Those Lovely Bones

I fingered the cold hard bone fragments in the rectangular plastic box. Just like the regular boxes you will keep your spare towels or old magazines in under your bed. Complete with the plastic handles that snap down conveniently as locks.

That's it? I thought to myself. That's it to something that once was bore life? There were flat skull fragments, splintered long bones, a ball from the shoulder socket joint, some metal screws attached to a short plate (from a previous orthopedic surgery) and many other unidentified bits and pieces.

A mere 7 days ago, I was chatting to my aunt while she reclined on the hospital bed. Her amputated right foot stump was bandaged up neatly and resting on the pillow. Her speech was not as coherent as before but she was still alert. Unexpectedly, in a short span of time, she had succumbed to pneumonia and sepsis, due to her immunocompromised health condition.

It was a somewhat morbid contrast to the state she was in now - literally dry bones in a box. It felt strange and sad too that I could no longer feel her hands or hear her voice. She had after all watched me grow up.

"Look, a rib fragment" I commented, passing it carefully to my wide-eye 7 year old nephew. He fingered it curiously, then snapped it easily into half, exclaiming "Look, it's hollow!" I stifled a gasp and another relative shook her head quietly. I supposed it must feel rather abstract for a child to associate the dry bones with his chatty grandma of the not-so-long-ago past.

Yes, the bone somewhat hollows out centrally. Mr Tan, who was orientating us through the "ash-picking" process had previously, matter-of-factly, educated the kids (and the adults), that if bones were solid through and through, it will be too heavy for us to move around effectively. Also the high heat of 1200 degree celsius during the cremation would have eliminated any existing bugs, hence it was absolutely safe to handle the bones, according to Mr Tan.

Under Mr Tan's guidance, we each took turns to place the bones with our bare hands, no less, into the upturned china urn, in preparation for respectful storing in the colombarium. Generally, the skull bones had to be the first to enter so that the "head" faces the sky when the urn was placed the right way up. Otherwise, will it be like doing a chronic head stand? Yikes.

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. It suddenly struck me how real it is that what truly makes who you are is your soul. Without our soul, our body is just matter. Simply space occupying mass, as any physicist will say. Just like the chair I'm sitting on or the the coffee mug in my hand.

Rene Descarte's, I think, therefore I am, recollected from my uni days - finally made sense to me.

Truly, death is the great equalizer. My aunt's body has been reduced to mere bones and ashes, just like all the other rich and famous people that has ever lived - William Shakespeare, Abraham Lincoln, Elvis Presely, J. F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King and the list goes on.

Only Jesus Christ managed to beat it all.

My Christmas Guide to Buying Presents

Ho ho ho.. is Santa in town? I sure hope he sends me what I really want this year.

What do I really want? Okay, simple and direct - the theme for this Christmas is functionality. Give me something that is practical enough for me to use and applicable to my life. Something that is in line with what I do and what I like.

Not a framed up inspiration quote for my wall (I don't like to drill holes) or something cute to make my (non-existent) work desk look pretty. Not another key chain please. I've already got a box full of that. Definitely not a kiddy size drinking water dispenser, or a coloured scented candle, or a plush toy hand phone holder, or a flower pot (yes, I ever gotten all of that).

Yup, it's hard. Whoever said buying presents are easy?

You shouldn't be complaining about what you are getting, I hear you saying. Who can forget the age-old cliche : It's the thought that counts.

Sure there's always "the thought"?

I can't help getting the feeling that, these days, it is simply a societal norm now to give out pressies. The significance of giving gifts to remind us of God's gift to the world has long been cast aside. Even Harry Potter exchanges magical gifts with his witches and warlocks playmates during Christmas. Well-meaning givers easily fall into the trap of not thinking much about what they are giving out. Giving presents acquire a get-over-and-be-done-with attitude with desperate shopping at the eleventh hour. Giving gifts becomes a yearly routine to go with the flow of society that is influenced by the western culture. Hence, the commercialization of Christmas.

My hubby's most memorable Christmas gift was a flower pot embraced by a clay gnome. Seriously, will anyone even consider that he, an obvious exercise-junkie with big biceps and all, will ever need or want a flower pot? Hmm... maybe his rather tan complexion suggests that gardening is his other passion!?

Okay, before you shout " The pot calling the kettle black!" in my face, I'll confess that I'm sure I've ever given useless things to my friends. Thanks to their grace, they haven't thrown it back in my face. So this year, I'm taking extra effort to remind myself about the functionality of my gifts.

Here's a little help in case you will like to give me a Christmas present and are boggled by what I like - traveling and sports are my passion. Animals are my interest. Clever gadgets excite me. Pretty and practical things score even more points. Hope that helps.

Finally, do remember that Jesus Christ is the greatest gift to mankind this Christmas and of course Merry Christmas to one and all!!!

The MC Churning Machine

"What's the problem today?"

The doctor peered at me through his black wire-framed glasses. His expression solemn. He was rather tall and lanky, with a distinctive hunch. I wondered if he suffered backaches from slouching over his desk for long hours. His room had a somewhat dreary and serious feel to match. Other than the basic furnishing (cupboard and examination table), there was nothing else to add cheer to the consult room. No colourful educational posters. No ornaments or pictures to give a glimpse to his life outside work

"I've got a flu and sore throat." I replied cheerfully, relaxed from my long rest at home.

"For how many days? Have you got a fever? Do you still have a sore throat?" He fired away while he focussed on my white patient card, waiting to pen down my answers.

"Oh, it started yesterday with a runny nose. No signs of fever. Not that I know of anyway. My sore throat was really bad last night, but it feels ok today. Seems like it has progressed into a cough with some phelm..."

"Have you got a sore throat now?" He injected matter- of- factly, still looking at the card.

"It feels better today...."

"Is your throat still sore?" His pen waiting, hovering over the card. Strangely, he appeared to be addressing the card instead of me, his patient. His expression dead-pan. Then I realised what he was getting at - he wanted straight answers and nothing more than that.

I pondered over his last question and at the ambiguity of my answer. I really didn't know, my throat felt kind of uncomfortable, but much less painful then yesterday. It was healing but just not completely.

"No, I haven't got a sorethroat now. " I decided assertively. " Just a slight phelmy cough."

After a couple more quick and direct questions, he measured my temperature with a thermo scanner, then whipped out his pen torch and wasted only 1 s to peer into my mouth. With that rapid scrutiny, I wondered if he would have noticed anything less than a large tumour down my throat.

Wasting no time, he proceeded to auscultate my chest at a record time, before taking my blood pressure. He ended each examination procedure with nothing more than a quick nod of the head, bearing one constant solemn look.

"Do you need an MC (medical certificate)?" He already knew the answer, so he continued, "For how many days?"

"Just for today, thanks." He signed the cert without further ado and told me that was all.

"And oh, by the way, I think I still have a sore throat after all," I added, deciding that my throat somehow didn't feel quite right. He nodded his head every so slightly. I wondered if he was annoyed at the fickleness of my answer, although his no-nonsense, dead pan look betrayed nothing.

I popped back to the blanched waiting room, where my other half was, a single lonesome soul sitting on the couch with black flaking PVC upholstery. "That's it?" He looked at me inquiringly. Yup, that's it. The entire consult took all but 5 min of our time. With a doctor that impersonal, it wasn't surprising that there was no queue at all in the waiting room.

Was Dr X simply having a bad day? Or maybe he was just tired of mechanically issuing MCs for the daily quota of boring cough, cold, flu patients?

Will I return for his service in future? Sure why not, since it takes only mere 5 mins with minimal waiting time to get my official permission to get off work. However, he will have to work a lot harder to be my regular family doctor. With his quick, impersonal and somewhat mechanical style, my guess is that he will be just a MC churning machine for a long time more.

How's married life?

"How's married life?"

Everybody seems to be asking me that these days. Hence, I decided, I might as well post an answer here, then I can simply tell them, go read my blog. Saves me the trouble of formulating a response each time.

Being a bit of a pessimist with a cynical attitude, I prepped myself up for the worst. Yeah, that's my general motto (and defense) in life - expect the worst, hope for the best. Especially after coming across so many jokes stating how the fairer sex yak too much and their macho counterparts simply phase out or plug in the iPod. Or how the missus get shocked with all these nasty, unpleasant bad habits of her other half and end up squabbling about it on ends.

Familiarity breeds contempt, so it goes.

To date, I have officially been hitched for 4 months. So what's the verdict?

It's actually not that bad. Really.

Let's look at the down side of things first. He is the typical bloke - messy and oblivious to details. He easily misses the new hair cut; the untidy stack of mail on the table stays there for months; dust mites are his invisible pets. Computer games are his obsessions (glad the computer crashed on him one day *evil laughter*), next to sports (rock-climbing in this case) . He reeks of "male pheromones" whenever the weather gets too hot and humid (as quick as 15 mins after a shower). The lists goes on (can't say too much or I'll get into trouble).

The saving grace? Lots. The comforting hugs daily are nice, whether or not I'm in need of one, particularly after a hard day's work. The listening ear to my ramblings on happy, quirky or sad events of the day, and the heartfelt prayers that accompanies, gives me much comfort and support. Plus, he washes the dishes without complaints (the skin on my hands are dried enough already from work).

In a nutshell, it is nice simply to be able someone to share my life with. A friend, a protector, a lover...even if he is a smelly and messy one. It is interesting how God designed man to have an innate nature to seek out and enjoy relationships.

Someone once told me that the initial year of marriage is the "honeymoon year". So I guess I'll have to post a new verdict sometime next year after my 1st anniversary. Then there is the "seven year itch", and that will require another new post. Of course, by then, I bet no one will bother me with "How's married life?" anymore.

Our Journey Began On The Rock

Life is an adventure on the rock

A road of revelation through His word

Bliss is finding comfort in the one He sent

Best friends forever until the very end.

Rocks Are Meant For Climbing - Part II Yangshou

Finally, we arrived at our climbing destination, Yang Shou. 

Yang Shou, with it's picturesque padi fields, rivers and mountains, is a stark contrast to the melancholic, Guang Zhou, peppered with it's grey and dreary buildings. Not to mention the hoards of people crowding the streets and subway versus the bellowing of the cattle in the background, as we focus on our climbs. 

Here, the real action begins.

Rainy streets of Yang Shou. But not too wet to dampen our moods for climbing!

Breakfast @ Yang Shou.

Alex the  澳门仔。 

Tiam Peng, aka Bao king (包大王. Tries all sorts of bao everyday. Surprisingly he does not look the least like one.

Having a picnic at the crag - but where's the food? Adrenaline would do!

Hmmm... what shall I climb today? 

6C+ route at White Mountain, 白山。

Another battle scar to add to his already plenty collection.

Washing muddy feet in the river. 

Ninja belayer. Guess who?


Yang Shou - paddy field and mountains galore.

The renowned Moon Hill aka 月亮山.

Fearless Melvin piloting the Big Aeroplane, 大飞机 (6C+) at Twin Gate Mountain, 同门山. I assure you, this route is not for the faint-hearted. 

Local climber babes chilling at the crag.

Brave the scorch at White Mountain, 白山.

Too hot to climb.

Alex @ Wine Bottle Hill, 酒瓶山.

My moo moo friend.

The entire place is literally made up of mountains and hills!

Climbing until sunset almost everyday.

I LOVE the great outdoors!

Every climbing adventure should end with a meal like this!

Homeward bound - waiting for overnight bus at Yang Shou station.
Can't wait for our next climbing trip!

Rocks Are Meant For Climbing. Part I - Guang Zhou

Here we are again, blood (rock) - thirsty climbers, on our adventure quest to search for more mountains to "feed" on.

Great! Budget tickets to Guang Zhou, half the price of what it would have cost us if we had taken a flight to Guilin. The catch was, we would have to take a 10 hr bus/train ride to Yang Shou versus taking a 1 hour ride if we chose the latter route. That's ok. Just sleep on the overnighter. Or so we thought. 

Then guess what? It was Ching Ming Jie (tomb sweeping festival). Every 小强, 小黄 and 小明(Tom, Dick and Harry) was traveling home out of Guang Zhou. After being shoved around, witnessing locals squabble and breathing in an endless supply of 2nd hand smoke (see below), we failed to get an overnight train/bus ride to Yang Shou at the main ticketing station! *&(%^%^##!!!

So there we were stuck in dreary old Guang Zhou for an entire day and night, unable to satisfy our thirst for adrenaline pumping action. We did what we next knew best as Singaporeans - eat!

The main bus and train station at Guang Zhou (like Puduraya in KL). Not a place I'll like to be at on a regular basis. 

Locals waiting to go home for Ching Ming at the main train station in Guang Zhou.

Grumpy Mel: " Why so slow and so chaotic one? "

Quaint shanties in the back alleys of Guang Zhou.

Supper at Guangzhou. Best century egg porridge and zhu chang fen ever.

More dingy back alleys.

讲卫生？On the contrary in Guang Zhou, sad to say!

Strange milky jelly desert.

Tiam Peng sipping red bean soup.

Me and Robinson Cruso - happy to be finally on the bus heading to Yang Shou.