Companion

With ten days of vacation, I wrote few blog entries on the road. I would be remiss if I did not mention the book I brought this trip.

As attractive as the trip to Sydney, The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry has a rich account of an island without too many visitors. Studded with a handful of cottages, Alice Island has not much to offer, not to mention the very infrequent ferry services. Nothing really. Until A. J. Fikry came with the idea "A place is not really a place without a bookstore."

He opened a bookstore on the island. Which means? A story telling us how we love, and why we read.

Year after year, book after book, A. J. Fikry's bookstore transformed the life of many, including an orphan being abandoned on its floor with a stuffed Elmo. Then a cop, who had been considered a slow learner who got mostly C's in English class, turned out to love the genre of crime fiction. It's testimony to the adage that you know everything you need to know about a person from the answer to the question, What is your favorite book?

On my flight back, I finished the last chapter of this remarkable novel and came up with another idea that we know a lot about a child - and her parents - from the answer to the question, What inflight games does she play on the plane?

(Answer for my daughter's choices: Hangman and Sudoku.)

Comics

Superhero is the word that inevitably gets bandied around when it comes to describing comics, and let's face it, that is mostly boy stuff. Compared to that play-in-muddy-puddle Peppa Pig, the characters are way more macho and brutal.

I haven't paid attention to DC Comics before. I discovered much more about Aquaman, Joker and Wonder Woman when I visited the Powerhouse Museum this week.

That's an exhibition from a New York-based artist Nathan Sawaya who had created loads of real-size superhero characters simply out of LEGO bricks. A pure story of elegant creation.

My daughter isn't a big fan of those heroes. Even so, she literally walked me through the exhibition, introducing me the character one by one.

"I'm surprised," I told Jasmine. "I didn't know you'd known so much. I have never heard about Green Lantern."

She must have learned them from her classmates, and becomes more knowledgeable than her dad. It's as if she took me out to a school field trip.

Who says that Batman or Superman is the province of boys only? Gender inequality is soooo last millennium.

Simplicity

Think of the last letter you wrote. Not an email you typed on your laptop. Not a text you sent. Not a tweet. Something you wrote by hand. Or a postcard you wrote with a fountain pen.

Now that we can send instant message by tapping on the smartphone, I have to concede that writing letter and buying postal stamp are much of a history. While it can't match electronic communication in terms of speed and convenience, writing letter nevertheless lays claim to an undisputed art.

Living frictionlessly, cautioned by the philosopher Oliver Burkeman, can often mean living thoughtlessly. Example: apps that will automatically wish your friends a happy birthday.

In fact, writing postcard on the road has been one of my favourite pastimes. To see Jasmine following my example as she writes holiday postcard is pure delight. During our Sydney trip, she was also delivering a handwritten letter from one of her classmates to a buddy who has moved to another country. Such is the beauty of writing and delivering letter. These are the moments when I think of the balance between the new and old.

Lest I begin to sound like an ancient curmudgeon, however, let me say that I taught my daughter how to make PowerPoint slides just before our Sydney trip. She loves it, too. And yet the next generation should not be deprived of the pleasure of simplicity, at least once in a while.

Sydney vacation

It's hard to complete the must-see itinerary of Sydney, a vibrant city that offers magnificent harbour, beaches, architectural as well as cultural highlights. Even more so with a kid. (Do anyone of you know a kid who will stick to a tightly arranged itinerary?)

That doesn't seem to matter for our family. We used to be parents who try not to overbook and overschedule. We learn this richest of lessons from our daughter who always looks the liveliest when she is given ample breaks and spontaneity.

It's no wonder that we slept in today, our second day of Sydney trip. Lazing on the road is part of the kid's birthright and one that's freely available to anyone of us. We ended up visiting the Art Gallery of New South Wales (which has free entrance, too). With so many entertaining works on display and the gallery's excellent café, we stayed there till the closing hour.

I count that one of the richest travel activities.

Ceremony

All of us see the world not as it is, but through our own glasses.

We won't pay equal attention to everything in our visual field. You notice this, but not that, and vice versa for your friend. A mother of twins may notice numerous double strollers; a man will find more Lamborghini around.

It was our medical student graduates' photo day yesterday. Our Vice Chancellor joined this event, as what he used to do before. This time, it turns out, is pretty different as his daughter is one of the classmates who graduate. It seems impossible for our professor to view the ceremony in the same way as what a proud daddy does.

I have been joining this event for many years, too. There hasn't been any big change, I've to say. The roast pigs have been cut more or less the same way. Champagne bottles are popped as usual. I tried to change this time. I didn't wear suit or gown. I dressed like a student and brought my own camera. I had chosen to take photographs for my students. Shrug off the professor-that-should-look-like feel and then I found ample reason to experience the joy of a medical student who is turning into a doctor. It was hard to say which of us was the more excited.

Love

Kind words are like honey, I was taught. This is absolutely, 100 percent true.

When my daughter handed us a card with her drawing of "the best dad and best mum ever" this week, I found myself with a complete loss for words. On the back of her handmade card, Jasmine wrote, "Dear mum and dad, I love you so much. I miss you when you are at work. Love, Jasmine."

Consider for a moment what Mark Twain once said, "I can live for two months on a good compliment." If that's true, I could practically live till two hundred years old, with my love tank regularly kept full by my cutie-pie.

Hallelujah.