memory.

Peter Pan has his quirks as you would expect from er, Peter Pan. He wears a bow tie! He doesn’t eat vegetables. He permed his salt and pepper hair! He loves fashion. And his parents. I’m often touched by how devoted he is to his parents. Waking up multiple times at night to accompany his father to the toilet to make sure he wouldn’t fall, when his father wasn’t well. Taking his mother to vacations, and the doctor’s, with equal commitment. I don’t know a more filial son.

Our friendship was built over many lunches over many years, usually with Equally Fierce and Little Sparrow. Equally Fierce occupies a senior position in The Firm too. She often says I’m fierce, but everyone would rise in a chorus to remind her she’s equally fierce, so there you go! Little Sparrow has flown to London. I’ve always advocated to her that new experiences are an integral part of the adventure that is Life, so I’m glad she’s decided to swap raintrees for oak trees. Oh, happy birthday, Little Sparrow!

Lunch is now just the three of us, mostly. I look forward to each one. I know it hasn’t been easy on Peter Pan, living with the constant threat of life being taken away from him, without warning. Not being able to take simple things like swimming and running for granted. Listening to his friends’ clumsy attempts at comforting and supporting, never quite succeeding. Finding peace with one’s mortality is probably the most difficult journey one has to take, and take alone. No matter how  hard others try, the empathy can never be complete. I know there are times when he despairs, and wonders why God has played such a cruel joke on him. But mostly, he has been brave. Very. And lunch with him is fun. Always.

Peter Pan, if you’re reading this, know that lunch with you is a highlight I’ll never want to miss. Who else will share with me the regret that is Maggie Cheung? Who will remind me that Takashimaya or Robinson or Metro is having a sale, and offer to replenish my cosmetics arsenal for me? Every time I see you, I see your searing humour, your outrageous political incorrectness, your unmatchable gossips, your devotion, your generosity, your friendship, you. Not your condition. You.

We love you. But you know that already. So, when’s our next lunch?

I came back from a work trip in Tokyo to a nation abuzz with news of the “personal indiscretions” of one of our Members of Parliament. Photos of the MP and his alleged lover who apparently is also married, were splashed all over the papers.

I was told by my friend, Peter Pan (his toy collection more than rivals my fashion one..), who is a lot more well informed about these things than I am, that much of the sympathy was reserved for the lady’s husband, whereas the man’s wife hardly got a mention. Peter Pan asked – “any views, Ms Blogger?”

I think the answer – or at least mine – is a simple albeit unpleasant one. A female adulterer is perceived as far worse than a male one, and thus her husband deserves far more sympathy than his wife. For the same crime. There is no logic to this of course. Our society has subconsciously attributed different weight/culpability to the same behavior depending on whether it is conducted by a man or woman. I can only surmise that sexism has something to do with this.

My sympathy goes to the children – on both sides. To see their parents’ photos splashed in the papers, unwilling participants of their parents’ drama and of what should have stayed strictly their drama. But unfortunately, one of them was a politician. There was speculation that it was her husband who broke the news. I don’t know if this is true but if so, then I’m inclined to think it was a mistake. Can the pain he suffers ever justify the pain he inadvertently unleashes on the kids, including his own?

Brings to mind Princess Diana. Years ago, she went on television to air her grievances over Prince Charles’ affair with then Camilla Parker Bowles. She famously said there were three of them in her marriage, and it was a bit crowded. A lot of ink was spilled on why she did what she did. Some thought she was brave (fighting against the establishment!), others, calculative (preemptive strike against the royal family!). My heart went out to Princes William and Harry. How would they feel?

A marital bond may not last, but the parental one lasts forever. The desire to destroy or hurt the partner you no longer love or who no longer loves you must, in my mind, be subsumed to your duty to your kids, to protect them from your own basic instincts for revenge. And this applies to both men and women.