Year-End Read

Truly Madly Guilty is a good read - not because it's the winning novel of the 2016 Goodreads Choice Awards - but because it's truly good. 

The author Liane Moriarty unfolds her page-turning story about three families joining an embarrassing barbecue, creating tension by what one says and what one doesn't say.

After reading a few novels lately I got to thinking about writers as psychoanalysts (Liane Moriarty certainly is one of them) and the knack they need to show us what's hidden behind people's minds.

A writer knows what's behind people's mind. And a good writer knows the art of bringing that into focus. Liane Moriarty, in other words, won't just say that people are embarrassed. She writes: "Everyone seemed to be deliberately not looking at her, the way people did when you had food in your teeth and they didn't want to tell you, so they kept trying not to see."

Time Off

Three kids having break from school. Two adults, from work. Another one taking a half day leave sandwiched between morning and evening duty. (You knew it was me, didn't you?) How did we make the best out of this normal weekday? The children suggested bike ride.

And they did. It's a beautiful ride, beside and under endless trees, along the coastline of Tolo Harbour with mountain view.

By the time I'd finished work at noon, my daughter and her buddies were drawing and reading next to their bikes. I brought a camera and two story books. What else did we need? Nothing, really. Children simply are magicians who can bring forth a whole treasure trove out of nothing and at their own will. When they came to our home and played, they improvised a rock band, dismantling the bed guard for the guitar, creating their loveliest possible versions of microphone and drum. It's that simple.

"When you love something like reading - or drawing or music or nature," notes Anne Lamott, "it surrounds you with a sense of connection to something great." It makes sense.

Guilt

Watching my daughter grow up is always an enthralling experience, and her getting seven means another big step down the road.

Sevens are delightful to be around, I've been told. That's good news. To give but one example: my seven-year-old girl has a growing interest in homonyms. Making up sentences like "The rock music rocks" is fun and that gives us a sense of what growing up means.

Seven-year-old is mature enough to not just ask about semantics. But everything. This means we can talk about many different topics. After reading Brené Brown's Daring Greatly ourselves, my wife and I explained how to tell the distinction between guilt and shame tonight.

Maybe the two words seems quite close to each other - and honestly, I used to think so - but it is not the case. Guilt is an awareness of what we did wrong. Shame is a corrosive label of who we are.

When a kid tells a lie, she can feel guilty and change. When she is a liar ("That's shame, oh no."), she can't change.

As it turns out, she can grasp the big difference. Wow.

Pig

"A children's story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children's story in the slightest."

As trite as the quote by C.S. Lewis has become, it is still true. I enjoy reading children's books with my daughter during breakfast. What did we read this morning? The story Piggybook by Hans Christian Andersen Awards laureate Anthony Browne.

The Piggot family's messy situation in this picture story somewhat reflects my state of mind and, as such, makes the book even more amusing. Mr. Piggot and the two children never share the housework, leaving Mrs. Piggot overloaded with preparing breakfast and dinner, washing dishes, ironing, to say the least of her own job. Working mum like Mrs. Piggot can be incredibly hardworking. Everything seems perfect, until one fine day when the hardworking mum decided to stage a walkout.

Can you imagine what happens to the the lazy bum Mr. Piggot? If not, come to find me (when my wife is sick and cannot take care of my daughter), and you'll know.

Daring

Daring Greatly is another book I've read this month. An inspiring book about difficult emotions like fear and vulnerability.

I found the same formula playing out in my family this week. Fear about surgery. Vulnerable to insecurity. And, oh, question about self-worthiness: me never good enough to have warm pillow talk with my daughter (as what my wife has always been doing perfectly). Me not as eloquent or poised as my six-year-old daughter in expressing love to my wife.

It's good to learn from Brené Brown that vulnerability isn't good or bad. It dawns on me that to feel is to be vulnerable. Vulnerability, in short, is the birthplace of love and courage. I know this is hard to believe, but it's true. It's in fact also what I learn from Lawrence Block, who says it all: "Fear and courage are like lightning and thunder. They both start out at the same time, but the fear travels faster and arrives sooner. If we just wait a moment, the requisite courage will be along shortly."

If you don't believe me, check out the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz.

Fear

"Mommy, what if you die?"

That's the opening sentence of the second last chapter of Some Nerve, a book about everyday courage. The subtitle to Patty Chang Anker's book is Lessons Learned While Becoming Brave.

I heard the same question this week, asked by my six-year-old daughter, on the brink of 7.

To Jasmine, who spent the last six months in fear of some large creature eating her mum's leg on the operation table, the surgery meant a lot.

I'm all for telling kids the facts of life, but it isn't a good time to tell my daughter the hard facts during her hard time. I didn't sleep (well) the night before my wife's surgery. Neither did Jasmine. None of us had gotten much sleep.

I believe with all my heart that life is finite, and it can leave you at any time. And who's to say that we can pass our turn? I was scared, but I realised no matter what, I should help my daughter fend off fear. "We got great hands from good surgeons, we prepared, we prayed," I reassured Jasmine.

To defuse the scary surgery, we promised to bring our daughter to visit mum right after surgery. And we did. Every day. For us, one of the lessons we learned is the most powerful painkiller: a kiss from the beloved daughter. And the best birthday gift for Jasmine is her mum's leaving hospital before her birthday.