rushed week

* To concerned friends, thanks for all the messages! That previous rather dark entry were all the instances when I felt down, and it doesn’t mean it was dark all the way. KK very sternly told me that I was exaggerating and being overly dramatic. Things are much better now but as I am still catching up on old entries, I’m still dwelling on the first rather difficult week…

The moment we arrived in Sydney, we were on a mad rush to get everything done, as KK started school on 25 July. With classes from 9am to 5pm, that meant we had to find a place and get settled in asap for once he was in school, it’d be pretty impossible for me – with kids in tow – to check out properties, speak to property agents, travel round.

I can’t even take taxis with Dee, as it’s compulsory for her to be in what is called a “capsule” and not all taxis have it.

Hence the wisdom of having KK go first. Clearly we chose the foolish path.

Things weren’t easy at all, what with the rain and the wind and the (to us) extreme cold.

But there were bright spots. We did manage to visit a few places during the few sunny days in our first week.

PLAYGROUND

Typically, we either go on foot or take the bus. Usually. Day runs in front of me or he sits in the pram. This is the road right outside the Avoca Lodge, and Day’s back is to the Prince of Wales hospital.


Fifteen minutes away, there was a charming playground (I have discovered that all the playgrounds here are charming, no doubt helped by the fact that it always feels like he’s playing in air con) which Day thoroughly enjoyed.


There also seems to be an abundance of pretty birds (by pretty I mean if they’re white, they are clean white and if they are clean, they are glossy black), some rather large ones just roosting around, which Day loved chasing around.


CENTENNIAL PARK


The Centennial Park is a large-ish park which we can get to by bus. That’s KK and Dee under the tree.

It’s one of those parks which are characteristic of temperate countries I think, all clean green fields (no cow grass anywhere I looked), gnarled trees, golden sunshine and chilly air. No insects worms or icky creepy crawlies last I checked.

Everywhere we see happy families having barbeques, parties with clowns blowing balloons and adorable children in sweaters and jeans playing in clean playgrounds. No one is sweating. Day, again, was very happy at the playground which was rather groovy.


And despite the cold, the sun was fierce. So while the kids were cold, they were also hot. Hmmm.


COOGEE BEACH

We had to take a bus down to the Coogee Beach, a beach frequented by locals rather than tourists and where I think some riots recently took place.

* Right now, where we are living, we are just 10 minutes walk away from this beach.

Day running on his way to the bus stop.


He loved the beach too, which is good. Again it was cold so for the first time, he went to the beach in covered running shoes, jeans and a sweater.


Trying to pull up his jeans after running after a flock of birds, they’re too big for him but they are his one and only pair of warm pants. He has to wear and re-wear and re-wear them.


As for Dee, we just had to make sure she was warm as the wind was chilly.

i doubt

Doubt is when the opportunity cost and sheer foolhardiness of our big adventure - of venturing to a country with a much higher standard of living, with nothing but savings - becomes crystal clear.

Doubt is when we blow a good 15 per cent of our entire Sydney budget in the first two weeks, some of it to pay part of his school fees.

Doubt is when two pigeons land on our A$8.50 (Sing $10) fish and chips (one set for the whole family) and I seriously consider eating the contaminated food.

Doubt is when I am forced to buy a A$3 rickety umbrella with a dodgy plastic opening mechanism which I would not even pay 50 cents for back home.

Doubt is when I discover I have to pay A$6 to wash and dry my clothes.

Doubt is when KK goes to school with Milo in his tummy, skips lunch and comes back starving, cold and miserable.

Doubt is when, out of sheer necessity, I bring my son to a toy store to buy him a cheap toy and when I have to drag him out kicking and screaming because I cannot afford the Thomas and Friends model train he wants.

Doubt is when we realize that furnished properties which come with refrigerators, washing machines and TVs (and which we need) are few and far between, and that the property we had been eyeing as prospectives on the Net were all unfurnished.

Doubt is when I seriously consider renting a furnished studio apartment – just one small room with one pull-out bed and one ceiling light in the entire room - at A$265 a week. I think about putting Dee and Day on the floor.

Doubt is when we have to go beyond our maximum A$300 a week rental budget, and we are forced to say yes to an offer of A$340 a week (only the second apartment we looked at) because we simply have no time or energy to look for another place.

Doubt is when I am rushing back to the lodge from doing grocery shopping, Dee in her sarong, a ton of groceries in the other, Day running ahead of me, it’s raining and the children are getting wet and my shoelaces are undone but there is no way I can bend down to tie them.

Doubt is when people – particularly Asian taxi drivers and Asian property agents – are plain nasty.

Doubt is when it becomes increasingly clear that we are completely on our own as distant friends, the only ones we have in Sydney, either live too far away or are unable to help us much.

Doubt is when my pampered daughter is screaming away to be picked up and I, heart pumping from the stress of hearing her cry, try my best not to hear and continue cooking as I can’t leave the stove.

Doubt is when I think about giving up and flying home with the kids while KK studies on his own here.

But that would be the last option. It’s expensive but it's good to be together and while we can pay, we'll pay.

food

When my brother called me recently, one of the first things he asked was: “So what are you all eating?”

A most valid question. Considering that instant noodles are my forte. (I did cook instant noodles for our first meal here)

KK has been doing all the cooking.

The one time I tried to cook here – a fried noodle dish – I cut up all the ingredients beautifully, set them in their plates and then stared. I had to think about whether to throw in bacon or the carrots first.

In the end, I waited for him to put ladle to the pan.

I’m ashamed to say, he is a much better, or rather, a much more comfortable cook than I am. He’s not a great cook, no Iron Chef here. But he manages to make do with whatever is available and concoct edible and basic stuff.

Here he’s doing up chicken soup.


I’m once again most ashamed to say, soup was a mystery to me. I had no idea what or how to make soup. Night after night, thanks to my parents and the maid, scrumptious Cantonese soups (the kind with herbs and wolfberries) have been presented to me since I was born but I have never tried making soup myself. Never. I wanted to practise before I left but there was so much to do and this was the last thing on my mind.

When KK produced this soup, for dinner on a freezing cold day, I congratulated myself once again for marrying him.

Now I know the answer to the soup mystery lies in some bony meat and a stock cube. Right?

And KK has very kindly told me, that cooking is not something that has to be taught. It’s, in many ways, common sense and creativity.

If I can eat, I can cook.

For the benefit of the concerned family members, we have been eating lots of chicken, as we have been told Australian pork tastes weird, beef is not something we eat and fish is a bit too challenging at the moment.

More food pictures.


Fried chicken with steamed broccoli and mushroom and potato


Fried chicken wings with pak choy and rice

Day has been eating reasonably well. Another plus is he has no nonsense to feast on. His diet is completely under my control. No haw flakes, no preserved fruits, no sweets. There is nothing in the kitchen for him to be happy about.

And oh, at first, he found it puzzling that we had to cook, since food appeared miraculously on the table back home. But now he knows, he likes watching his papa cook and everytime food is served, he says “Thank you papa for cooking.”

home sick

Home sickness set in on Day 3.

For unlike going on holiday, there is little money, no sightseeing and minimal comfort. The year ahead stretches, dismally long.

Not for me though. Strangely, till now, I don’t feel the least bit homesick, though for a night or two I was money sick. (As in, fretting over our finances.)

KK got homesick. As he was pottering around the kitchen, he remarked: “I’m starting to miss Singapore.” For a man of few words and even less sentimentality, that’s saying a lot.

His homesickness was probably exacerbated by a headache which he swears was brought on by chopping garlic.

Anyhow, he was homesick because he is way out of his comfort zone. His cable TV, his broadband, having his food served to him, not having to wash up, not having to bring the rubbish out. (my folk’s household maid did that). And being too cold.

Day? For a very short while, yes. In the first few days, he whimpered, pitifully, several times: “I want to go home”. Usually after we scolded him. He had no one else to run to.

But now when he says “go home” he means the lodge we are staying in – the Avoca Lodge, at 235, Avoca Street, Randwick, New South Wales – a place which KK booked over the Internet. (and which we stayed at for 10 days)


I’m still not sure what a LODGE is. Somewhere between a hotel and a backpacker’s. Sort of a motel. There is no room service, you don’t get free toiletries or stationary, but there is a kitchen for us to cook in and towels can be changed.


Here it is. It’s a room about the size of, or smaller than, a one-room HDB flat, crammed with a double bed, two single beds, two cupboards, a dining table, a TV cupboard and a wardrobe. The door at the end leads to the kitchen, and another leads to the toilet.

Truly, living with and disciplining a two-year-old whose entire life has been spent in a two-storey house with a garden, in this box, is a NIGHTMARE. Especially when it’s raining all the bloody time, too cold and wet to go out.

There is a charming window seat, which I hoped he would stick around (and not mess up anything else) when we first arrived.


Worked for a while. No more. The entire room is his play area. I know he’s become comfortable with the place because he’s doing his usual thing, taking things from one place and hiding them all over. So we find his toys in the wardrobe, the spoon in the luggage, the pens in the kitchen drawer.

Nowadays, he just uses the window seat as his dining table, and the suitcases as his chair.

first night (17 july 2006)

* Got Internet now. Getting my outdated entries out of the way...

With all the woolies and fleeces jammed into my bag, I had fully intended to dress the kids up before even stepping out of the airport as I didn’t think they would be prepared for the cold.

But as it was close to midnight, as we were struggling with a truckload of bags and as a van driver who offered to drive us to our destination for a A$40 flat fee was already hurrying out of the airport, we ran along without wearing anything extra.

Mistake.

The van was alright. It was downright warm inside. (And for the record, the driver didn’t even know where to go. He had to stop several times to check his road directory)

The problem was when the van driver, after depositing our bags outside the lodge, drove off and we had to navigate the short trek into the lodge and up the stairs.

See, a wind blew. And suddenly it was freaking freezing.

Dee started screaming while Day hurried behind me, mumbling “I’m cold, I’m cold”.

First thing I did when I reached the room, I packed her into a fleece.

* Thanks again, Karen! She’s been surviving on Alicia’s stuff!


And Day into his sweater.


Soon after, we collapsed into deep sweet slumber, the kind only possible when it’s chilly outside and you’re tucked in between warm sheets.

sydney air curfew

* I seldom log on at the Internet cafe (ex). So everything is outdated.

We almost didn’t make it to Sydney on time.

Sure, the plane was delayed. But we didn’t know the repercussions until much later into the flight when the pilot said something about a “curfew”.

We then found out, to our horror, that planes are not allowed to take off or land in Sydney between 11pm and 5am. Reason: People thought it was too noisy.

We made it with three minutes to spare. We jetted off at Singapore time at nearly 2pm and landed 8.57pm - Sydney 10.57 - thanks to some “tricks” which the pilot managed to pull out of his sleeve.

Otherwise, we would have to land in Melbourne or Brisbane and put up in a hotel there for the night. The cost of putting all those passengers in the hotel for the night, is apparently less than the millions that Qantas would have to fork out if it landed a minute after 11pm.

We were thus the last load of passengers to arrive. When we finally left the airport - after struggling with 60kg worth of baggage and 7 pieces of hand luggage (Yes I counted: Pram, violin, 3 haversacks, a sarong and my pouch), the entire place, at 11+pm, was cleared out.

Otherwise, the flight – a first for Day and Dee – was uneventful.

Here’s Day before we set off for the airport.


Day unfortunately slept through his first lift-off.


When he woke up, he was predictably unable to stay in his seat. He kept crossing the aisle, from my seat to his papa’s seat, climbed up onto our laps, looked over our heads to the people behind us, scrutinized the ground, fiddled around with the seat controls, sang songs very loudly.

One particularly irate air passenger two seats behind was so pissed off that when Day dropped a mineral water bottle on the ground with a loud thump – deliberately for what must have been the tenth time – the fellow snatched it away.


The tiny TV didn’t work very well in occupying him.

Neither was he too impressed with the food, though he was delighted with the two chocolate bars which came with every meal. I was though. I lapped up his sausage spaghetti and spring roll / mashed potato meal in addition to my own meal.


As for Dee, lovely little Dee. She’s such a sweetie nowadays. She very nicely slept the entire time. From the airport…


… to the airplane.

She was tucked into this neat pull-open bassinet which we seriously doubted would work at first, but it worked like a dream.


She was completely fascinated by the safety belts which were covering the bassinet and she stayed in it for hours, playing then falling asleep and waking up again.


Other than that, I just made sure I fed her as we lifted off and touched down, so her ears would not get too stuffed up.

in sydney

We're here.

I can't blog much, we're at an Internet cafe and every minute is costing us.

Weather has been awful, raining all the time.

Day was absolutely miserable, the pits. He's been stuck in the room, unable to go out much.

I was miserable, recovering from a cough.

Dee has been difficult at night, screaming away and I think the walls are so thin the whole road can hear us.

There's nothing on the TV, absolutely nothing, so no entertainment.

The highlight so far: KK's home-cooked meals. Men can truly cook. At least, this man. I can't cook for nuts.

But he's managed to concoct steaming hot chicken broths, ham mushroom pastas. They fill my tummy and warm my heart.

More later, when we eventually manage to find a place to stay. That's another killer.

D DAY

It's 930am. By rights we should be somewhere over Singapore by now.

But no! The flight was delayed and we are leaving at 130pm.

Which means we arrive in Sydney 1030pm.

Which means it's much colder, the kids will be super cranky and oh my goodness, I hope Sydney taxis don't have midnight surcharges cos' we probably need 2, with the amount of luggage we have.

We are all a little dazed. After all the adrenaline from the morning, waking up at 6am, it's a bit weird to be back home, change into our tatty old clothes, sweat and find that the maid has already packed up all the stuff we left behind, so the house looks super neat and clean.

countdown: 1 day

We're almost there.

We'll wake up 630am, be at the airport 730am and lift off at 930am.

It's been a bit of a surreal day.

I had a fever, cycled out to the doctor and am now dazed from drugs. My fingers are tingly and my eyes are puffy.

Day hardly slept the entire day, whined a lot and scratched himself silly, which tells me that he's falling sick.

Dee, ah. She behaved herself perfectly, the little lady.

As for the man of the moment, he's cool on the outside and brimming over with excitment, enthusiasm and optimism on the inside.

No more photos for a while, I'll have to blog from foreign computers.

countdown: 2 days

As always, I start with packing.

Salvation: DHL.

Oh yes, it will cost us $400 to send over 25 kg in one little box, but at times like this, customer service truly wins the day.

Basically, shipping turned out to be too expensive, troublesome (loads of admin to clear) and unsuitable. A guy from one shipping company baulked when I said I had maybe two cartons, and told me straight off: If I'm not moving the whole house ie. 2-300 kg, no point.

Unaccompanied baggage was another idea: $12 per kilogram. Only my folks would have to drive it to some ulu cargo complex here, and we'd have to fetch it from some ulu cargo complex there.

And then I decided to call DHL. When customer service officers pick up after one ring (on all three occasions I called. No need to press buttons), and are crystal clear in explaining their services, I succumb.

Especially when they will deliver free boxes (one shipping company was going to charge me $45 for one box), and will deliver it straight to my Sydney doorstep within a week, no fuss.

I called Fed Ex too. Only they were closed for the day... TOO DAMN BAD!

On the emotional side of things, it's saying Goodbye to Family.

Today was the last day Day and Dee visited their Tata and Nene's place.


The old folks are really going to miss the kids. Unlike my folks, - who have plenty of other activities to concern themselves with - the kids are a real delight to my in-laws, who wouldn't mind carrying them the entire day.

Not to mention the uncles and aunties. Here's Day with his Gugu.


So that's that. Bye to Food, Friends and Family.

countdown: 3 days

Packing update: Two big suitcases and a golf bag. Check. Done. Finito. Total: 60 kg.

Now I have moved on to packing those things that we want to ship across. Come to think of it, this packing business is a real Mental exercise. I have to speed scan a thousand and one items, prioritise everything in my mind and make snap decisions as to whether we need it in the year ahead.

It doesn't help that the flu bug which has been flying around the house has found a target: Me. All that thinking is making my headache even worse.

Somehow or other, the kids stuff take first priority too. So Day and Dee's stuff comprises 3/4 of what we are bringing over. It's true. It's instinctive for parents to want to take care of their offspring before themselves.

Lots of saying Goodbye to friends too.

Dee has no friends yet. Day has been spending loads of time with the neighbours. Ah, I failed to get a good photo.


I think he's going to miss Sophia more, though.

The two have suddenly bonded. They are forever wanting to hold hands, are always talking to each other and even share their tau sar baos. She even wanted to give Day flowers.

countdown: 4 days

We're flying on Monday. That's mighty soon.

Are we prepared? We've got our air ticket and a place to check into the moment we land, I guess that's as good as any.

The question everyone asks: Have you packed yet? Sort of. We're playing a game of trying to fit in the strangest odds and ends into a square box. And keeping it within 20 kg.

We thought the barest essentials would suffice, then everyone comes along to tell us how EXORBITANT Sydney is, even silly things like clothes pegs. And how I should try not to buy a single piece of clothing, not even for the kids (thus I have to cart everything over, including walking shoes for Dee). And how I should bring pots and pans and cutlery and what not. And how I should even try to ship diapers over because diapers in Sydney are ridiculously expensive.

We're not kiasu, far from it. But we don't want to starve either. Hence I am trying my level best to stuff it all in.

Heck, to cut costs, I even left my hair long so I wouldn't have to cut it for a year.

That's packing.

The other part part to leaving, of course, is saying Goodbye.

And what do Singaporeans miss most when they go overseas? From what I hear, it's FOOD.

I have been bringing Day nearly every morning to eat his all-time favourite meal: Fishball beehoon / bee tai mak soup, accompanied by a can of Pokka Green Tea.


It's always the same coffeeshop, the one where my neighbour rents a stall, next to Siglap Centre, because we get a ride there and back.

I stack up his triple-decker seat and share my noodles with him.


I wonder if he will really miss his fishball noodles, and if I will miss local fare.

Ironically, nearly everytime I eat out with friends in the past two weeks, we end up eating Western fare. Italian, Australian. Nobody wanted to crack chilli crabs with me at the Seafood Centre. Strange.

dee flips

Three-and-a-half-months old and she's flipped.

Tuesday night (or rather, Wednesday morning) I opened sleepy eyes to find Dee fully awake, wiggling her limbs and smiling at the ceiling. Dozed off for a while and when I next opened them, she was on her tummy.

* For those (free and easy) childless folks, flipping over is a big deal. One of those developmental milestones which, if the babe can't do, signals a possible problem.

The timing's just about right.

Since then she's been flip-flopping whenever she can (particularly at night, in keeping with her nocturnal nature) and it's wonderful to hear her squeal when she realizes she's no longer looking at the boring old ceiling.

She's very different from her bro too.

She's been attempting to flip for weeks, but she took it very easy. Very lassez-faire. She would make the cursory turn to her right side, put her left hand behind her ear, give a little half-hearted kick and go "uh" before falling back and forgetting all about it. I can imagine her saying: "This is too hard." Very gu-niang, actually.

Day, on the other hand, was all sound and fury. Limbs flailing in agitation, he would scream and cry and grunt and ferociously kick with all his might because he wanted some action.

diaper free

Some nights we hear Day's voice from somewhere upstairs: "It's a long brown one. And a black one. Still got small one." (He speaks Singlish!)

We find him with his chin on his chest, peering downwards into his potty. (privates airbrushed away, not offending anyone here!)


Crude, yes. But if reporting on his own shit works to keep him on his potty, I say go ahead.

The long road to diaper-free heaven started sometime in December last year, when I tried pulling aside his nappy one day, pointed his penis into a bottle and commanded him to "shh-shh". Miraculously, he did.

Soon after, instead of me having to pre-empt his pee (like every hour), he could tell me when he wanted to pee and all was good.

The poo was another matter.

For some strange reason, he didn't seem to want to sit on the potty. Or he would sit on it, but refuse to make a deposit. (I've been told this is very common)

Whenever we made him sit on the toilet bowl or the potty, he would scream in terror if something did come out, as if he were afraid his turd would grow teeth and come back out to bite him on the bottom.

So Day learnt to clamp his sphincters, waiting for the right time to unleash everything, after his bath, when we put a diaper on him for the night.

His papa was extrmely pissed off. So much so that he held off on the diaper, forcing Day, whether he liked it or not, to poo into the potty or toilet bowl.

But like I said, he would flee after the first tiny piece came out, and thereafter, the rest would come tumbling out into the diaper during the night.

I had thrown up my hands, thinking: "Maybe he's not ready. Let's not force him." KK (thankfully) was determined to fix it.

So he got him to have a good look at, and take an interest in, his own shit. And it worked. Day became fascinated by the different thickness, colours and lengths of the stuff that was coming out of him. He got even more interested when he realized his sister's shit was mustard yellow and clumpy.

Of course it wasn't just this. Rewards, applause, grunting along with him, we tried them all. Here's KK in March, grunting till he was red in the face.


At the end of the day, we said Goodbye to diapers (excepting one for the night) in May.


Now for her. Long way to go.

11 years ago

Eleven years of commitment, three years of marriage and two kids.

We've come so very far from when we took that picture on one of our first dates, at TGIF. Me, a fresh young thing at 20. He, 24.

Then, it was perfectly normal for him to give me two enormous unpractical sunflowers to grab on to whilst riding on a scrambler. (And I had to hold on to his waist at the same time)

Then, I would celebrate every month of togetherness, and I think I went beyond 50 months.

Then, I would carefully scribble down the pager messages, the SMS-es and record every telephone message he sent my way (especially the songs).

Then, I would pack away every mushy message he scribbled on a restaurant napkin or a post-it, to keep for posterity.

Then, I would take couple photos at every outing we had, paste them in albums (one per year) and label them.

Then, I would (horror of horrors) stay up to watch every English Premier League football match with him and actually try to understand the offside rule. (I still don't)

Then, I was delirious in love.

Those were heady times of excess. Oh, they were truly fun times, but I sound truly mad.

Things clearly have changed. On our 11th anniversary (6th July), he played golf in the morning, I had lunch with my friends, before we all trooped down to the dentist in the evening with the kids in tow.

I reckon we're like rice now. You don't celebrate rice. It's a little humdrum and ho-hum, but I sure need my rice.

school report card

Just two, and he's already been assessed.

And it's interesting how other adults (apart from me and his papa) see him.

In brief, his teachers at school think he:

... is a bright and cheerful boy who is very independent and needs minimal supervision.
... is a fast learner but is easily distracted.
... loves singing and enjoys water play very much.
... loves all kids of fruits and is never picky over foods.
... is gregarious and enjoys playing with his classmates but occasionally needs to be reminded to share his toys.
... is an asset to the school!

I agree: half the time. The other half is one which the teachers never have to endure. The whiny boy who sticks to me like Teflon, who screams when I close the bathroom door for a shit, who spits out all his veggies, who deliberately always leaves a mouthful of food (sometimes half-chewed) for us to finish, who snatches toys from his sister and is NOT what I would consider an asset. Luckily though, it's only half the time.

Anyhow. He also lugged home several booklets of worksheets and cutesy art pieces (like slippers made from paper) he did over the last six months, as if to testify that the school had done its job in occupying his time constructively. They come complete with ticks and stars, lots more of that to come when he starts primary school.


Apart from some messy colouring, however, most of the work appears to have been done by the teachers.

Which is fine. Monkey see, monkey do.

Now I'm scratching my head, wondering what I should do with him in the next 1 1/2 years when it's up to me to build up that brain of his.

dee speaks

One morning, I was woken up by Dee squealing next to me. Bleary-eyed, I looked at the clock and it was 6am.

She was in one of her particularly happy and vocal moods, carrying on a bubbly conversation with the ceiling fan while animatedly waving her hands and legs.

I got up, somehow managed to find the camera in the dark, switched it to video cam mode and pressed it against my tummy so she wouldn't get distracted by the camera light.

So the following video doesn't actually show anything. Technically it's my tummy but It's just blackness throughout. It's also unecessarily long (just over a minute) because I was half-asleep and I forgot to press stop.

Anyhow, here's what a Happy Baby sounds like. Things only start at around 15 seconds. Oh, and she's a heavy breather too.

teacher's pet

Day's last day of school was on Friday.

For someone who still cried every morning before going to school, the last thing I expected (when I went to school to spy on him and sneak in some photos before he left) was to find out just how willing a student he was. So willing that I wouldn't quail to call him a teacher's pet. Literally.


Note how he is seated directly to the left of the teacher, next to her, while the rest of the kids are facing her some distance away.

I'm sure Day is not deliberately trying to suck up or play politics, in the manner of truly detestable teacher's pets.

He simply really enjoys the activities. If Teacher asks him to dance, he dances.


If Teacher asks him to stick up his thumb, he sticks up his thumb.


When Teacher reads a story book, all I hear (as I'm hiding outside) is his strident voice yelling if the picture shows a cow or a horse or whatever.