A present at 30

Around June this year, I started thinking about turning 30 in a positive way. The twenties no longer felt like a golden era I had to cling on to. I started telling people I was 30 when they asked. Tomorrow, that is what I will be.

I did think, though, that I should do something momentous and cliched to mark the turn of the decade. Perhaps get that tattoo. I thought about trees and roots and words, and then I forgot about tattoos.

But God thought it was time for a body modification too.

I started feeling it in my chest, pms symptoms dragging on a week too long.

On 9th November, I groggily took a pregnancy test first thing in the morning. No spectacles on, teeth unbrushed. Two lines appeared. I took the box out to k, who was already up and trying to submit a paper online. I showed him the box and the test stick.

"What does this mean? So what does it mean? You're pregnant? Don't worry, it may not be accurate."

I would have clobbered him, except I was also unsure that something so cheap could be relied on to tell me the biggest news of our lives. So we shrugged it off and went about our day. In the afternoon I took another test. It was positive too.

Again, we pretended it was false. But we brought home a digital ClearBlue pregnancy test kit, because the more expensive, the more accurate?

It blinked and calculated for a minute, way longer than my cheap tests took.
Finally it decided. "Pregnant."

Humans are strange beings. A printed word is like the News, it just Is. With that word, we finally allowed ourselves to believe and rejoice.

I called my parents. My mum picked up, and I told her to go wake Daddy up. "Why, you're pregnant ah?"She just didn't let me have my moment. Lots of fumbling and phone clicking later, they were both on speakerphone, and I said this big sentence for the first time. "Yes, I'm pregnant."

"Congratulations,"my father said very properly. I wouldn't expect anything less from him.
"Aiya, I knew it,"said my mother.

The next few days were happy ones, telling k's family and my friends, absorbing all the joy that was exploding around us. We went to Choon Kit and we got a gynae appointment at Mt E. I was seven weeks in.

At the gynae's clinic, I was still worried that my test result was a false positive. I did a urine test for the nurse to check, and I was waiting for her response to tell me if I was really pregnant or not. But she glanced at it and tossed it into the dustbin. "First pregnancy?"she asked. That was a relief.

Then finally, we saw it for ourselves on tv. A mass of black, my uterus, which I'd always thought was faulty, and at the top, a blueberry-sized cluster and a tiny blinking dot. Our baby's beating heart. Dr Kek turned the sound on. I felt k melt into my side and lean his cheek on my head. All my worries about him not being in the moment had been unfounded.

I carried that beating heart with us to Tokyo, and I fed that beating heart lots of food. I took rest stops in the middle of our long walks, and went to bed thinking about the beating heart.

Today, our little blueberry is the size of a lemon. The last time we saw it on tv, it was waving its hands about and bouncing. I realized that even while I couldn't see it or take care of it, God was making it grow, and it was busy doing its own thing inside there.

Tomorrow I turn 30, and already I care less about my own birthday than the impending birth of this little one.

Thank You God, for your gift in Your good time. We don't know where we're headed or what You want us to do. But for now at least we know we are to take care of this gift You've given us, and that's more than enough.

My dad's been warned by the doc again about his high blood pressure. He could have a stroke anytime, doc says. All because my dad has not been taking his meds. More than unhealthy food, I know why my dad has high blood pressure.

(driving, talking to me)
"I will voice it out, but I don't know how to solve the problem! (huffs) You see, it is not meeting my needs! Now our school has uninterrupted power supply. Meaning last time the power will go -zzzzooooommmmhhh!- and our computers will be --ddiiuiuuu-chhook!---- but now mummy's and my computers will just be --- ddddnnngg!--- and we can work!"
(looking for parking)
"Come on guys, come on guys! Hurhhh! Don't go round and round! Let's see, let's do a one-time-in! The good thing is we don't have to put coupons! Ugh both cards are so low! Urgh I hate this! Run ahead and order for us!"

To combat the stress levels in the air, my mum and I walk behind very slowly, looking at the ground. Sometimes my mum sulks at me.

Sound effects and rushing about in great importance. No pill can lower that.

I got a new toy! Funny that a nice new camera can make everything in a common weekend seem extra special:

ET's perpetually judging, quizzical expression.

Muji cities, occupied by sylvanian babies.

Fiver in his favourite spot in the whole house: the middle of the floor

My dad looking at his arrowana, trying to communicate with him.

Judgmental ET looking sweet when she sleeps

Lunch at vavavoom for vietnamese

The poor cats got a bath.

Words of my mum: "the white ball is good for taking photos with"

Scrabble on Hari Raya

Our furniture

On Sunday the sec one girls put together a notice board.

Most hilarious girls ever.

And back to work, with eyes open to new picture possibilities!

My Dad's 60th birthday. Cake-cutting, pretty normal. We had a surprise party for him in a country club ballroom, and that's pretty normal too.

We had group games like Birthday Bingo, 007, a quiz on my dad, and prizes galore. But I've already told you about my Tan clan's group games.

What makes the Tans truly, truly strange is what happened after the games.

We did the hokey pokey and turned ourselves around.

And we had the Elephant Dance, which involved no dancing but a lot of walking around the room while my first auntie sang the Elephant Song. This said auntie is also the one who made us clear away all the tables and chairs so we could dance.

She's in the flowery dress. But I don't think she's the sole culprit for the dances. As you can see, all the siblings were having the time of their lives. It must be a Tan thing. Here we're doing the Hokey Pokey for the second time.

"Ohh...hokey pokey!"

I like to dance too, and when my parents are out of the country, one might find me skipping and jumping to loud music in my living room. Now I know, it must be a Tan thing. Even the gruff uncles pulled their gruff wives into the dance.

Poor K doing the Chicken Dance with me. Our chicken dance is done in pairs. 15 pairs of chickens in a big circle.

I wonder what the waiters thought as they tried to serve punch in a room of people spinning in circles with arms linked.

"This family is mad."

"This family must be from some strange religious sect."

"This family must have been a brood of gypsies in their childhood."

But the waiters weren't Singaporean, so they must have thought we were a really fun family.

I've been sick, getting up from bed just to collapse on the sofa with my bowling ball head. I finally agreed to see the doctor I've been avoiding. Avoiding because on the last occasion I found him face flushed, top buttons undone, sitting lankily and astrew on his seat. He must have been off some kind of medication that day. Last night, however, he was back to his concerned, gentle self, with all buttons done up. The bad news was I was allergic to the antibiotics prescribed, and after dinner I looked like this:

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Not quite. But my eyes swelled up into puffs. My dad has been a heroic nurse, as my mum is out of the country. Lunch with him is a continuous stream of caring chatter, like this:

"Ah, that's right, get up. Ah, jump onto your chair, like the cats, two steps! You want to go out? No? Ah I see it now, your eyes still droop. Is that your normal eye? No? Not your normal eye ah. So bad, I'll take you to see him now, come. Don't want? Instant relief! Ok just rest. Chicken? Let me show you something fantastic. This! Wasabi flavour! Try it! It's marvellous! You can also have Mummy's cherries, and cod liver oil, and this vitamin C, but first you have to eat. But the food is not here. Ah there is bee hoon! And chicken! I can just steam it up! Wow you can hear it sizzle! Looks beautiful! MM the taste is marvellous! Put this chilli sauce! Mummy doesn't like this! You want sesame oil? I can make fish fillets with batter? We also have uh, lamb chops and rib eye! The taste! The TASTE! You know, I wish right now we had a close circuit tv of Mummy. She is probably shivering in the cold, and then she will speak. Chinese, Cantonese, wow, we are going places. Our family will be very busy in the next few years. Ok I'm going out to buy a bike!"

Birthday Silliness

My mother doesn't know she's being set up in a mock kiss shot.
But I know it.

Happy new year everyone. Tomorrow: First day of primary school for a cousin, first day of secondary school for many, first day of a new job for me. How do I drag myself out of the holiday-ing mood? My room is in a festive catastrophic mess, too many goodies are uneaten on the kitchen counter, and I can't find my nail polish remover to redo my nails. I simply cannot go back to normal life tomorrow.

WARNING: 500 Days of Summer spoiler ahead

So I came home one night to a mother bursting to tell me things with flailing arms, with a white sheet mask still stuck to her face. She had just watched 500 Days with my father. And if you know My Father, you know that he is wired quite differently from the rest of the human race. He had many things to ask about the movie, the first being:

1. "What were all the changing numbers for?"

2. "Why did he suddenly become an architect? Did he study it before or what?"

3. "I know why she couldn't commit to him. Because he was too handsome."
(His argument being that his friends were much less handsome than he, and so he was the Handsome one cast in the movie. "I know all about casting.")

4. "Where was Jenny Beckham?"
Do you know who Jenny Beckham is? I didn't know who Jenny Beckham is when I first heard this question. But she's the bitch in the movie prologue. Aha, bells are ringing now, aren't they? You didn't bother remembering the name, did you? I bet nobody did, except my father, who seems to have picked up on all the inconsequential details of the film. Jenny Beckham was the main concept of the movie for him, and so he was beyond puzzled when Zooey wasn't called Jenny, and neither was the random girl at the party (who nobody else paid attention to right), and the last girl-his last chance to find Jenny Beckham-turned out to be a disappointing other name as well.

I don't know what's funnier: my dad's questions, or my mother having to explain all these things to him. "If the last girl is called Jenny Beckham the movie doesn't make sense!!! AAhhh!!!"

The best part about this? He really enjoyed the movie.

If you insisted on reading this though you haven't watched it yet, I hope I haven't spoiled it for you. In the sense that you see my dad hovering over the cinema screen, smiling.

i love my family!

Convocation came and went and the outfit wasn't as awkward as expected, and the after-ceremony buzz wasn't as exciting as expected. Maybe cos not everyone in our batch was there, and everybody was scattered with their own clusters of loved ones.

But I am truly happy to have graduated, for I didn't do it alone--I was sent to school by different supporters every year who wanted to see me through university. Sometimes in school I wondered if I was doing the right thing, if i could just walk through without putting in too much effort. But nobody can think of just walking through, when every cent of that education is paid for in answer to parents' earnest prayers.

I didn't really care for the mortar board, or the certificate, or the transcript. But seeing my parents so happy, I was happy that I could get these things. We went to the supermarket the day before and my parents made me choose flowers that they could give me after the ceremony. My dad was hyper-wound the entire day and stressed my mum up.

So now I think I know what education is for: it's the last thing parents can give you before you try and make it on your own, and it's a rite of passage you have to go through together. I don't have any family besides them, and I wouldn't want to spend my convocation day with anyone else.

This birthday, hongkong was a familiar queer friend,

with laundromats and bellboys who haven't changed in fifteen years,

and fathers who had to sleep right there and then while we waited

while looking at tights more expensive than shoes

and parents who are strange and wonderful together.

We're not awfully exciting but we want to be with each other.

I used to have huge ambitions, but now I don't. Not really. I just want to be walking meekly on the ground in God's shadow, to look up every few steps and see that I'm still following Him, to pick up some weeds that look like flowers along the way and be contented to think they are flowers.

I used to need to plan and accomplish great things. Now I just want to be useful--cleaning up if i'm in the house, buying a present if i'm out, drawing if i have a pen. I would hate to be very busy and accomplished out in the world, and not useful at all at home.

I can't see what the future will hold. I can only see what is before me today, and what I can do in the next few hours. And so I hope to do it with all my heart.

Happy birthday Daddy. He has been genuinely delighted throughout his birthday celebrations, simply because he's outliving his parents with this birthday. I made him guess what dvd i bought him, and he frowned and thought hard before saying, "ACROSS the universe!" with a finger swooping up into the air and the most self-satisfied beam. Luckily it was really across the universe.

Tonight was the jalan tuakong celebration. Every year we celebrate the august babies' birthdays together, while the rest of the seven siblings don't get their birthdays celebrated. Our family is so large that we could play the bombing game, except it was modified to swinging ("chempadak chempadak chempadak swing to bochiku!" referencing the fruit trees my grandfather planted in the garden) We always have planned games and songsheets and someone in charge of each program item. There was also a "game" of the birthday babies sharing words and visions for each other, that looked like a talkshow to the rest of the family watching on the side.

And tonight auntie angelia ran through our family trivia for the sake of the younger generation and our visitors. I learnt that some of the dogs my grandfather kept were named Nelson, Janet, Wendy, Winnie, Jessie, and Tommy. My uncles and aunties all have retro names as well. Together they are Joyce, Jerry, Roland, Brady, Florence, Angelia and Maureen.

People in my church think my dad is strange. But he isn't strange, not when he blends in with the rest of my strange family. I don't think it's merely Peranakan, it's Tan, and it's to do with that house with its tiled veranda and many many fruit trees and animals.

I never realised it until now, but I have a bizarre appetite for danger.

My dreams about organised crime and kidnaps started when I was about seven years old. I could blame my father for making me think that all men were out to get me--he was always teaching me to punch and block and duck. I got boxing gloves when I was in primary school, and a punching bag last year. The first movie my dad took me to watch was Lethal Weapon. Today, I'd watch an action thriller over a romantic comedy anytime.

My mother has made her contributions too. "If you're in the lift with any man, hold your key in your fist!" For eye-poking purposes of course. She has her own tales of fending for herself in India against drunken men and hooligans, with knives, boiling water and stones.

I've been trained in self defense for years. And so I always walk around ready to practice what I've been taught, expecting danger to lurk around every corner. I look behind me when I walk home and I remember the details of people in my lift. I requested pepper spray for my last birthday and am rather disappointed that all the defense i get to do is in my dreams.

Today in coffee club, I saw a man leave his table abruptly and storm off. He was wearing sunglasses though it was dim indoors, and he had this menacing expression on his face. And he left his bag behind on the chair. I immediately blurted, "Bomb!" I tried telling the waitress about the suspicious bag when she took our orders, but Dawn hit me on the head. Later I saw that all his friends had left their bags behind too, and of course they all had to come back and sit around and laugh and talk again.

And then I got home. I put my key through the keyhole and turned, and pushed on the door. But it was stuck. I pushed harder, but it only budged a millimetre. It felt like it had been glued to the doorway. I rang the doorbell and stared at the door. The logical conclusion I came to? That a burglar had broken in and taken my father hostage and had taped the door shut with masking tape. Then I thought that if that was indeed true, then the burglar would open the door and stab me or kidnap me as well. I ran behind a pillar and watched the door from a distance.

I'm blogging about it now, so you probably can guess that it was a false alarm, and that my father opened the door and that the door was only temporarily stuck. You're probably even laughing at me now for being paranoid.

But it's not my fault. When i got through the door, I told my father all my worries and why I'd run away. He said, "Smart! But next time get to your phone first and call the police."