We swam with Nemo, Marlin and of course, Dory earlier this week, when we were in the Maldives. It was magical, frolicking in the turquoise clear water under the blue moody sky with them. The bursts of oranges and whites, blues and yellows, pinks and greens, greys and blacks, the darts and strolls of big and small, streamlined and boxy, elegant and clumsy. We shall never forget.

I’m not big on beach holidays usually and try to avoid them. There’s something so… lazy about them. Bathing in the sun, bathing on the beach, bathing in the sea. That much bathing seems more appropriate for someone who has toiled for so very long and desperately needs to do absolutely nothing but bath. I never feel that I deserve that degree of laziness. This year though, I succumbed as I’ve denied Son a beach holiday for a couple of years now. The Maldives seemed like a good idea. We went there for our honeymoon and thought it would be nice to show Son the place of his creation (too much information?!). We chose a different island this time and it was more beautiful and enchanting than I remember of the previous one. More importantly, it has lots more to do and my worries about laziness were quickly assuaged. We fed fishes, and sharks. We went in search of dolphins but found manta rays instead. We indulged our inner speed devils on jet skis and our inner archaeologists by collecting fossils (err, shells). There was so much to learn too. Do you know that the two sides of a whale’s brain take turns to sleep, which means therefore that it sleeps with one eye open? This is so that it will remember to rise to the surface for air – as a mammal, it can’t breathe in water! Do you also know that a dolphin belongs to the whale family? You probably do but I didn’t! It was very nice, as always, to learn something new. Nine days whizzed by and we felt a tinge of sadness on the last. We made a pact that in the coming year, we shall all do our part, i.e. Husband and I give our all at work, and Son gives his best at home and in school, so that we all deserve to go back again next year!

Yesterday, appropriately, we watched Finding Dory. We were informed by the marine biologists on the island that the global population of clown fish nosedived after Finding Nemo and they are now worried about blue tangs. I didn’t realise a movie could have such an impact on our ecosystem.. I’m not into keeping fish – or any pets – but if you are, perhaps not blue tangs? Dory belongs to the ocean!

I’m always sceptical about sequels but this, like my Maldivian sojourn, proved better than the first. The pivotal scene (warning: spoilers ahead!!) was when Dory, all lost and confused, saw the shells on the seabed and suddenly recalled how her parents used to lay them out as a guide to home in case she forgot her way. She followed them to what looked like a home, but there was nobody there. She turned around and in the distance, two shadows formed. They approached her slowly. It was two blue tangs clutching a handful of shells in their mouths. Her parents. They had been waiting for her to return, all these years. And everyday they would go in search of shells to lay out a route home. They laid many, each emanating out of their home like a ray of sunshine, in the hope one of them would bring their daughter home. I couldn’t stop my tears. I must have sobbed through four pieces of tissue paper..

Love is easy to say, but so very hard to practise. It is not just about having a good time together, or not having a good time together but keeping at it out of convenience or fear or obligation. It is to never foresake, in good times and bad, in sickness and health. To never foresake because you never want to. Like Dory’s parents never wanting to give up on waiting for their daughter, never wanting to contemplate a life without her, never wanting to foresake.

If you ever find yourself considering a blue tang for your aquarium, think of Dory’s parents!

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There, I said it. I am a shopaholic. I buy way too many clothes. And shoes. Bags too. But before you cluck your tongues and shake your heads, let me redeem myself. I have a great idea (so I say!) on how to derive some good, apart from contributing greatly to the economy, out of that.

As I mentioned in “Inappropriate dressing”, my walk-in is inappropriately obese, literally bursting at its seams. This is after having usurped all 4 other closets in the house, and leaving only a small panel for Husband and an even smaller one for Son. I want to reassure you however that I’m as responsible as you would expect of any middle-aged auntie, and by no means a poor example to young girls out there – I make my own keep, and spend well within my means. I practise what I teach – I save (hooray!). I just have a, shall we say, weakness, for all things beautiful. All beautiful things that perhaps in my delusional mind, would transpose just some of its incandescence to me, on me.

The laws of Physics dictate that I have to give away a lot of these collections – to make space for new ones.. Over the years, I have been doing just that, to friends, family, and charity organizations. For a few years, before I took on my current global role, the few of us including Equally Fierce and Little Swallow would organize fashion bazaars, food bazaars, even art fairs annually to raise funds for charities. A lot of my pre-loved (fashion speak for “used”..) clothes, shoes, bags and accessories went to the fashion bazaar. I recall a Louis Vuitton Speedy, an Anya Hindmarch envelope, a Herve Leger tote, and a Ferragamo clutch, a present from Husband, but I convinced him there’s no greater way to love it than to set it free for good (as in a good cause). I recall a pair of YSL Tribute which I donated and convinced a young colleague from Ops was a good buy. I hope she found some use for them! All proceeds from the sale went towards charitable causes. It was hard work but great fun. Hard work because it took a lot of time and effort, from the central collection, sorting (note to all you enthusiastic doners out there: there’s a difference between pre-loved and ready for a second lease of life, and pre-loved-to-death and ready for the incinerators..), steaming (it’s all about selling!) and pricing (low enough to be enticing, but not so low as to be undesirable – very important to grasp the shopper’s mentality). And there’s the headache of unsold stock to deal with. Great fun because of the camaraderie forged over the common purpose of doing some good. We took votes to decide which charities to give to, which worked well enough but also meant not everyone’s causes were supported.

That’s a big digression but sets the stage for my great idea! So, here it is:

1. A website where you can post your pre-loved clothes, bags, shoes – anything really – for sale at a price that you decide. A portion of the proceeds, say 20%, will be channeled towards charitable causes. If you prefer a higher percentage, that can be done!
2. You have a say which charity you want to support, by first nominating your favorite causes that are then included in a panel. You indicate which charity on that panel your proceeds will be directed to, and this will be made transparent to the buyers. If you have no favourite causes, then the proceeds will simply go towards a central pot, the beneficiaries of which will be decided at the end of every year by a vote of all members of the site.
3. There’ll be a chat forum for everyone to share thoughts on your causes, and their related activities.
4. And there’ll be an education platform on issues like budgeting and saving to help the under-privileged that you can contribute to if you, like me, have caught the teaching bug.
5. This would be THE alternative shopping site – for those who love pre-loved things, and would like to do some good whilst doing that!

What do you think? Would you shop there? Would you sell there? Would it work??

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Muhammad Ali has passed away. One of the most iconic sports legends in living memory. The Greatest, as he declared himself to be.

I’m not into playing sports. Those of you who know me know that I can’t run to save my life, and the ideal sporting venture to me is one that is sweat-free (!). I try to go to the gym every week (“try” being the operative word..), but that’s really more an exercise in vanity than physical achievement. I take a very keen interest in sporting legends though. Pete Sampras, Roger Federer, Serena Williams, Fu Mingxia and Muhammad Ali, amongst others. Because through the pursuit of excellence in their respective sports, they embody those qualities that I think represent the best in us human beings.

There cannot be excellence without dedication, hours and hours of training, day in day out, over years. There cannot be dedication without the audacity to dream, and the conviction of belief. The road to success will be littered with many setbacks and failures. Not to mention injuries. And even if success is attained, the inevitable is eventual decline. An outsized strength of will is necessary to keep seeking that often elusive and potentially short-lived glory, and to persist where others have given up, during an epic match or over the course of a sporting career. Giving up is often the easiest and so very tempting. Hence many do, but not these greats. I remember vividly Pete Sampras, all but written off by commentators, determined to win again at Wimbledon. Nothing was going his way and at every changeover, he hunched over a note of encouragement written by his wife, trying to summon his inner belief for one more victory. It was not to be and he was defeated by his little known opponent, at the second round. It was a humiliation, painful just to watch, but he did not succumb. Later in the year, he came back and beat longtime rival Andre Agassi at the US Open and then bowed out of the game on his own terms, one of the greatest players of all time.

Of course there’s talent, a lot of it, but talent without belief, dedication and perseverance won’t amount to much. This is partly why I send Son to tennis and taekwondo lessons. Not because I want him to become a career sportsman, but because I wish for him to forge those qualities, to be applied to his talents, whatever these may be, and to his life.

Of them all, Ali holds a special place. Because of boxing. And because of him. Boxing has to be one of the rawest sports practiced by mankind. Two men seeking to inflict and escape nothing but pain, using nothing but their bodies and brains, with nothing between them except the ebb and flow of the most basic of instincts. The instinct to win and to conquer, amidst the pain. The instinct to self-preserve and to surrender, amidst the pain. The pain… Which I think is very different from that of lungs gasping for air and legs crumbling from exhaustion. It is pain at its most direct, damaging and life threatening. It takes a whole different kind of courage, plus a whole different level of mental toughness.

And him. From Cassius Clay to Cassius X to Muhammad Ali, because he didn’t want a “slave name”. Losing three years in the prime of his athletic life because he didn’t want to fight a cause in Vietnam he didn’t believe in. Cunningly employing unorthodox strategies like “rope-a-dope” to defeat stronger opponents. Defying his doctors to continue fighting because he wanted to believe. He did it his way. He had his flaws, of course he did, but who doesn’t? But he had his wit too, and how many do? His subsequent decline due to Parkinson’s made his victories, arrogance, charm and convictions all the more poignant. Was that the price he had to pay for the prize of having floated like a magnificent butterfly through life, and stung like a ferocious bee in the ring? We will never know for sure. I suspect it’d be a price he’d be willing to pay, if given a choice all over again. I say that because through his loss of speech and mobility, he never lost the twinkle in his eyes.

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I have been busy teaching. On Thursday and Friday, together with a colleague, I taught a class of 14 year olds career and financial management, about 3 hours each day. At the end of the second day, I was drier than straw, stickier than toffee and smellier than cheese.

It was hard work! Firstly, unlike the office which has Chocolate Lava Cake smothered in a blanket most days and topped up with gloves some, the classroom was sweltering. There were a couple of ceiling fans on full speed, but the temperature simply refused to budge. Secondly, addressing 29 kids who prefer to address each other whilst we address them, requires a massive projection of voice. The toll on our lungs was huge.
Finally, it proved impossible not to be a nag (tigress) when dealing with a classroom of teenage boys and girls. Somehow they have a shorter memory than my twenty somethings. Instructions were forgotten within 3 minutes?! By the end of it, I felt truly my age. All forty years of it. Just from nagging.

It’s funny how there are specific characters in each classroom which stay unchanged through time. I taught for 9 months in a secondary school before departing for Oxford. I saw the same characters those two days as I did then, which is not unexpected I guess given that a classroom is a microcosm of society after all. Let’s see. There’s the disrupter, the one who loves to ask smart ass questions to challenge the teacher, all the time. My favorite this time was “Teacher, why isn’t there a PhD for road sweeping?”. There’s the clown, whose aim it is to make the class laugh. And there’s the “in” crowd, i.e. the popular ones. I believe the au courant term for it is, well, “IT”. Not forgetting the studious lot, and the switched off few. I found myself mentally matching these new students with those I taught more than twenty years ago. Which character were you?

Straw, toffee and cheese aside, it was most satisfying. I am a member of The Firm’s charitable foundation and this is part of the activities. Idea was to equip these kids from less privileged backgrounds with information and knowledge on how to plan for their future. To encourage them to start thinking about what they want to do when they grow up, and what it takes to get there. To teach them about choices and consequences, so they will have a better shot at making more of their lives. I don’t know how much of what we taught would stick, but I know if there is just one of them who starts to think about his/her choices differently, it’ll be worth all the toffee and cheese in the world.

I have been involved in the charitable foundation for a number of years now. Most activities are about offering direct help – preparing or delivering meals for the under-privileged, raising money for charity organizations, etc. I must say teaching resonates most deeply with me. Don’t get me wrong, I do not doubt the value of direct help, but teaching goes to the heart of the issue, an issue that is close to my heart – to break poverty cycles, the most effective way is education, as my own experience has taught me. And education has to go both ways, to the kids, and to the parents. The goal of educating the kids is amongst others, to equip them with knowledge so they can make the most of their lives after leaving the cocoon of the school. In this, the school shoulders the bulk of the responsibility. Volunteers like us merely add a different perspective, one that is hopefully useful for having been honed by the “real world”. The goal of educating the parents on the other hand, is to encourage them to act responsibly so that they can give their children their best shot in life through provision of an education, the only way the entire family has a fighting chance of being lifted out of poverty. Here, given the lack of formal help, I’m inclined to think volunteers like us have a bigger role.

Today, also as part of the foundation’s activities, I gave a talk to about 50 parents from low income households, defined as those with less than $650 of monthly per capita income. Goal was to teach them concepts like budgeting and saving. It was a mix of parents from different age groups and ethnicities so I had to speak in both English and Chinese, without losing either group’s attention, which made it err… interesting. I encouraged them to see that they owe a duty to their family to be financially prudent so they can provide their kids with an education that will allow them their best shot in life. I also asked them to demand responsibility from their kids, that they have, in return for the sacrifices made for them, to do their best. I hope if there’s one thing they brought back with them today, this is it…

I was initially concerned that these parents would not relate to me, as someone from a different economic stratum. But my worries were unfounded, as they soon realized from the stories I shared, that I came from a similar background. At the end of the session, a few parents told me they had learnt something today. I have made hundreds of presentations in my career, but this was the most rewarding feedback I’ve ever received.

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And so, I’ve survived. The extra 2 kilos have, after some reassertion of discipline, shrunk to 1 (pat on both shoulders). The extra year will go nowhere but as I’ve seen for myself, it doesn’t kill me (hooray!).

I was asked about presents. I’m not big on presents. Don’t get me wrong, I love buying and giving presents. Christmas is one of my favorite holidays for that reason. I’m just not fussed about receiving them. Why? Maybe because growing up, I’ve never had them, so I don’t tend to expect them. As I mentioned, Mum and Dad didn’t do birthday parties. Nor were they into presents. Christmas was never celebrated as we are not Christians. As a child, I could only imagine what it was like to behold a beautifully wrapped box in anticipation of the mystery inside. It wasn’t a big disappointment or anything that I didn’t get one – no one in the family did and I got plenty of ang pows instead! – it was more a curiosity of what it might have been like. To have something tangible of my parents’ love, which I never doubted, but was never expressed in words, or gestures. I suspect this explains why I love giving presents. To recreate the sense of mystery that I missed, and to let someone know that a piece of my thought and care is wrapped in there.

Another reason I’m not into receiving presents is that buying one for me is apparently endlessly stressful. The common refrain is “what do you get for a woman who has everything?”. Well, I don’t obviously have everything, but yes, I emphathise with the conundrum. I guess presents can be a great way to meet a need, want or wish that is out of reach. But if you are financially self sufficient and generally sensible with your wishes (that’s me of course), they no longer serve that purpose. Instead, presents to me are more an expression of love. Hence I often say, it’s the thought that counts and I mean every word of it. I don’t need anything fanciful or expensive. A card made or written with thoughtfulness will make my day. I would much prefer that anytime to anything hastily bought, no matter how expensive (maybe I shouldn’t say this too soon!). Last year, Bro bought me a toaster for Christmas. A toaster! I love it, and greatly appreciate the thought behind it. Bro saw that Son loves toast and understood his sister would probably never get her act together to get a toaster.. I still remember the warmth I felt when I tore apart the beautiful paper and saw the mystery inside.

Of all people, Husband probably has it the toughest. God knows he has tried over the years. But alas, he has completely given up by now. I suspect his confidence was crushed the moment it dawned on him that I wore his first present to me, a vintage butterfly brooch he bought in London when we were dating, only once.. I tried to explain that it has to go with the outfit, but I don’t think he ever recovered. Happily, we have found a solution. It goes like this – I’ll buy whatever I want and depending on the time of the year, attribute it to him as a present for Valentine’s Day /birthday /anniversary /Christmas /Bonus Day, in that order. If I buy more than my due, which is a frequent occurrence, then it’s simply a present in advance. This is a bit short on the mystery factor but otherwise works like a charm, you ought to try it!

This year was special though. On the eve of my fortieth, he achieved the target he set for his business. This is probably his best present to me yet – a ride on his rainbow, exquisitely wrapped.

2 lunches, 2 dinners, 1 huge party and 2 extra kilos later, I am on the cusp of 40.

This is why you haven’t heard from me – I’ve been too busy eating. Let’s see. The two-week extravaganza started with an exquisite kaiseki at Hashida on May Day, for which I bought a most beautiful cornflower blue Gucci dress with dusky pink flowers (two of my favorite colors!), only for my friend, the journalist, to ask if I’d put on weight. That was before I started the endless feasting?! Let me set the record straight – it was the dress, not me. I know the cut adds some volume, but I love the fabric too much to give it up. Even the most clear minded fashionista has her blind spots.. I’ve always enjoyed kaiseki and have come to really like Hashida for it. The sake we imbibed wasn’t quite enough though so we headed back to raid Husband’s precious whiskey, whilst cranking up the music to crazy decibels. Bet you didn’t know we middle aged aunties had that in us.

And then there’s THAT party, inspired by Youngest Uncle. Everybody turned up and what a night! Aunt G, the peerless compere, and 60 looking like 45 (I’m so praying this runs in the family), started the night by reminding everyone that Ah Ma would have been the happiest person that evening. Which meant within ten minutes of the party starting, I was my predictable (according to Bro), teary self. Thank goodness for waterproof makeup. Everyone who can, and there are plenty in the family, performed. Singing and dancing. Youngest Uncle was in top form and wowed again with his vocal prowess. Husband, even though his talents lie elsewhere, gamely went on stage and massacred “We Are The Champions”. He was everyone’s favorite ang moh that night. Me? I did my signature Britney Spears and Bon Jovi, but it was the Hokkien songs from yesterdecades that I really wanted to do, for Mum and Dad. Bet again you didn’t know I had Hokkien songs in me.

Come to think of it, it’s been 28 years since I last had a birthday party. Mum and Dad are not into parties, and neither am I. Birthdays are usually celebrated with intimate meals. Had it not been for the chat that I had with Youngest Uncle over Chinese New Year, this one would not have happened. How glad I am that it did.

The modern Chinese that we had at Ritz Carlton was great but I much prefer what we had last evening, when I caught up with Peter Pan, Equally Fierce and a couple of other friends. Teochew porridge! The “atas” version that is, at Goodwood Park. I stuffed myself with salted eggs (one of my all-time favorite food!) and had a most unconventional “cake” – my favorite cream puff from Tampopo, complete with a single candle. It was magical.

And how could I forget my team? This afternoon, I took them to Catalunya for suckling pig and tapas. By this stage, any body conscious (err, fashion speak for “form fitting”) clothes a la the Roland Mouret red jumpsuit I wore to THAT party, no longer work. So a loose, flowing Paul & Joe it was.

In case you’re wondering, I’m not done eating. There’re one more dinner and two more lunches to come. So unfortunately, I’ll keep getting heavier. Those of you who know me know that I am, shall I say, very disciplined about my diet. But as Little Swallow reminded me, I’m surrounded by people who love me for who I am. She’s right, so what’s a bit of weight gain?

Middle Age, here I come, with 2 extra kilos of love, and happiness!

 

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I was asked by a reader, who tells me she reads this blog avidly (thank you so much!), about the rainbow I let go.

That was decades ago, and it was to be a dancer. Mum and Dad didn’t know anything about ballet and wouldn’t be able to afford classes in any case, so I took up Chinese dance instead at school when I was ten or so. I enjoyed it a lot, the beauty of its simplicity. Not that dancing is simple, but that there’s a simplicity to it, in being solely about one’s mind and body, and nothing else. That purity appealed to me, and still does. The mind distills what needs to be done, the body strives for perfection in executing it, for as long as it can until bodies do what they do, and refuse to cooperate anymore! Perhaps I started too late, or perhaps I just wasn’t talented enough. I realised a few years later that I could be good at it, perhaps even very good, but I could never be amongst the best. I did not want to spend my life pursuing good enough, and so I let that rainbow go.

My next rainbow as I mentioned was public service. To lead and serve for the greater and common good, inspired by the giants of history I so admire. But civil service requires a degree of conformity that I’m not sure I’m cut out for. And politics entails much compromising that I’m not sure I’m prepared for. You may ask if the rich findings at the end of that rainbow not be sufficient compensation. That’s perhaps the issue. I’m not convinced that my rainbow can be found only through politics and civil service. Those are two possible avenues. The most obvious, but by no means the only. As I said, I haven’t given up hope yet that I’ll figure it out someday!

In the meantime, I’m enjoying my work. Is that possible, I hear you wonder. Yes, if you’re challenged, and work serves a larger purpose beyond paying bills.

In “From Esprit to Kelly”, I explained that I wanted to work as soon as I could, to start contributing to the family. More than contributing, I wanted to secure the future of my parents, ensuring that they would never have to worry about finances ever again. The first twenty of my life, they provided for me. I shall do the same for them, for the rest of theirs.

Of course, there’s Son’s future to secure too. Though me being me, I’m not looking to provide for him for the rest of his life. That’s the biggest disservice we can do him, I think. His life must be his to make the best of. What we have to do is provide him with the best education possible, and the most opportunities conceivable. The rest is up to him. It has to be.

Securing the future of these three human beings whom I love so dearly is my larger purpose.

Ten years ago, I was hired to establish a new business unit in APAC for The Firm. There was no asset, no team, no nothing when I joined. But I relished the prospect of creating something, and watching it grow. In many ways, The Firm is the perfect balance between entrepreneurism and employment. I got to build something, whilst enjoying the security of a stable income. I jumped at the opportunity. Ten years on, I have a great team, as described in “What a team!” and a viable business. I’ve since progressed to a global role. A larger platform, greater responsibilities. There are many difficulties in managing a global business in transition as ours is, amidst the tough market environment we find ourselves in today. But therein lies the challenge, and it keeps me engaged, focused and excited.

There has to be a rainbow in something that stretches you, and serves a purpose beyond self, even if it’s not the most magical, no?

So where was I? Oh yes, I fell in love, for the first time in my life..

He was a year below me, and we met when I was assigned to take care of his class as a student councillor. It started serendipitously. He was one of few boys and girls I got on with, so we hung out. Talking to him was easy, and fun. There was this energy in the air when we interacted, an energy I didn’t get with anyone else. An energy that felt like electricity at times. We got each other’s jokes, jokes only both of us seemed to find funny. I often wonder though which is the chicken and which the egg – a common sense of humour precedes attraction, or you simply find the jokes of your object of affection funnier? Anyway, jokes soon turned into banter. And banter became laced with tenderness. Time shrank when I spent it with him – hours felt like minutes, and were never quite enough. As I tried to make sense of the longing I felt when I didn’t see him, and the palpitations I got when I did see him, it eventually dawned on me. I was falling in love…

How I love that phrase. You don’t walk to love, nor do you climb up to love, you fall into it. As accidents go, it cannot get more beautiful, no?

After three months, he was transferred to another junior college, one preferred by his mum. I thought, perhaps that was it. We had to end before we even began. A couple of weeks later however, he came back. Against his mum’s wishes. For me, to be with me. And thus he was to be my first ever love.

It was an exhilarating journey of discovering, and being discovered. Of learning how to love a human being whom you have no duty to love, and to trust a person you have no reason to trust. Of realizing that the prize of being understood by another in this galaxy is the price of opening yourself up to hurt by one. Of accepting that for two souls to come together, a part of the two selves has to be left behind.

I learnt these as I moved along, but I didn’t learn them fast enough, or well enough. I can no longer remember the exact trigger now, but just before I took my “A” levels, we broke up. And so in the same year, I experienced my first heartbreak. I didn’t know it could be so painful.

Preparing for a major exam whilst dealing with that constant wrench in your heart, and missing terribly the person you have spent almost every day in the last ten months with, and still see around the school, I can tell you, is no fun. I managed somehow to pull myself together, sat the exams and topped my stream, as the second ten of my life drew slowly to a close, and Oxford beckoned.

I haven’t seen him in years. As I write this, I wonder how he is, if he would be annoyed that I wrote about us (see what I do to satisfy your curiosity!), and whether he would have the same recollection as I do of us in those ten intense and beautiful months. First loves are what they are, imbued perhaps with a disproportionate significance. I will always remember mine with fondness [to be continued…].

 

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I remember very well when Husband first told me his dream. To build a business, to create something to call his own. How nice it is to have such a clear dream, and to have the courage to pursue it.

He had a go at it in his mid thirties, after a very successful decade in the corporate world, managing a global team and business by the tender age of 33 (he likes to remind me that this is one of few areas he beats me at, as I was a couple of years later than him in achieving that. For the good of his ego, I gladly concede defeat!). He found success, but the stint sharpened his thinking on what he truly loves. And so when the opportunity presented itself to learn about this area, he seized it and went back to the corporate world, for another decade. He had a great time, learning everything about something he is passionate about. A few years ago, circumstances led him to a crossroad again – to continue in the corporate ship, or to chase the rainbow at the horizon just after the storm that was the Global Financial Crisis.

Husband agonized over it. I did not. I knew it was going to be bloody hard. We would have to dip into our savings, live through a period of great uncertainty, and I would have to be the main breadwinner. But I cherish the magic of chasing rainbows too much not to encourage him to. What LKY said deeply resonates with me – “there’s a glorious rainbow that beckons those with the spirit of adventure. And there are rich findings at the end of the rainbow. To the young and to the not-so-old, I say look at the horizon, follow that rainbow, go ride it”. I wanted to ride that rainbow with him.

It has been as difficult, and as rewarding, as we have imagined the journey to be. People often see only the glamorous side of entrepreneurism. Only those who have taken the path know the sweat, fears and tears. It’s not about the capital at stake, or how much reserves there are to fall back on. It is rarely about the money. It’s far more about the mind. The omnipresent threat of failure, and the relentless assault of uncertainty. The insidious assertion of doubt, and the unconscious seep of belief. None of which, I’m inclined to think, human beings are built for. Hence the constant fight or flight tug of emotional war. Flight is the easier way out, only those who want it bad enough fight. I never for one moment, even in the most challenging of times, allowed either of us to think that flight was an option. But then again, there’s no bigger foolhardy optimist than me!

The hardest period is behind us now. I don’t know where this journey will lead in the years to come, but where it has led so far, I’ve had no regrets.

When I was very little, my rainbow was dancing. But I quickly realised I was never going to be amongst the best. I didn’t want to spend my life being just good enough, so me being me, I let that rainbow go. My next rainbow was public service, inspired by the giants of history I admire. There cannot, I thought, be more fulfilling work than leading and serving, for the common and greater good. But alas, I know I’m not cut out for politics, nor civil service. As explained in “Inappropriate dressing”, I am not good at conforming! I haven’t given up yet though. I am convinced that I can chase this rainbow without compromising who I am. I just need to figure out how (see how obstinately optimistic I am?!). I will keep searching, as I never want to be without magic in my life.

What is your rainbow? I hope you are chasing it, and have someone to ride it with. There’s no greater fulfillment in life, I think.

[Those of you looking forward to “Best time of my life! – Part II”, stay tuned, it’s coming up next!]

Those of you who have read one of my earliest posts, “Youngest Uncle” may remember my plans for my fortieth (there, I said it!). Everything has been arranged now. 60 guests (gulp), at the Ritz Carlton, complete with a stage and sound systems for a night of high spirited performances which hopefully won’t require my contribution (gulp gulp).

As I come to terms with the impending start of the second half of my life, I’ve been thinking a lot about my first half.

The first ten is at best blurry now. I wouldn’t say I remember my childhood as a very happy one. And this is not an accusation against my parents. It is not an accusation against anyone. It’s just the way it was. Life in a kampung with four of us squeezed into a room next to a pig sty, Mum and Dad facing constant financial pressures, and my coming to terms with my moon face (!), just doesn’t make for a great fairytale, does it? But it made me who I am. It gave me purpose, focus and grit. All of which have served me very well.

The second ten is clearer. Those were my studious years – one long relentless drive for academic excellence. They were also my transitional years. I attended a local primary school until 12. It wasn’t a “good” school by any present standards. Mum and Dad sent me to the nearest one from home! We spoke primarily Chinese, and none of my school mates was rich by any measure. I worked hard, topped the school at the Primary School Leaving Examinations and went on to a “famous” secondary school. And what a shock that was.

It was an all-girls Catholic school. For the first time, there was no distraction of boys (not that I am easily distracted, of course). And I came in touch with a different religion from mine. I learnt how to say prayers and sing hymns. How I enjoyed them! More importantly, I came across a different breed of girls…the posh ones. You know those? They speak English differently from the rest of us, somehow. Their hair is always amazingly glossy and shiny, never a single strand out of place. Quite unlike the unruly, wiry mob I wore. They glow with health, confidence and beauty. There were many of these at my school. I wanted to be one of them.

Alas, I was never cool enough. Once, when I was 14, we were allowed to wear our own clothes to school. I picked the best in my closet – a much easier task then, given I had a grand total of five pieces, a desperately far cry from the miserably obese state of my walk-in today (by the way, don’t believe the rumour that I never repeat my clothes. Note to self: debunk all such rumors in the next piece). And so, I paired an orange camisole with a navy blue cardigan (I know…), and… a navy blue skirt with white flowers. Have I lost all credibility by now?! I still remember the snigger of one of my posh friends.. There you go, not the best start to my career as a fashionista, but even Victoria Beckham began life as a Spice Girl (even if it was a Posh one), no? I wonder if I’ll find the courage to pair orange with navy again..?

I survived that initial crash of confidence – by working even harder. If I couldn’t be an “IT” girl, I would be a smart one. So I applied my laser focus and finished “O” levels top of the school. But that’s not the best gift of those four years. The best gift was my friends. Friends whom I’ve kept till today. Friends who will be singing/dancing on that stage in a couple of weeks’ time.

I moved on to a “top” junior college. Junior colleges come with err.. boys. As I turned 18, for the first time in my life, I fell in love.. [to be continued…].

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