It may seem strange, this whole idea of shopping for Christmas presents and wrapping them - but by just looking at the facial expressions of the recipients, one comes to realize that nothing comes close to the joy of giving out (and receiving) festive presents.
One of the great things about Christmas in my family is that my wife has been orchestrating the tree decoration and gift preparation. I have very little to worry. This is, I must admit, the usual question on my mind: will I be found guilty for not buying my wife any Christmas gift?
I then came across a news article from the Guardian tonight, and felt less guilty. Here's what it says. A nationwide poll suggested that British men will spend 11 hours over the Christmas period hiding away from their families. For that matter, I can't agree more with the tendency for men to "escape" the festivities. A woman was quoted to remark that she has no idea where her husband thinks all the presents magically appear from. "Maybe he still believes in Santa." I do.
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Saturday, December 22, 2018
Run Lah
Every time I arrive at a new destination with opportunity to run, I let out a whoop of jubilation. Something in the air is so immediately liberating, so full of the promise of runner's high.
Listed as one of Malaysia's priority sites for ecotourism, Fraser's Hill is formed by seven rolling hills with undulating terrain, with almost 92 percent of land covered with virgin forest. The steep trails look challenging for running, but the cooling fresh air provides just perfect getaway from the hot and humid temperatures of the lowland.
The place is a haven for nature lovers, and I have yet to meet someone who runs and does not love nature. But isn't it true that stunning vistas could sometimes distract runners? I had to remind myself not be to distracted by an abundance of vegetation types and the myriad colourful birds during my the whole way through.
If you were to ask a zoologist why we run, he might answer we run because we are animals, and that's what animals evolved to do. Sometimes to run from predators. To escape. If there is a predator for me during Fraser's Hill run, that would be the tiny leech with two suckers lurking in the forest. Keeping leeches off isn't easy, no matter how fast you run. Yikes, I got one bite during the run, but it's pretty harmless. I wore that bloodletting wound as a badge of honour, after a quick Google search. "Why don't I enjoy the run to the fullest?" I minced.
Listed as one of Malaysia's priority sites for ecotourism, Fraser's Hill is formed by seven rolling hills with undulating terrain, with almost 92 percent of land covered with virgin forest. The steep trails look challenging for running, but the cooling fresh air provides just perfect getaway from the hot and humid temperatures of the lowland.
The place is a haven for nature lovers, and I have yet to meet someone who runs and does not love nature. But isn't it true that stunning vistas could sometimes distract runners? I had to remind myself not be to distracted by an abundance of vegetation types and the myriad colourful birds during my the whole way through.
If you were to ask a zoologist why we run, he might answer we run because we are animals, and that's what animals evolved to do. Sometimes to run from predators. To escape. If there is a predator for me during Fraser's Hill run, that would be the tiny leech with two suckers lurking in the forest. Keeping leeches off isn't easy, no matter how fast you run. Yikes, I got one bite during the run, but it's pretty harmless. I wore that bloodletting wound as a badge of honour, after a quick Google search. "Why don't I enjoy the run to the fullest?" I minced.
Thursday, December 20, 2018
Bird's Eye
I woke up at a place called Fraser’s Hill - a classic, colonial-era, high-altitude bird-spotting destination, somewhere on the Selangor-Pahang border in Malaysia.
Within a split second, we had devoured our English-style breakfast, before we joined an incredibly eagle-eyed naturalist, Mr. Durai, named one of Malaysia's top birding guides by Lonely Planet.
To say that our guide Durai was a bird expert would be the most banal of understatements. He practically spotted the crimson colour of an oriole's belly with naked eyes, which we couldn't even tell with the Swarovski binoculars.
We looked up and stared, awestruck.
Within a split second, we had devoured our English-style breakfast, before we joined an incredibly eagle-eyed naturalist, Mr. Durai, named one of Malaysia's top birding guides by Lonely Planet.
To say that our guide Durai was a bird expert would be the most banal of understatements. He practically spotted the crimson colour of an oriole's belly with naked eyes, which we couldn't even tell with the Swarovski binoculars.
We looked up and stared, awestruck.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
Jungle
Buzz.
My heart pounded with each passing of the mosquito buzz sound.
It was our two-hour walk through the jungle at the Forest Research Institute Malaysia, spending time to get to know numerous species of trees. A forested enclave about 45-minute drive from Kuala Lumpur. As soon as we started our hike, we heard the buzz sounds, first from cicadas and then the mosquitoes.
Argh, mosquitoes! My daughter wasn't wearing long-sleeves or full-length pants. Suicidal attire, I whispered to myself. "The bite won't last forever and we shall be fine," I waved off the mosquitoes and calmed my daughter, my heart fluttering in my chest.
But after all was said and done, nothing in the world could keep us from admiring, appraising and yes, embracing the leafy forest. We marched on, grateful that we could muster a smile because of an entertaining guide with impeccable knowledge on the trees. It's amazing to see my daughter completing the trek despite the mosquito bites.
Travelling strengthens our courage muscle, as the globe trotter Ashley Garver once wrote, while at the same time softening our ego. A matter of letting go.
My heart pounded with each passing of the mosquito buzz sound.
It was our two-hour walk through the jungle at the Forest Research Institute Malaysia, spending time to get to know numerous species of trees. A forested enclave about 45-minute drive from Kuala Lumpur. As soon as we started our hike, we heard the buzz sounds, first from cicadas and then the mosquitoes.
Argh, mosquitoes! My daughter wasn't wearing long-sleeves or full-length pants. Suicidal attire, I whispered to myself. "The bite won't last forever and we shall be fine," I waved off the mosquitoes and calmed my daughter, my heart fluttering in my chest.
But after all was said and done, nothing in the world could keep us from admiring, appraising and yes, embracing the leafy forest. We marched on, grateful that we could muster a smile because of an entertaining guide with impeccable knowledge on the trees. It's amazing to see my daughter completing the trek despite the mosquito bites.
Travelling strengthens our courage muscle, as the globe trotter Ashley Garver once wrote, while at the same time softening our ego. A matter of letting go.
Sunday, December 16, 2018
Sleep Debt
After a hectic week of hospital duty, meetings and appointments, I experienced a brief repose, granting myself a few days of vacation and family time.
Looking back on the week, I yawned and reminded myself the story of Monday coffee.
Every Monday, there is an offer of buy-one-get-one-free-coffee at my hospital’s convenience shop. I seldom miss this opportunity. I did that too last Monday. And then it hit me with a jolt: the sudden realization on Monday night that I had only savored one cup. Oh, I simply forgot the second cup once I was being distracted.
"C'mon. How can my day be so topsy-turvy?" I winced, then making the mental note to finish the left-over coffee the next day. Umm … do I have to tell you I simply forgot my coffee on Tuesday?
All right, I think this is how we reclaim our energy - overdraft first and pay back later.
Looking back on the week, I yawned and reminded myself the story of Monday coffee.
Every Monday, there is an offer of buy-one-get-one-free-coffee at my hospital’s convenience shop. I seldom miss this opportunity. I did that too last Monday. And then it hit me with a jolt: the sudden realization on Monday night that I had only savored one cup. Oh, I simply forgot the second cup once I was being distracted.
"C'mon. How can my day be so topsy-turvy?" I winced, then making the mental note to finish the left-over coffee the next day. Umm … do I have to tell you I simply forgot my coffee on Tuesday?
All right, I think this is how we reclaim our energy - overdraft first and pay back later.
Saturday, December 8, 2018
Integration
We've been living in a world of rules. Mostly a black-and-white binary paradigm. It's very common for us to fall into a stereotype - either you're tough or you're tender.
It sounds pretty uncomfortable to let people hear me swear (and I did) when I'm supposed to be a kind-hearted person. At the end of the day, we might end up pretending to fit with the stereotype. Oh, man. That means I can only swear when nobody is within earshot.
That's why I feel much relieved after reading Brené Brown's work. I've had the opportunity to learn from this four-time New York Times bestselling author who has spent two decades studying vulnerability. She shows us the courage to show up and be vulnerable. True belonging, according to Brené Brown, doesn't require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are. What's perhaps the most important example to live by is the act of bringing together a threesome - strong back, soft front, wild heart.
I believe I should learn to integrate all these three. Who shouldn't?
It sounds pretty uncomfortable to let people hear me swear (and I did) when I'm supposed to be a kind-hearted person. At the end of the day, we might end up pretending to fit with the stereotype. Oh, man. That means I can only swear when nobody is within earshot.
That's why I feel much relieved after reading Brené Brown's work. I've had the opportunity to learn from this four-time New York Times bestselling author who has spent two decades studying vulnerability. She shows us the courage to show up and be vulnerable. True belonging, according to Brené Brown, doesn't require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are. What's perhaps the most important example to live by is the act of bringing together a threesome - strong back, soft front, wild heart.
I believe I should learn to integrate all these three. Who shouldn't?
Sunday, November 18, 2018
Factfulness
I remember teaching from Hans Rosling, professor of international health, about how we score worse than chimpanzees in answering global trends. Not terrible enough? Gosh, that's worse than random. In spite of the hard fact that people living in extreme poverty has halved over the last 20 years, more than 90 percent of online polls perceived that the extreme poverty rate has either doubled or remained more or less the same.
In short, we don't see how things are getting better.
What exactly, then, leads us astray in getting a correct worldview? Our negativity instinct. That's an instinct to notice the bad more than the good.
It turns out that I'm not immune to such instinct. I assure you, because I had made the same mistake yesterday, that humans are more likely to notice the dips than the overall improvement. I was reminiscing the "good old days" with my nurse friend. Little did I know that we were quite tempted to glorify our early experience: our instinct to feel that we were much more competent than our colleagues nowadays. This perception, luckily, too often is an illusion.
In short, we don't see how things are getting better.
What exactly, then, leads us astray in getting a correct worldview? Our negativity instinct. That's an instinct to notice the bad more than the good.
It turns out that I'm not immune to such instinct. I assure you, because I had made the same mistake yesterday, that humans are more likely to notice the dips than the overall improvement. I was reminiscing the "good old days" with my nurse friend. Little did I know that we were quite tempted to glorify our early experience: our instinct to feel that we were much more competent than our colleagues nowadays. This perception, luckily, too often is an illusion.
Tuesday, November 13, 2018
Shakespeare
It's hard for me to relive the experience of the Globe Theatre, and it's easy to see why. That was an open-air theatre in which William Shakespeare drew huge audiences four hundred years ago.
And I did, pretty much recently, turning page after page of the novel How to Stop Time, following the footsteps of its narrator Tom Hazard who had hardly aged a day. He wasn't allowed to join Facebook because "there isn't the option of putting 1581 for your birthday." Tom brought me (and his lute) back to the noisy stinky theatre when Elizabethans didn't bath very often. I ended up learning a bit of British history.
Yet none of that matters until I joined my daughter's school field trip this morning. That's a workshop to learn the Shakespearean society through language and sonnets.
I liked it.
And I just thought, really, honestly, how remarkably the instructor turned every sentence into teachable moment. The way children learned idioms coined by Shakespeare. The way children made rhythmic sentences out of pentameter pattern. The way my daughter rushed to read Romeo and Juliet after school.
Thy life's a miracle.
And I did, pretty much recently, turning page after page of the novel How to Stop Time, following the footsteps of its narrator Tom Hazard who had hardly aged a day. He wasn't allowed to join Facebook because "there isn't the option of putting 1581 for your birthday." Tom brought me (and his lute) back to the noisy stinky theatre when Elizabethans didn't bath very often. I ended up learning a bit of British history.
Yet none of that matters until I joined my daughter's school field trip this morning. That's a workshop to learn the Shakespearean society through language and sonnets.
I liked it.
And I just thought, really, honestly, how remarkably the instructor turned every sentence into teachable moment. The way children learned idioms coined by Shakespeare. The way children made rhythmic sentences out of pentameter pattern. The way my daughter rushed to read Romeo and Juliet after school.
Thy life's a miracle.
Monday, October 29, 2018
Sedaris
"It’s a Fitbit. You sync it with your computer, and it tracks your physical activity.”
It was the last answer I expected from a description of a wristwatch. Being a Luddite myself, I first learned about Fitbit from David Sedaris’s essay Stepping Out.
That gizmo sounds like our smartphone pedometer app that tracks walking, plus a push notification after certain milestones.
As David Sedaris points out, many people, and I happily include myself among them, like the push signal or tingle because it feels so good, not just as a sensation but also as a mark of accomplishment.
Sedaris is so obsessed with getting the e-batch that he hits thirty-five thousand steps a day. Then another e-batch for forty thousand. And forty-five thousand. Next, sixty thousand. And on and on.
The push notification can be addictive. You keep returning to the gadget, the way Ebenezer Scrooge would have done if there were electronic bank account in 1843. I can tell from my personal experience with the digital running app.
The prime example, of course, comes from Sedaris who was once devastated when his Fitbit died. He walked twenty-five miles but found that meaningless without the steps being counted and registered. Is this behaviour logical? No. Does it make sense if he ordered an immediate replacement? No. Did he experience withdrawal symptoms while waiting for the express delivery? Yes. Should he tear open the box as soon as he received his new Fitbit and went out racing, with his new Fitbit strapped on, to make up for lost time? Absolutely.
It was the last answer I expected from a description of a wristwatch. Being a Luddite myself, I first learned about Fitbit from David Sedaris’s essay Stepping Out.
That gizmo sounds like our smartphone pedometer app that tracks walking, plus a push notification after certain milestones.
As David Sedaris points out, many people, and I happily include myself among them, like the push signal or tingle because it feels so good, not just as a sensation but also as a mark of accomplishment.
Sedaris is so obsessed with getting the e-batch that he hits thirty-five thousand steps a day. Then another e-batch for forty thousand. And forty-five thousand. Next, sixty thousand. And on and on.
The push notification can be addictive. You keep returning to the gadget, the way Ebenezer Scrooge would have done if there were electronic bank account in 1843. I can tell from my personal experience with the digital running app.
The prime example, of course, comes from Sedaris who was once devastated when his Fitbit died. He walked twenty-five miles but found that meaningless without the steps being counted and registered. Is this behaviour logical? No. Does it make sense if he ordered an immediate replacement? No. Did he experience withdrawal symptoms while waiting for the express delivery? Yes. Should he tear open the box as soon as he received his new Fitbit and went out racing, with his new Fitbit strapped on, to make up for lost time? Absolutely.
Wednesday, October 24, 2018
Unplugged
If you can't list your dinner table a tech-free zone without buzzing cell phones in this digital era, try your luck on the bike trail with your kid.
This is exactly what I did last weekend after reading Jonathan McKee's 52 Ways to Connect with Your Smartphone Obsessed Kid. I didn't ride a tandem bike with my daughter; we rode our own bikes, with only short distance between us, and ventured out on long stretches of road.
No matter how tech sucks us in, hands occupied with the bike handles are too busy to pick up a smartphone. Simply put: cycling helps the two of us bond.
I encourage you - no, I flat-out dare you - to read McKee's book and then you will - like me - realize that it's we parents who should get unplugged.
If I am being completely honest, I'd have to say that I'm addicted to my smartphone way more than my daughter. Let's face it: we all are. Our kids learn to stare at their phones because they are learning from us.
Duh.
This is exactly what I did last weekend after reading Jonathan McKee's 52 Ways to Connect with Your Smartphone Obsessed Kid. I didn't ride a tandem bike with my daughter; we rode our own bikes, with only short distance between us, and ventured out on long stretches of road.
No matter how tech sucks us in, hands occupied with the bike handles are too busy to pick up a smartphone. Simply put: cycling helps the two of us bond.
I encourage you - no, I flat-out dare you - to read McKee's book and then you will - like me - realize that it's we parents who should get unplugged.
If I am being completely honest, I'd have to say that I'm addicted to my smartphone way more than my daughter. Let's face it: we all are. Our kids learn to stare at their phones because they are learning from us.
Duh.
Friday, October 19, 2018
Apple
Choosing the right smartphone has never been difficult. Picking the right age for a child to own one is.
We all agree that there has been a mass exodus of children from outdoor free play to the glowing screens of smartphones or tablets. The American Academy of Pediatrics has for years urged parents to limit tech time for young children, simply because unstructured, unplugged play is the best way for them to think creatively, to problem solve, to develop communication and reasoning skills.
In no way do I advocate giving our innocent children a smartphone. That electronic gadget sounds like a forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden, and it is. And I have had a sneaking suspicion that my daughter will ask for her Apple sooner or later.
Earlier last week, the forecast came true. Our daughter badgered us to give her a personal telephone, two months shy of her ninth birthday. My heart sank. I took a deep breath, and my wife hers. We then talked over this question during dinner time and asked Jasmine for her two cents. "How's that going to work out for you?"
We agreed that our daughter can be trusted to make good use of her smartphone even before the end of our dinner. The remaining questions for me are the know-how of reconfiguring our old iPhone 6 and whereabouts to buy a SIM card. Next, to play safe, I headed to public library and borrowed two books on helping kids to navigate the digital age. These are what I need - and want - for peace of mind after we nodded in agreement to our daughter's request.
It may have been too early to conclude, but she didn't disappoint us.
We all agree that there has been a mass exodus of children from outdoor free play to the glowing screens of smartphones or tablets. The American Academy of Pediatrics has for years urged parents to limit tech time for young children, simply because unstructured, unplugged play is the best way for them to think creatively, to problem solve, to develop communication and reasoning skills.
In no way do I advocate giving our innocent children a smartphone. That electronic gadget sounds like a forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden, and it is. And I have had a sneaking suspicion that my daughter will ask for her Apple sooner or later.
Earlier last week, the forecast came true. Our daughter badgered us to give her a personal telephone, two months shy of her ninth birthday. My heart sank. I took a deep breath, and my wife hers. We then talked over this question during dinner time and asked Jasmine for her two cents. "How's that going to work out for you?"
We agreed that our daughter can be trusted to make good use of her smartphone even before the end of our dinner. The remaining questions for me are the know-how of reconfiguring our old iPhone 6 and whereabouts to buy a SIM card. Next, to play safe, I headed to public library and borrowed two books on helping kids to navigate the digital age. These are what I need - and want - for peace of mind after we nodded in agreement to our daughter's request.
It may have been too early to conclude, but she didn't disappoint us.
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Obama
Raise your hand if you have ever felt offended when your mail goes unanswered. Keep your hand in the air if you have not given a hoot to answer mails.
Time and again, I'd fallen into the same trap of "read and no reply." Most of us are not born with willingness to reply mail; I am no exception. And it's even worse when there's page after page after page of mails pouring in.
It surprised the heck out of me when I heard that Barack Obama made a daily effort to read and reply ten letters at the White House. An examplar of passion and respect. Imagine a country's leader who received ten thousand letters from ordinary citizens, coming up with a deliberate practice of reading ten letters before going to bed. He answered some by hand and wrote notes on others for the correspondence team to answer, and on some he scribbled, "SAVE." I reflected on my mistakes when a good friend of mine bought me the inspiring book To Obama by Jeanne Marie Laska. I was inspired, amazed, and embarrassed all at once.
How can I leave mails unanswered when my mailbox size is nothing compared to Obama's? That admitted, I must further confess the shame I feel when caught skipping a mail - oh, say, unseen - to say nothing of reply.
I told myself I should follow the example of Obama, or at least I should be trying to.
Time and again, I'd fallen into the same trap of "read and no reply." Most of us are not born with willingness to reply mail; I am no exception. And it's even worse when there's page after page after page of mails pouring in.
It surprised the heck out of me when I heard that Barack Obama made a daily effort to read and reply ten letters at the White House. An examplar of passion and respect. Imagine a country's leader who received ten thousand letters from ordinary citizens, coming up with a deliberate practice of reading ten letters before going to bed. He answered some by hand and wrote notes on others for the correspondence team to answer, and on some he scribbled, "SAVE." I reflected on my mistakes when a good friend of mine bought me the inspiring book To Obama by Jeanne Marie Laska. I was inspired, amazed, and embarrassed all at once.
How can I leave mails unanswered when my mailbox size is nothing compared to Obama's? That admitted, I must further confess the shame I feel when caught skipping a mail - oh, say, unseen - to say nothing of reply.
I told myself I should follow the example of Obama, or at least I should be trying to.
Saturday, September 22, 2018
Strava
Highly committed runners have much higher levels of narcissism than less committed ones. That's what I learned from Jason Karp who wrote The Inner Runner. He is right that running can sometimes be an experience of egoism.
Am I narcissistic? Well, I don't know. It's hard to say but there's a good chance that I am.
If there is one thing I know about my addiction with runner's narcissism more than a VO2 max number, it is that I joined Strava soon after my friend's recommendation and run with this digital app eagerly. Why am I drawn to this new toy? Most runners would agree with me that running lifts our spirits. Even more so, when we can upload a run on social media, being recognized by dopamine rush of receiving "likes."
Hold your horses - there is a lot more. Instead of "like" (as what you find in Facebook), Strava's currency of approval is called "kudo" - a surefire way to give us feelings of grandiosity. Not only does running give pleasure in the moment but also reward after an upload, which down the road will itself lead to enviable kudos.
Miles after miles, kudos after kudos, we all narcissists should love it. At least to me.
Am I narcissistic? Well, I don't know. It's hard to say but there's a good chance that I am.
If there is one thing I know about my addiction with runner's narcissism more than a VO2 max number, it is that I joined Strava soon after my friend's recommendation and run with this digital app eagerly. Why am I drawn to this new toy? Most runners would agree with me that running lifts our spirits. Even more so, when we can upload a run on social media, being recognized by dopamine rush of receiving "likes."
Hold your horses - there is a lot more. Instead of "like" (as what you find in Facebook), Strava's currency of approval is called "kudo" - a surefire way to give us feelings of grandiosity. Not only does running give pleasure in the moment but also reward after an upload, which down the road will itself lead to enviable kudos.
Miles after miles, kudos after kudos, we all narcissists should love it. At least to me.
Sunday, September 2, 2018
Bryson
I can't imagine an author who writes better memoir than Bill Bryson.
I learnt so many and laughed so much when I read his story of being a newspaper boy at the age of eleven. That's tough, think about it, to deliver the afternoon papers six days a week, and then get up on Sundays before dawn and deliver the Sunday papers too. The reason, Bill Bryson writes, is to allow the regular morning paperboys enjoy a day off each week.
All this was fine - or at least fine enough - so long as Bill Bryson didn't mix up the route. Anyway, that isn't the worst. Paperboys were supposed to collect the subscription money. That, by itself, wasn't too risky when they were delivering papers to rich people. The real danger came from thousands of dogs in 1950s, inhabiting every property - big dogs, grumpy dogs, stupid dogs, tiny nippy irritating little dogs, dogs that wanted to smell you, dogs that barked at everything that moved. And then there was Dewey, a black Labrador which eventually bit him hard. That was a big bite that never earned Bill Bryson an apology. To that end, he decided to stick a secret booger in that family's paper every day.
Whatever topic Bryson writes, he recounts his story in such a funny and detailed manner that is going to give you behind-the-scenes fact of a crazy kid. And he has a perfect memory, say, to recollect how his father spent at least thirty minutes to prepare the legendary snacks at night. That means Ritz crackers, a large jar of mustard, wheat germ, radishes, ten Hydrox cookies, an enormous bowl of chocolate ice cream, several slices of luncheon meat, freshly washed lettuce, Cheez Whiz, peanut butter, peanut brittle, a hard-boiled egg or two, a small bowl of nuts, watermelon in season, possibly a banana. The list is comprehensive. It really is.
Why Bryson can remember so many details is a bit of puzzle. I now know that I'd better jot down everything in case I'm going to follow the footsteps of Bill Bryson. And so here it goes - for the ingredients my daughter and her buddy used for homemade slime today - baking soda, school glue, cornstarch, contact lens solution, watercolour paint.
I learnt so many and laughed so much when I read his story of being a newspaper boy at the age of eleven. That's tough, think about it, to deliver the afternoon papers six days a week, and then get up on Sundays before dawn and deliver the Sunday papers too. The reason, Bill Bryson writes, is to allow the regular morning paperboys enjoy a day off each week.
All this was fine - or at least fine enough - so long as Bill Bryson didn't mix up the route. Anyway, that isn't the worst. Paperboys were supposed to collect the subscription money. That, by itself, wasn't too risky when they were delivering papers to rich people. The real danger came from thousands of dogs in 1950s, inhabiting every property - big dogs, grumpy dogs, stupid dogs, tiny nippy irritating little dogs, dogs that wanted to smell you, dogs that barked at everything that moved. And then there was Dewey, a black Labrador which eventually bit him hard. That was a big bite that never earned Bill Bryson an apology. To that end, he decided to stick a secret booger in that family's paper every day.
Whatever topic Bryson writes, he recounts his story in such a funny and detailed manner that is going to give you behind-the-scenes fact of a crazy kid. And he has a perfect memory, say, to recollect how his father spent at least thirty minutes to prepare the legendary snacks at night. That means Ritz crackers, a large jar of mustard, wheat germ, radishes, ten Hydrox cookies, an enormous bowl of chocolate ice cream, several slices of luncheon meat, freshly washed lettuce, Cheez Whiz, peanut butter, peanut brittle, a hard-boiled egg or two, a small bowl of nuts, watermelon in season, possibly a banana. The list is comprehensive. It really is.
Why Bryson can remember so many details is a bit of puzzle. I now know that I'd better jot down everything in case I'm going to follow the footsteps of Bill Bryson. And so here it goes - for the ingredients my daughter and her buddy used for homemade slime today - baking soda, school glue, cornstarch, contact lens solution, watercolour paint.
Saturday, September 1, 2018
Thief
Every once in a while, I borrowed books with not-so-childish topics and read together with my daughter. Bereavement, refugees, divorce, whatever.
I know: that makes me sound like such a defensive pessimist. Or Charlie Brown. But hear me out.
The truth is, there are good lessons to learn from those tender story books written for children. My pick tonight is a story of daddy struggling with depression: The Colour Thief. One day, a thief stole all colours away. One by one, the colours were gone: the sky turned grey, the clouds frowned, the sun was sulking, or so it seemed. And on that sobering note, if the dad went out, the lamp posts would laugh at him or the streets would call him names.
Page by page, we saw the colours disappearing into dark shadows. An abyss. We got chance to talk about how depression can change us, and how we can change the depression. Fortunately, we're learning the life lessons from a picture book, and not from our real life.
Page by page, we saw the colours disappearing into dark shadows. An abyss. We got chance to talk about how depression can change us, and how we can change the depression. Fortunately, we're learning the life lessons from a picture book, and not from our real life.
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
Tunnel
At first glance it may seem that summer vacation trip means idle repose, but in truth time is never enough. And more so if your destination has bountiful attractions.
During my Norwegian trip, I had trouble even finding time to download my photographs, much less get enough time for replying emails. None of this is surprising, given the country's magic with so many never-to-be-missed experiences. Devoted as I am to the stamina of runners, I wasn't running that often in Norway. I didn't even fill my suitcase with running shoes.
Granted, this wasn't an excuse not to run, I told myself before dinner today. It was then I found the unique experience of running in Norway. Along a spectacular running route on the seaside, I came to the entrance of a tunnel with a warning sign of "no cyclists allowed." I had no idea what to expect inside the tunnel. If that's not the 24.5-kilometre-long Lærdal Tunnel (the longest road tunnel), I figured, it should be okay. Road tunnel conditions are generally good in Norway. I also heard about the dedicated air treatment plant removing dust and nitrogen dioxide. I ran into the tunnel without hesitation. With each step I was taking charge of the situation. Except, of course, it was nothing like that.
After a few minutes, vehicles rushed by, the whooshing sound of which being amplified inside the tunnel. There was a momentary sense of suspense as I could not even hear my panting because of those noises. Traffic wasn't heavy but the acoustic effect was enough to make me feel like Nemo tumbling inside a washing machine. I picked up my pace, trying to recover from the panic. Under these circumstances I decided the best course of action was to come out of the tunnel as quickly as possible. Mustering my remaining strength, I heaved my body forward at full throttle. As I glanced around the tunnel, I spied nothing but SOS call boxes at regular intervals. The greatest myth of tunnel is that it cuts short your travel time. In fact, time moves more slowly because of monotony - five times more slowly if you run, seven times more slowly in case you aren't sure the length of the tunnel. And the tunnel seemed to go on forever, man. There time didn't move forward at all. It just hung. So I had stacks of time to wonder how much the tunnel was shorter than Lærdal Tunnel. Maybe not much. Well, I never found out the answer; I decided to return after 10 minutes or so.
Upon completion of my run, my running apps recorded an average pace at 1.5 minutes per kilometres. Whew. I quickly discovered that such unbelievable record happened because the GPS wrongly tracked my distance, as if I was running up the mountain and not through a tunnel.
I blushed and chuckled at my embarrassing PB.
During my Norwegian trip, I had trouble even finding time to download my photographs, much less get enough time for replying emails. None of this is surprising, given the country's magic with so many never-to-be-missed experiences. Devoted as I am to the stamina of runners, I wasn't running that often in Norway. I didn't even fill my suitcase with running shoes.
Granted, this wasn't an excuse not to run, I told myself before dinner today. It was then I found the unique experience of running in Norway. Along a spectacular running route on the seaside, I came to the entrance of a tunnel with a warning sign of "no cyclists allowed." I had no idea what to expect inside the tunnel. If that's not the 24.5-kilometre-long Lærdal Tunnel (the longest road tunnel), I figured, it should be okay. Road tunnel conditions are generally good in Norway. I also heard about the dedicated air treatment plant removing dust and nitrogen dioxide. I ran into the tunnel without hesitation. With each step I was taking charge of the situation. Except, of course, it was nothing like that.
After a few minutes, vehicles rushed by, the whooshing sound of which being amplified inside the tunnel. There was a momentary sense of suspense as I could not even hear my panting because of those noises. Traffic wasn't heavy but the acoustic effect was enough to make me feel like Nemo tumbling inside a washing machine. I picked up my pace, trying to recover from the panic. Under these circumstances I decided the best course of action was to come out of the tunnel as quickly as possible. Mustering my remaining strength, I heaved my body forward at full throttle. As I glanced around the tunnel, I spied nothing but SOS call boxes at regular intervals. The greatest myth of tunnel is that it cuts short your travel time. In fact, time moves more slowly because of monotony - five times more slowly if you run, seven times more slowly in case you aren't sure the length of the tunnel. And the tunnel seemed to go on forever, man. There time didn't move forward at all. It just hung. So I had stacks of time to wonder how much the tunnel was shorter than Lærdal Tunnel. Maybe not much. Well, I never found out the answer; I decided to return after 10 minutes or so.
Upon completion of my run, my running apps recorded an average pace at 1.5 minutes per kilometres. Whew. I quickly discovered that such unbelievable record happened because the GPS wrongly tracked my distance, as if I was running up the mountain and not through a tunnel.
I blushed and chuckled at my embarrassing PB.
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Mountain
An important rule of travel, according to the longtime Lonely Planet editor Don George, is this: if you don't pack your sense of humour with your sunscreen, sooner or later you'll get burned.
Put most simply, anything unexpected can happen in your journey. That's just the way of the road. If you want to help yourself - and perhaps more importantly your children - seek the fun and not-so-funny encounters on the road, you should remember your metaphorical protective screen.
We have the recent opportunity to bring our daughter to Norway, an outdoorsy country. One of our adventures was riding mountain bikes at the top of Mount Fløyen. Whew! That's quite a daunting task for us, the first-timers.
I reminded myself, after my recent reading of The Yes Brain Child, we're supposed to neither bubble-wrap our children nor minimize their feelings. The sweet spot or Goldilocks balance might not be easy to find, but my bottom line is that it's impossible to "spoil" my daughter by giving her lots of love. I wanted her to assert herself and face the challenge of the bumpy (half gravel, half paved) mountain track, and then discover how strong and capable she really is. My job and that of my wife, however, remained to walk with her through the difficult moments. The truth was, we literally walked when she thought she could not handle the slope. With time, she was hopping back on the hard-tailed bike with more courage and composure, and finished the trail with an "I did it!"
Put most simply, anything unexpected can happen in your journey. That's just the way of the road. If you want to help yourself - and perhaps more importantly your children - seek the fun and not-so-funny encounters on the road, you should remember your metaphorical protective screen.
We have the recent opportunity to bring our daughter to Norway, an outdoorsy country. One of our adventures was riding mountain bikes at the top of Mount Fløyen. Whew! That's quite a daunting task for us, the first-timers.
I reminded myself, after my recent reading of The Yes Brain Child, we're supposed to neither bubble-wrap our children nor minimize their feelings. The sweet spot or Goldilocks balance might not be easy to find, but my bottom line is that it's impossible to "spoil" my daughter by giving her lots of love. I wanted her to assert herself and face the challenge of the bumpy (half gravel, half paved) mountain track, and then discover how strong and capable she really is. My job and that of my wife, however, remained to walk with her through the difficult moments. The truth was, we literally walked when she thought she could not handle the slope. With time, she was hopping back on the hard-tailed bike with more courage and composure, and finished the trail with an "I did it!"
Tuesday, August 7, 2018
Bergen
For lovers of statistics, Bergen is one of the wettest parts of northern Europe, receiving a rainfall of 80 inches every year.
That's quite a lot to put up with. The thing was, I'd just travelled from Oslo, which gets only an average of 30 inches of rain annually. Before I came to Norway, luckily, I had taught myself a local mantra of Norwegian folks: Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær (it rhymes, I was told). In short, there's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.
It makes sense, doesn't it, that we'd want to control only what is within our control? That's also the essence of having a mature prefrontal cortex in our brain, capable of flexibility and adaptability.
That's quite a lot to put up with. The thing was, I'd just travelled from Oslo, which gets only an average of 30 inches of rain annually. Before I came to Norway, luckily, I had taught myself a local mantra of Norwegian folks: Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær (it rhymes, I was told). In short, there's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.
It makes sense, doesn't it, that we'd want to control only what is within our control? That's also the essence of having a mature prefrontal cortex in our brain, capable of flexibility and adaptability.
Norway
What's the best book to spend time on during our travel? My tip: pick a travel guidebook and turn to the last few pages. That's where they have resources like suggested reading. Choices include travelogue or literature from the country you're travelling to.
That's how I came up with the idea of borrowing a short novel Out Stealing Horses, written by a gifted Norwegian author Per Petterson.
At first glance it may seem that Trond Sander, the main character of the story, is doomed after losing his wife and sister in the course of one month - one from cancer and another a traffic accident - but in truth the old man is working out his way at the age of sixty-seven: to lay his hands on the house and do most of the work himself, makes his own dinner and overestimates his appetite, thus allowing extra portion to his only companion dog Lyra.
This is heartbreaking by my standards, far too tough. I didn't cry. Instead, I told myself how lucky I'm every morning I woke up with my wife and daughter next to me in this captivating Nordic country. And who would not?
That's how I came up with the idea of borrowing a short novel Out Stealing Horses, written by a gifted Norwegian author Per Petterson.
At first glance it may seem that Trond Sander, the main character of the story, is doomed after losing his wife and sister in the course of one month - one from cancer and another a traffic accident - but in truth the old man is working out his way at the age of sixty-seven: to lay his hands on the house and do most of the work himself, makes his own dinner and overestimates his appetite, thus allowing extra portion to his only companion dog Lyra.
This is heartbreaking by my standards, far too tough. I didn't cry. Instead, I told myself how lucky I'm every morning I woke up with my wife and daughter next to me in this captivating Nordic country. And who would not?
Friday, August 3, 2018
Nature
What would the results be like when you test children's accuracy in naming a set of picture cards showing common species of plant or wildlife? How does the result compare with another set of cards, each featuring a species of Pokémon character?
If you have kids aged eight and above, you should know the answer. If you don't - like those from a Cambridge research group - you might have to conduct a research to find out that children score far better at naming Pokémon species.
Let's face it: in many ways kids are now growing up in a digital world, but not in a forest. I'm not against the daily, here-and-now challenges of meeting Jigglypuff or Pikachu. That's not the point at all. Instead, we should remind our children the natural beauty at the same time. That's one of the reasons we pick Norway as our summer vacation's destination this year. We might not get the chance to meet the elk or lynx, but that is a magnet for great outdoors.
If you have kids aged eight and above, you should know the answer. If you don't - like those from a Cambridge research group - you might have to conduct a research to find out that children score far better at naming Pokémon species.
Let's face it: in many ways kids are now growing up in a digital world, but not in a forest. I'm not against the daily, here-and-now challenges of meeting Jigglypuff or Pikachu. That's not the point at all. Instead, we should remind our children the natural beauty at the same time. That's one of the reasons we pick Norway as our summer vacation's destination this year. We might not get the chance to meet the elk or lynx, but that is a magnet for great outdoors.
Sunday, July 22, 2018
Marine
Much as I revel in outdoor activities, I must confess that I am not amphibious, and mostly stay on land.
When my friend recommended a marine science camp, I didn't hesitate. Wouldn't it be a good idea to learn something new with my daughter? The backpacks, after all, are quite the same as those for hiking; we simply needed to buy a pair of water shoes for each of us in the family.
We learned new techniques like kayak and dragon boat paddling in a basin-like inner harbour. The water was somewhat murky and didn't look exactly like a mirror. We tried snorkeling but didn't have clear view. It's hard to believe, however, that we saw much more in the same place at night. Remarkably, sea life was dazzling to see after dark - with flashlight. Shining a light through water off the pier showed us loads of aquatic animals. We didn't simply find mangrove crabs or shrimps; we learned about new species like spotted scat. That isn't an uncommon fish, but it's new to a novice like me.
To further unlock the mystery of underwater world, we were taught to scoop up a bucket of seawater and watch under magnifying glass. That's how we came to meet copepods, one of the most abundant animal plankton in the ocean. The whole experience of their apparition seemed surreal. Those tiny, shrimp-like crustaceans, with a teardrop-shaped body and large antennae, introduce us a whole new world.
I saw my daughter excited by the magical appeal of marine life and I knew she felt elated.
So did I.
When my friend recommended a marine science camp, I didn't hesitate. Wouldn't it be a good idea to learn something new with my daughter? The backpacks, after all, are quite the same as those for hiking; we simply needed to buy a pair of water shoes for each of us in the family.
We learned new techniques like kayak and dragon boat paddling in a basin-like inner harbour. The water was somewhat murky and didn't look exactly like a mirror. We tried snorkeling but didn't have clear view. It's hard to believe, however, that we saw much more in the same place at night. Remarkably, sea life was dazzling to see after dark - with flashlight. Shining a light through water off the pier showed us loads of aquatic animals. We didn't simply find mangrove crabs or shrimps; we learned about new species like spotted scat. That isn't an uncommon fish, but it's new to a novice like me.
To further unlock the mystery of underwater world, we were taught to scoop up a bucket of seawater and watch under magnifying glass. That's how we came to meet copepods, one of the most abundant animal plankton in the ocean. The whole experience of their apparition seemed surreal. Those tiny, shrimp-like crustaceans, with a teardrop-shaped body and large antennae, introduce us a whole new world.
I saw my daughter excited by the magical appeal of marine life and I knew she felt elated.
So did I.
Sunday, July 15, 2018
Love
The birth of my daughter, Jasmine, has changed my life in ways I cannot express. The moment Jasmine came into our lives, neither my wife nor I has allowed ourselves to be our top priorities. There's so much we want for our daughter, so much we talk about our daughter, so much we stand up for our daughter.
Being a parent is not about who brings up the smartest kid, owns the biggest house, or throws the most lavish birthday party. What really matters, dare I say it, is love. I was reassured that's the true answer when my daughter came home from his summer camp this weekend.
Soon after her excursion, my daughter would share with us her story of kayaking, dolphin watching, sand castle building and even television broadcasting. As we talked more about the camp activities, our conversation switched to the topic of her classmates.
"Our camp leader asked if this is the first time we're away from parents - if we don't count going to school. Some of us said yes," Jasmine continued. "Only thing is, I just reckoned quite a lot of my classmates said hooray to have been out of the radar of parents. They don't love their moms or dads. Unbelievable."
"Mind-boggling," my daughter kept repeating, apropos of dislike about parents. "That's almost as unbelievable as finding a kid who hates ice-cream."
I don't know the answer to my daughter's question, but I know very well I will continue to work hard on being the best father and husband I can be.
Being a parent is not about who brings up the smartest kid, owns the biggest house, or throws the most lavish birthday party. What really matters, dare I say it, is love. I was reassured that's the true answer when my daughter came home from his summer camp this weekend.
Soon after her excursion, my daughter would share with us her story of kayaking, dolphin watching, sand castle building and even television broadcasting. As we talked more about the camp activities, our conversation switched to the topic of her classmates.
"Our camp leader asked if this is the first time we're away from parents - if we don't count going to school. Some of us said yes," Jasmine continued. "Only thing is, I just reckoned quite a lot of my classmates said hooray to have been out of the radar of parents. They don't love their moms or dads. Unbelievable."
"Mind-boggling," my daughter kept repeating, apropos of dislike about parents. "That's almost as unbelievable as finding a kid who hates ice-cream."
I don't know the answer to my daughter's question, but I know very well I will continue to work hard on being the best father and husband I can be.
Thursday, July 12, 2018
Refugee
Take a few minutes to recall the photograph of the three-year-old Syrian refugee boy, Alan Kurdi, lying dead on the shore with his face turned to one side, and that image immediately pulls at our heartstrings. The image stuck with me and still haunted me three years after it made global headlines. That's a disheartening picture I'd never imagine sharing with my daughter. I might have fallen prey to unhealthy overprotective parental style - but who won't?
At the same time, I know I should not hide all news stories from my school-age kid. For example, I am not terrified of talking about twelve Thai boys and their soccer coach who were trapped inside a flooded cave. What makes this story even less scary is that they have now been rescued. Phew.
When it comes to teaching kids to face fears, the best way is explore the subject with a picture book written in a simple, child-friendly way. If you want to explore the subject of refugees with children - and there are good reasons to do so even if you aren't asylum seekers - the award-winning book My Name is Not Refugee is a must. After reading this book with my daughter last night, I've come to realize how a much-needed storyteller can create a comfortable read and yet with a just-right level of tension.
At the same time, I know I should not hide all news stories from my school-age kid. For example, I am not terrified of talking about twelve Thai boys and their soccer coach who were trapped inside a flooded cave. What makes this story even less scary is that they have now been rescued. Phew.
When it comes to teaching kids to face fears, the best way is explore the subject with a picture book written in a simple, child-friendly way. If you want to explore the subject of refugees with children - and there are good reasons to do so even if you aren't asylum seekers - the award-winning book My Name is Not Refugee is a must. After reading this book with my daughter last night, I've come to realize how a much-needed storyteller can create a comfortable read and yet with a just-right level of tension.
Wednesday, July 4, 2018
Parable
Parables have a way of creeping into our learning - they're going to stick deeper and longer than any lecture.
Most of the time, without our even realizing it, we've learnt profound lessons after listening to the story of two mice who lost their cheese in a maze. Or that of a Samaritan who happened to bump into a traveler who had been beaten up.
Storytelling holds the key to a good teacher, and works wonder with children and adults alike. Consider the parable from The Napkin, the Melon & the Monkey, a book I've read this week. Here you'll meet Olivia, a new hire at a customer service call centre. Open any page of her diary and you'll find a stressed-out working mom who is messed up with her sons' fight at home and the barrage of angry calls from frustrated customers at workplace.
"Hopeless," Olivia cried, and shook her head. She said the word as if it were a synonym for life. "Are we doomed to just stumble through life unhappy and confused?"
Then she learned an important "aha" from her call centre colleague. "For the ten problems of life - family troubles, work problems and money worries, finding your way in the world - I have no solution. But you have an eleventh problem. For that one I have help."
What's that eleventh problem? "The eleventh problem is your view that you should not have the ten problems. You can never get away from life's problems. Thinking that you can will always make you want to run from your life."
All of which is to say that we will be fooling ourselves when we think that we can have a life without problems. I could almost see a lightbulb appearing above Olivia's head when she nodded, "I get it: the key to a happy life is accepting that problems are simply a part of it."
Most of the time, without our even realizing it, we've learnt profound lessons after listening to the story of two mice who lost their cheese in a maze. Or that of a Samaritan who happened to bump into a traveler who had been beaten up.
Storytelling holds the key to a good teacher, and works wonder with children and adults alike. Consider the parable from The Napkin, the Melon & the Monkey, a book I've read this week. Here you'll meet Olivia, a new hire at a customer service call centre. Open any page of her diary and you'll find a stressed-out working mom who is messed up with her sons' fight at home and the barrage of angry calls from frustrated customers at workplace.
"Hopeless," Olivia cried, and shook her head. She said the word as if it were a synonym for life. "Are we doomed to just stumble through life unhappy and confused?"
Then she learned an important "aha" from her call centre colleague. "For the ten problems of life - family troubles, work problems and money worries, finding your way in the world - I have no solution. But you have an eleventh problem. For that one I have help."
What's that eleventh problem? "The eleventh problem is your view that you should not have the ten problems. You can never get away from life's problems. Thinking that you can will always make you want to run from your life."
All of which is to say that we will be fooling ourselves when we think that we can have a life without problems. I could almost see a lightbulb appearing above Olivia's head when she nodded, "I get it: the key to a happy life is accepting that problems are simply a part of it."
Saturday, June 30, 2018
Henry Marsh
One of my most favorite writers is Henry Marsh, longtime brain surgeon of the NHS before his retirement in 2015.
Little did I realize the double entendre of the book title when I first picked up his memoir Admissions. Once you have read the book yourself, you will know it isn't just narrative of patient admission under his care; Henry Marsh is making confessions or admissions of himself. And he had even been admitted to a psychiatric ward as a patient.
He didn't pretend to be perfect. He has his flaws as doctor and as human. Like most doctors, he has made his share of mistakes, hurt more people than we should have, and, at times, behaved not so properly. He was probably considered to be one of the worst offenders by the hospital managers. One good example is the sin of his wearing suits and ties to work, for which Henry Marsh considered a sign of courtesy to his patients, but then condemned as a breach of infection control in the NHS.
The next error picked up by the managers is his disinterest in diagnostic coding when patients were discharged. The penalty doubled when Henry Marsh didn't make sure that his juniors completed the computerized work. I don't have to tell you how the increasingly depersonalized health care system frustrated Henry Marsh.
If there is one lesson I learn well from his story, it is the way sick patients were handled in Nepal. One sixty-something man was brought to hospital with fixed and dilated pupils, after a catastrophic bleeding inside his brain. The scan showed an undoubtedly fatal bleed. Henry Marsh agreed. When the family was told there was no treatment, they took the brain-dead patient home, squeezing a respiratory bag connected to his lungs. The unusual hand-bagging story struck Henry Marsh as a very humane solution: "He could die with some dignity within the family home, with their loved ones around him, rather than in the cruel impersonality of the hospital."
I can't agree more.
Little did I realize the double entendre of the book title when I first picked up his memoir Admissions. Once you have read the book yourself, you will know it isn't just narrative of patient admission under his care; Henry Marsh is making confessions or admissions of himself. And he had even been admitted to a psychiatric ward as a patient.
He didn't pretend to be perfect. He has his flaws as doctor and as human. Like most doctors, he has made his share of mistakes, hurt more people than we should have, and, at times, behaved not so properly. He was probably considered to be one of the worst offenders by the hospital managers. One good example is the sin of his wearing suits and ties to work, for which Henry Marsh considered a sign of courtesy to his patients, but then condemned as a breach of infection control in the NHS.
The next error picked up by the managers is his disinterest in diagnostic coding when patients were discharged. The penalty doubled when Henry Marsh didn't make sure that his juniors completed the computerized work. I don't have to tell you how the increasingly depersonalized health care system frustrated Henry Marsh.
If there is one lesson I learn well from his story, it is the way sick patients were handled in Nepal. One sixty-something man was brought to hospital with fixed and dilated pupils, after a catastrophic bleeding inside his brain. The scan showed an undoubtedly fatal bleed. Henry Marsh agreed. When the family was told there was no treatment, they took the brain-dead patient home, squeezing a respiratory bag connected to his lungs. The unusual hand-bagging story struck Henry Marsh as a very humane solution: "He could die with some dignity within the family home, with their loved ones around him, rather than in the cruel impersonality of the hospital."
I can't agree more.
Sunday, June 17, 2018
Uncertainty
Medicine is a science of uncertainty, and an art of probability.
Each time I met a patient with not-so-straightforward diagnosis I would remind myself and my junior this teaching by Sir William Osler at the turn of the last century.
Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. That's what I heard with my stethoscope yesterday when I examined a gentleman coming to emergency room after feeling breathlessness for two days. Out of pride I refused to rush through the case as that will inflate my chance of failing to crack the puzzle. It wasn't pleasant to miss the additional sound after the usual "lub dub" heart sound, not least after my reading of a medical journal article The Art of Constructive Worrying yesterday morning. I made sure I'd heard that "lub dub whirr, lub dub whirr, lub dub whirr" melody.
Diagnosis resembles a jigsaw puzzle. We are supposed to find the pieces first, then fit them together. One by one. Before the full picture.
My patient clearly had a problem with his heart. What puzzled me is which piece I should focus at the emergency room. Was it because his heart turned oversized after wear and tear from clogged coronary arteries? I didn't have long to reflect on the counterargument that the gentleman neither smokes nor complains of crushing pain of heart attack. A glance at his ECG showed more jigsaw pieces than that of a leaking heart valve; I spotted abundant premature heart beats. Those frequent extra beats, if too frequent, could have caused what we call arrhythmia-induced cardiomyopathy.
Simply put, I was nowhere. There was one possibility after another. Two or three at a time, the possibilities were weighed, and discarded. Other possibilities then cropped up. A good talk with my patient revealed his story of multiple surgery procedures for removing lumps in his neck, torso and legs. I could also palpate some, one of them lurking behind his right calf, not yet operated. By the time I checked his computer record I was pretty sure that he was suffering from a plethora of nerve tumours with a funny name schwannoma. To be honest I don't recall seeing a case of Carney complex, but that could have been the first case in front of my eyes. In short, that's an exceptionally rare inherited anomaly in the human anatomy, with numerous spongy schwannoma and even a tumour inside the heart. Rare, but it can happen.
I don't think I have yet solved the puzzle, but I learned the essence of constructive worrying. Thinking and worrying about the jigsaw pieces that matter most and making plans based on this worrying.
Friday, June 8, 2018
Multitasking
Think about the last time you were multitasking. Are you proud of your versatility and efficiency?
I used to be so. This is even more so when I was attending a true tour-de-force outpatient clinic, in which I had to see twenty to thirty patients within a half day. Everyone is in a rush, and I am no different. After recent installation of dual monitor computer in my clinic, I could scan and call the second patient's name before I finished seeing the first patient. I've lost track of how many patients had entered my consultation room when it was still occupied by the previous patient.
"I've never been in your embarrassing situation, because I never multitask," my mentor shrugged, apropos of my dual monitor story.
I was thrown by this.
But it didn't take me long to figure out why I should not multitask.
An article published in Teaching and Teacher Education titled "The myths of the digital native and the multitasker" highlights that cognitive multitasking simply doesn't exist. What happens in reality is "task switching," indicative of a break in concentration. It strikes me that the human brain is single core; such architecture of cognitive system only allows for switching between different tasks. Switching between tasks, in turn, is not more efficient than carrying out one single task or a series of single tasks consecutively.
Psychological refractory period (bottleneck in switching tasks) is the key, interference the result, and shrinking productivity the ROI.
I used to be so. This is even more so when I was attending a true tour-de-force outpatient clinic, in which I had to see twenty to thirty patients within a half day. Everyone is in a rush, and I am no different. After recent installation of dual monitor computer in my clinic, I could scan and call the second patient's name before I finished seeing the first patient. I've lost track of how many patients had entered my consultation room when it was still occupied by the previous patient.
"I've never been in your embarrassing situation, because I never multitask," my mentor shrugged, apropos of my dual monitor story.
I was thrown by this.
But it didn't take me long to figure out why I should not multitask.
An article published in Teaching and Teacher Education titled "The myths of the digital native and the multitasker" highlights that cognitive multitasking simply doesn't exist. What happens in reality is "task switching," indicative of a break in concentration. It strikes me that the human brain is single core; such architecture of cognitive system only allows for switching between different tasks. Switching between tasks, in turn, is not more efficient than carrying out one single task or a series of single tasks consecutively.
Psychological refractory period (bottleneck in switching tasks) is the key, interference the result, and shrinking productivity the ROI.
Monday, May 28, 2018
God rejse
Danish hygge has become a genre unto itself, as The Little Book of Hygge: The Danish Way to Live Well turns into a bestseller.
While there is hardly an English equivalent for the Danish word hygge, we can simply feel it, and forget about its translation. An oft-quoted idea of hygge is a bike ride in the pouring rain with a candle on the heads. Or eating cakes.
To coin my own way of hygge from scratch, I grabbed my running shoes right after waking up at six today. More hobby than workout, and more pleasure than chore, running in Copenhagen is simply something I heartily recommend myself for hygginess. As I weaved through the scenic trails in the park, I didn't keep track of my pace, learning to make peace with the natural environment instead of the stats.
The park is lively, picturesque, and makes me feel hygge. I saw many birds, and funnily enough, quite a lot of snails. To make sure we're feeling hygge, I didn't broach the subject who's running faster. I ran past a snail, reminding myself not to step on the creature, and sped up.
It wasn't long before I met another animal. A deer. I rubbed my eyes. A wild deer. And then it struck me like a revelation. Running together with a wild deer, obviously, is an instant hygge.
While there is hardly an English equivalent for the Danish word hygge, we can simply feel it, and forget about its translation. An oft-quoted idea of hygge is a bike ride in the pouring rain with a candle on the heads. Or eating cakes.
To coin my own way of hygge from scratch, I grabbed my running shoes right after waking up at six today. More hobby than workout, and more pleasure than chore, running in Copenhagen is simply something I heartily recommend myself for hygginess. As I weaved through the scenic trails in the park, I didn't keep track of my pace, learning to make peace with the natural environment instead of the stats.
The park is lively, picturesque, and makes me feel hygge. I saw many birds, and funnily enough, quite a lot of snails. To make sure we're feeling hygge, I didn't broach the subject who's running faster. I ran past a snail, reminding myself not to step on the creature, and sped up.
It wasn't long before I met another animal. A deer. I rubbed my eyes. A wild deer. And then it struck me like a revelation. Running together with a wild deer, obviously, is an instant hygge.
Sunday, May 27, 2018
Meal
If I were to choose a meal to skip it would be the lunch.
If anything, breakfast should be the last one out.
To understand how breakfast gets in the way of keeping us healthy, we should take a look at the scholarly medical literature. A growing body of evidence shows that breakfast has important effect on the expression of "clock genes" that regulate our body's post-meal glucose and insulin responses. The field of body's inner clock, including molecular mechanisms controlling our circadian rhythm, is in fact the subject of this year's Nobel Prize for Medicine.
The case for a breakfast has been elegantly demonstrated by a Tel Aviv University study, in which 18 healthy volunteers and 18 obese diabetes volunteers took part in a test day featuring breakfast and lunch, and then a separate day featuring only lunch. In both healthy and diabetic subjects, having breakfast jump-starts specific "clock genes" that lead to better glucose control and more efficient weight loss. Breakfast skipping, on the other hand, has dire consequences on the clock-controlled gene expression.
In short, breakfast is indeed the most important meal of the day.
For many, it's often well-nigh necessary to have three meals to keep the brains well-stoked all day. I'm not so sure. From time to time, lunch slows me down, rather than speeding me up. I had raw carrots for lunch before my running yesterday, for example, and ended up cursing it for the stomachache during the race. I tried sandwich today but could not beat the post-lunch slump during the medical conference. In the end, I should probably skip lunch to get away from the dip, I told myself.
If anything, breakfast should be the last one out.
To understand how breakfast gets in the way of keeping us healthy, we should take a look at the scholarly medical literature. A growing body of evidence shows that breakfast has important effect on the expression of "clock genes" that regulate our body's post-meal glucose and insulin responses. The field of body's inner clock, including molecular mechanisms controlling our circadian rhythm, is in fact the subject of this year's Nobel Prize for Medicine.
The case for a breakfast has been elegantly demonstrated by a Tel Aviv University study, in which 18 healthy volunteers and 18 obese diabetes volunteers took part in a test day featuring breakfast and lunch, and then a separate day featuring only lunch. In both healthy and diabetic subjects, having breakfast jump-starts specific "clock genes" that lead to better glucose control and more efficient weight loss. Breakfast skipping, on the other hand, has dire consequences on the clock-controlled gene expression.
In short, breakfast is indeed the most important meal of the day.
For many, it's often well-nigh necessary to have three meals to keep the brains well-stoked all day. I'm not so sure. From time to time, lunch slows me down, rather than speeding me up. I had raw carrots for lunch before my running yesterday, for example, and ended up cursing it for the stomachache during the race. I tried sandwich today but could not beat the post-lunch slump during the medical conference. In the end, I should probably skip lunch to get away from the dip, I told myself.
Saturday, May 26, 2018
Run
When it comes to attending overseas conference, I'm basically a philistine butt-in-chair nerd. But here at Copenhagen - where I joined a four-day meeting in the field of kidney disease - the city is so attractive that it's called the world's most livable one.
One of the biggest temptations is the urge to sneak out and discover the city, unlocking the recipe for the Danes being ranked the world's most contented people. I'm lucky to learn about the official 5-km running race as part of the conference activity. That being the case, my running away from the lectures would seem to be more legitimate.
I joined the run without second thought. How can I resist it? Copenhagen, I'd been told, is a great city to be explored in a pair of running shoes. The running route, just a stone's throw away from the conference venue, turns out to be one of the most scenic ones in this capital city. Immediately after crossing the finish line, I told myself, "I better make sure to wake up an hour earlier tomorrow and come back to have another lap. An absolute must."
One of the biggest temptations is the urge to sneak out and discover the city, unlocking the recipe for the Danes being ranked the world's most contented people. I'm lucky to learn about the official 5-km running race as part of the conference activity. That being the case, my running away from the lectures would seem to be more legitimate.
I joined the run without second thought. How can I resist it? Copenhagen, I'd been told, is a great city to be explored in a pair of running shoes. The running route, just a stone's throw away from the conference venue, turns out to be one of the most scenic ones in this capital city. Immediately after crossing the finish line, I told myself, "I better make sure to wake up an hour earlier tomorrow and come back to have another lap. An absolute must."
Sunday, April 29, 2018
Marathon
Most "important" books aren't much fun to read. Most fun books aren't very important. But there is always exception. When: The Scientific Secrets of Perfect Timing by Daniel Pink is exactly the case.
That's a book I'd waited for four months before my turn to borrow from the public library. And to be finished within two weeks, for that matter, before the due date. As it turned out, I learned so much from this book within two weeks. Nothing complicated. Nothing difficult. But completely fun. And practical.
I expect you want an example? Of course you do.
So often in my day-to-day conversation about running I was asked when it's my plan to lace up my shoes and run a marathon. I reacted the way I reacted to filing a tax return - sooner or later I'll do it.
I haven't yet.
It suddenly dawned on me, after reading Pink's chapter on Endings, that the last year of a life decade could have been the answer. I was introduced to Red Hong Yi (an artist who ran her first marathon when she was twenty-nine years old), Jeremy Medding (a diamond businessman who ran his when he was thirty-nine), Cindy Bishop (a lawyer who ran her first marathon at age forty-nine), Andy Morozovsky (a zoologist who had never run anywhere close to 26.2 miles until he'd turned fifty-nine).
Notice their age: twenty-nine, thirty-nine, thirty-nine, fifty-nine.
The best illustration of "9-enders" aiming to search for meaning before another new decade in chronological age, in fact, comes from a study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. In an analysis of the age at which 500 athletes ran their first marathon, the 9-enders are overrepresented by a whopping 48 percent. What is the most likely age for us to run the first marathon? That's twenty-nine. (I'm out, okay, I know.) Twenty-nine-year-olds were about twice as likely to run a marathon as twenty-eight-year-olds or thirty-year-olds.
What next? That's forty-nine. Someone who's forty-nine (I shall wait for that, I guess) is about three times more likely to run a marathon than someone who's just a year older.
That's a book I'd waited for four months before my turn to borrow from the public library. And to be finished within two weeks, for that matter, before the due date. As it turned out, I learned so much from this book within two weeks. Nothing complicated. Nothing difficult. But completely fun. And practical.
I expect you want an example? Of course you do.
So often in my day-to-day conversation about running I was asked when it's my plan to lace up my shoes and run a marathon. I reacted the way I reacted to filing a tax return - sooner or later I'll do it.
I haven't yet.
It suddenly dawned on me, after reading Pink's chapter on Endings, that the last year of a life decade could have been the answer. I was introduced to Red Hong Yi (an artist who ran her first marathon when she was twenty-nine years old), Jeremy Medding (a diamond businessman who ran his when he was thirty-nine), Cindy Bishop (a lawyer who ran her first marathon at age forty-nine), Andy Morozovsky (a zoologist who had never run anywhere close to 26.2 miles until he'd turned fifty-nine).
Notice their age: twenty-nine, thirty-nine, thirty-nine, fifty-nine.
The best illustration of "9-enders" aiming to search for meaning before another new decade in chronological age, in fact, comes from a study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. In an analysis of the age at which 500 athletes ran their first marathon, the 9-enders are overrepresented by a whopping 48 percent. What is the most likely age for us to run the first marathon? That's twenty-nine. (I'm out, okay, I know.) Twenty-nine-year-olds were about twice as likely to run a marathon as twenty-eight-year-olds or thirty-year-olds.
What next? That's forty-nine. Someone who's forty-nine (I shall wait for that, I guess) is about three times more likely to run a marathon than someone who's just a year older.
Friday, April 13, 2018
Albert River
Kids love water theme parks. Adults too. But after indulging in another plunge down yet another nautical plastic tube you might find yourself justifiably itching for something a little more authentic.
That's exactly what we did at Gold Coast Hinterlands this week. That means untamed destination where we can get a thrill from the water while still being at one with nature. During our farm stay, we had picnic lunch at Albert River, blending traditions with frenzied fun. There was no fast food shop (where price can jump crazily high at theme park) but prepacked sandwiches. There wasn't bracelet for day pass either, because we could play as many times as we wished in the wilderness. And no wonder. Few places on earth can match the natural beauty of a river in the lush forest.
When my daughter saw a rope tied on the treetop, her first impression was it should have belonged to Tarzan. Or flying fox. My eight-year-old dared not to try. Grabbing the string and swinging, and all the way splashing into the river: that's way too wild, and beyond her comfort zone.
Thankfully, the children around showed her the ropes (no pun intended). After watching their jumping poise - on par with athletes in the diving competition at the Commonwealth Games on the Gold Coast - my daughter was tempted to try her hand. She mustered strength of every muscle fibre to swing into the icy cold water, swam back to shore. One rope swing after another. A feat that I couldn't have imagined. By putting all of her energy into the diving rope, my daughter had played so many times she forgot to have her sandwich.
The feel-good effect of endorphin and adrenaline release is what my daughter finds most amazing. "Dad, you should have written a blog post on this highlight of our trip," Jasmine looked up at me, after scrolling through my blog.
And here I did.
That's exactly what we did at Gold Coast Hinterlands this week. That means untamed destination where we can get a thrill from the water while still being at one with nature. During our farm stay, we had picnic lunch at Albert River, blending traditions with frenzied fun. There was no fast food shop (where price can jump crazily high at theme park) but prepacked sandwiches. There wasn't bracelet for day pass either, because we could play as many times as we wished in the wilderness. And no wonder. Few places on earth can match the natural beauty of a river in the lush forest.
When my daughter saw a rope tied on the treetop, her first impression was it should have belonged to Tarzan. Or flying fox. My eight-year-old dared not to try. Grabbing the string and swinging, and all the way splashing into the river: that's way too wild, and beyond her comfort zone.
Thankfully, the children around showed her the ropes (no pun intended). After watching their jumping poise - on par with athletes in the diving competition at the Commonwealth Games on the Gold Coast - my daughter was tempted to try her hand. She mustered strength of every muscle fibre to swing into the icy cold water, swam back to shore. One rope swing after another. A feat that I couldn't have imagined. By putting all of her energy into the diving rope, my daughter had played so many times she forgot to have her sandwich.
The feel-good effect of endorphin and adrenaline release is what my daughter finds most amazing. "Dad, you should have written a blog post on this highlight of our trip," Jasmine looked up at me, after scrolling through my blog.
And here I did.
Monday, April 9, 2018
Lamington
Many a time while traveling I would look for ecotour rather than entirely self-guided tour. This is one of the best ways to learn about the wildlife.
I was lucky enough to find one gifted guide to bring our family to Lamington National Park. One of those very rare, special nature buffs who are as knowledgeable as Sir David Attenborough. By the way, my guide's name happened to be David, too.
Following David is like joining a field trip aboard Miss Frizzle's Magic School Bus. We learned everything from remnants of subtropical rainforest some 50 million years ago (when Australia was still part of Gondwana), to the whereabouts of our lost blue pegs and blue bottle tops (oh yes, they are pilfered by male satin bowerbirds to decorate their bowers for mating). It would have been impossible for us to find those blue "love hotels" ourselves at the World Heritage-listed national park.
On our way back, I asked David his major at university, and expected answers like biology or environmental science.
"No, I didn't study them at university. I know all these out of my own interest. The key is to have genuine interest in a subject, and not a major in the subject," David added.
I was lucky enough to find one gifted guide to bring our family to Lamington National Park. One of those very rare, special nature buffs who are as knowledgeable as Sir David Attenborough. By the way, my guide's name happened to be David, too.
Following David is like joining a field trip aboard Miss Frizzle's Magic School Bus. We learned everything from remnants of subtropical rainforest some 50 million years ago (when Australia was still part of Gondwana), to the whereabouts of our lost blue pegs and blue bottle tops (oh yes, they are pilfered by male satin bowerbirds to decorate their bowers for mating). It would have been impossible for us to find those blue "love hotels" ourselves at the World Heritage-listed national park.
On our way back, I asked David his major at university, and expected answers like biology or environmental science.
"No, I didn't study them at university. I know all these out of my own interest. The key is to have genuine interest in a subject, and not a major in the subject," David added.
Sunday, April 8, 2018
Rein
Our family is grateful to have farm stay vacation in the Gold Coast Hinterland this week. There's no shortage of entertaining activities for my daughter. Plenty of domestic and wildlife. And of course horse riding is always the winner.
That reminds me of The Naughtiest Girl books, in which Whyteleafe School allows students to keep pets, and even horses. After a second-term student Robert has promised not to be a bully, he is allowed to choose two horses under his special care, feeding them, grooming them, and helping younger children to ride them.
We aren't as skillful as Robert, of course. As a novice, I simply enjoyed the leisure ride around the picturesque field, ambling at a relaxed pace. I didn't even mind to have my grass-snatcher horse munching here and grabbing a bite there. I know I should have pulled the rein and stopped my horse from eating on the trail, but I didn't.
Isn't it the way to bring up our children? Pulling the rein too tight, and we lose rather than gain control. Think about Whyteleafe School, where the children make their own rules, hold their weekly meetings to hear grumbles and complaints, discuss and solve problems themselves. I can think of no better example of self-discipline.
That reminds me of The Naughtiest Girl books, in which Whyteleafe School allows students to keep pets, and even horses. After a second-term student Robert has promised not to be a bully, he is allowed to choose two horses under his special care, feeding them, grooming them, and helping younger children to ride them.
We aren't as skillful as Robert, of course. As a novice, I simply enjoyed the leisure ride around the picturesque field, ambling at a relaxed pace. I didn't even mind to have my grass-snatcher horse munching here and grabbing a bite there. I know I should have pulled the rein and stopped my horse from eating on the trail, but I didn't.
Isn't it the way to bring up our children? Pulling the rein too tight, and we lose rather than gain control. Think about Whyteleafe School, where the children make their own rules, hold their weekly meetings to hear grumbles and complaints, discuss and solve problems themselves. I can think of no better example of self-discipline.
Sunday, April 1, 2018
Nĭhăo Beijing
I attended a conference at Beijing this week. It's not something I usually do, but I'd been lucky enough to be invited to give lectures there.
My last visit to the capital city of China was 28 years ago (if I didn't count another short conference trip of mine 8 years back). How times have changed. The toughest antismoking legislation in 2015 has been impressive enough to give us essentially smoke-free environment, I must say. The smog isn't diminishing, though.
"Be forewarned. Air quality can be a problem," so says Lonely Planet. On the day after arrival, I was cautioned by the hotel concierge that I'd better run at indoor gym. That said, I tried to bring my camera and walk my shoes off around my hotel, without wearing a smog mask. That's fine as long as I don't take picture of the (relentlessly gloomy) sky.
Still, most of my photos turned out to have a tinge of yellow tone. When I first saw the pictures on my camera screen, I rolled my eyes. On second thought, I realized it made perfect sense. My camera, I suspected, is smart enough to pick up all the PM10 and PM2.5 particles, even without checking the National Meteorological Center's blue alert for Beijing's sandstorm. Jiùmìng!
My last visit to the capital city of China was 28 years ago (if I didn't count another short conference trip of mine 8 years back). How times have changed. The toughest antismoking legislation in 2015 has been impressive enough to give us essentially smoke-free environment, I must say. The smog isn't diminishing, though.
"Be forewarned. Air quality can be a problem," so says Lonely Planet. On the day after arrival, I was cautioned by the hotel concierge that I'd better run at indoor gym. That said, I tried to bring my camera and walk my shoes off around my hotel, without wearing a smog mask. That's fine as long as I don't take picture of the (relentlessly gloomy) sky.
Still, most of my photos turned out to have a tinge of yellow tone. When I first saw the pictures on my camera screen, I rolled my eyes. On second thought, I realized it made perfect sense. My camera, I suspected, is smart enough to pick up all the PM10 and PM2.5 particles, even without checking the National Meteorological Center's blue alert for Beijing's sandstorm. Jiùmìng!
Family Doctor
It is difficult to conceive of the sin of a doctor whose father died from an undetected blood clot traveling from his leg to the lung. This happened when his doctor son was thousands of miles away. But Dr. Phillip Lerner was suffering from such guilt. Tempting as it is to brush aside
the responsibility to the surgeon who operated on a groin hernia, actually it is Dr. Lerner who took his father's death harder than anyone. The thing that bothered Dr. Lerner most was that his father had a hernia repaired on the other side a few weeks before the final operation. The second hernia was not discovered until a postoperative check.
Those of us working as doctors and looking after family members had a sense that we should be doctoring our family, and we were. De facto. This is mentioned in a book written by Dr. Lerner's son. Entitled The Good Doctor, the book is filled with moving accounts of how Dr. Lerner lived up to his duty as a revered clinician at the same time of looking after family.
The situation becomes terrible, of course, when things go wrong. Here's why: Dr. Lerner wondered if the second hernia had been there all along. "If I'd found out that’s the case, my daddy would have had only one operation to fix both of them. If that had happened, he might not have died." Not surprisingly, he never forgave himself for urging his father to get the second hernia operation. "Perhaps the clot formed because my daddy had undergone two operations within such a short time."
For reasons I cannot remember, my mentor confided in similar view and believed that he was to blame for his father's death from pulmonary embolism, too. Like so many other doctors, I asked my daddy come to see me when he mentioned low back pain for recent three weeks. I don't know if my father is proud of what his son dares to do – to take charge when illness hits home – but I know I am.
Those of us working as doctors and looking after family members had a sense that we should be doctoring our family, and we were. De facto. This is mentioned in a book written by Dr. Lerner's son. Entitled The Good Doctor, the book is filled with moving accounts of how Dr. Lerner lived up to his duty as a revered clinician at the same time of looking after family.
The situation becomes terrible, of course, when things go wrong. Here's why: Dr. Lerner wondered if the second hernia had been there all along. "If I'd found out that’s the case, my daddy would have had only one operation to fix both of them. If that had happened, he might not have died." Not surprisingly, he never forgave himself for urging his father to get the second hernia operation. "Perhaps the clot formed because my daddy had undergone two operations within such a short time."
For reasons I cannot remember, my mentor confided in similar view and believed that he was to blame for his father's death from pulmonary embolism, too. Like so many other doctors, I asked my daddy come to see me when he mentioned low back pain for recent three weeks. I don't know if my father is proud of what his son dares to do – to take charge when illness hits home – but I know I am.
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Dare
Think about the last time you watched an action thriller drama about someone being taken hostage, scissors on her throat, close to being stabbed to death. You probably agree that a psychologist is better than tear gas under such circumstances.
To call the psychologist's job difficult at this turn of harrowing event is a serious understatement. Removing the threat of a violent guy is as ghastly as a dental check for crocodiles. If I told you George is a psychologist asked to take up this job when he had just come out of graduate school, would that pique your interest? Perhaps you'd be interested to know how he handled such high-stakes situation. That's the anecdote I read in the first chapter of Care to Dare by George Kohlrieser.
Read the book and you'll see how George's boss unleashed his potential through secure base leadership. In short, it's a fine balance between caring and daring. Too much caring and there will be overprotection; too much daring will then lose sight of building trust. In fact, I was preparing for the appraisal by my hospital chief yesterday when I read about those who have been "taken hostage" by a boss to achieve results in the form of numbers, targets or key performance indicators. For that matter, I am to this day in gratitude to having a leader who cares to dare (me).
Read the book and you'll see how George's boss unleashed his potential through secure base leadership. In short, it's a fine balance between caring and daring. Too much caring and there will be overprotection; too much daring will then lose sight of building trust. In fact, I was preparing for the appraisal by my hospital chief yesterday when I read about those who have been "taken hostage" by a boss to achieve results in the form of numbers, targets or key performance indicators. For that matter, I am to this day in gratitude to having a leader who cares to dare (me).
Saturday, March 17, 2018
Organized
We have information overload. So much so that we forget things like the password to our Facebook account, the PIN for our credit card, the digital door code of the loo at workplace - for goodness' sake, no laughing matter when there is a pressing need.
The need for taking charge of our memory cabinet has never been greater. My brain seems to be shrinking inversely proportional to the explosion of job items. In short, I'm forgetting more things than I remember.
One good explanation is that our brain's memory system, according to neuroscientist Daniel J. Levitin, resembles a big, old house with piecemeal renovation. We simply add things one thing at a time, as and when we need them. A haphazard hodgepodge of different things, each one solving a problem at a different time.
That's what I learned after picking up the reserved book The Organized Mind at the public library today. An obvious take-away, after reading its first chapter, is to think of better filing systems to retrieve information. By the time I entered this book in the Goodreads - my cabinet system - I then realized that I have already finished reading it over two years ago.
As I reflected on the ridiculously disorganized memory cabinet of mine, it is hard not to be struck by the irony.
The need for taking charge of our memory cabinet has never been greater. My brain seems to be shrinking inversely proportional to the explosion of job items. In short, I'm forgetting more things than I remember.
One good explanation is that our brain's memory system, according to neuroscientist Daniel J. Levitin, resembles a big, old house with piecemeal renovation. We simply add things one thing at a time, as and when we need them. A haphazard hodgepodge of different things, each one solving a problem at a different time.
That's what I learned after picking up the reserved book The Organized Mind at the public library today. An obvious take-away, after reading its first chapter, is to think of better filing systems to retrieve information. By the time I entered this book in the Goodreads - my cabinet system - I then realized that I have already finished reading it over two years ago.
As I reflected on the ridiculously disorganized memory cabinet of mine, it is hard not to be struck by the irony.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
Tree
“Daddy, I don't quite understand this story,” my daughter looked nonplussed after reading Britta Teckentrup's The Memory Tree.
The story seems so very, very surreal and metaphorical.
Set in a snowy winter, the book's beginning has the death scene of Fox. One by one, Fox's animal friends in the forest came to recall the precious moments with him. Owl talked about how they raced to see who could catch more falling leaves. Bear reminisced the day when Fox looked after her cubs. And, in the morning, a small tree grew in the clearing where Fox took his last breath.
“Oh yes. That's an obituary (and this was the first time she heard this big word), and the tree is a symbol of leaving a legacy behind when we die.”
The tree is as much as it is part of the forest, as much connected to the animals, in celebration of life and the memories that live on, as it is to do with sheltering all the animals and giving strength to the branches that hold the birds' nests.
While I don't think the topic is easy for an eight-year-old to grasp, I have to say it's also the first time for me to write obituary today. When I think back about my friend who died 19 years after receiving his heart transplant, I see a similar tree left behind, going to grow higher and higher, buzzing more and more with life. To those who like philosophy, this is the reverse of asking the clichéd question: if a tree falls in the forest and no one is present to hear it, does it make a sound? You could spend hours arguing for the riddle of toppling tree, but my obvious answer to someone whose work was anchored, his tree will be heard forever.
The story seems so very, very surreal and metaphorical.
Set in a snowy winter, the book's beginning has the death scene of Fox. One by one, Fox's animal friends in the forest came to recall the precious moments with him. Owl talked about how they raced to see who could catch more falling leaves. Bear reminisced the day when Fox looked after her cubs. And, in the morning, a small tree grew in the clearing where Fox took his last breath.
“Oh yes. That's an obituary (and this was the first time she heard this big word), and the tree is a symbol of leaving a legacy behind when we die.”
The tree is as much as it is part of the forest, as much connected to the animals, in celebration of life and the memories that live on, as it is to do with sheltering all the animals and giving strength to the branches that hold the birds' nests.
While I don't think the topic is easy for an eight-year-old to grasp, I have to say it's also the first time for me to write obituary today. When I think back about my friend who died 19 years after receiving his heart transplant, I see a similar tree left behind, going to grow higher and higher, buzzing more and more with life. To those who like philosophy, this is the reverse of asking the clichéd question: if a tree falls in the forest and no one is present to hear it, does it make a sound? You could spend hours arguing for the riddle of toppling tree, but my obvious answer to someone whose work was anchored, his tree will be heard forever.
Monday, February 26, 2018
Fatherhood
It's not just mums who end in a funny mess with child care. We dads can have a tough job when mums are busy elsewhere.
To understand my situation today, try a simple mental exercise. Think about what it would feel like to prepare my daughter for school when my wife has been occupied with an early morning operation. Come to think about my domestic maid who has also left. Dads of the world - count me in please - can make neither decent lunch box nor ponytail for their daughters. I hadn’t worried about my ponytail skill - or lack thereof - said about me as a dad, but I just knew my daughter wished it was her mum doing her hair. Pretty challenging, right?
Wait a minute, I hear you say. Isn't it good to have taken a half day off to prepare for picking up your daughter in the afternoon? I did. Ah, it's a good plan that can go awry. I received a phone call from the school bus nanny in the morning, way before my scheduled leave in the afternoon, and was told that my daughter threw up on the way to school.
Watch out. The washing machine had leaking water all over the floor at home too. Not a joke. A host of exciting jobs for a dad.
Moments later I reminded myself a recent report from medical journal The Lancet Public Health: the first head-to-head comparison found that single fathers had three-times higher mortality than rates in single mothers and partnered fathers. I went to washroom to splash my face with cool water. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened them, I congratulated myself for not being a single dad. In an instant I felt better, much better than those poor single dads.
To understand my situation today, try a simple mental exercise. Think about what it would feel like to prepare my daughter for school when my wife has been occupied with an early morning operation. Come to think about my domestic maid who has also left. Dads of the world - count me in please - can make neither decent lunch box nor ponytail for their daughters. I hadn’t worried about my ponytail skill - or lack thereof - said about me as a dad, but I just knew my daughter wished it was her mum doing her hair. Pretty challenging, right?
Wait a minute, I hear you say. Isn't it good to have taken a half day off to prepare for picking up your daughter in the afternoon? I did. Ah, it's a good plan that can go awry. I received a phone call from the school bus nanny in the morning, way before my scheduled leave in the afternoon, and was told that my daughter threw up on the way to school.
Watch out. The washing machine had leaking water all over the floor at home too. Not a joke. A host of exciting jobs for a dad.
Moments later I reminded myself a recent report from medical journal The Lancet Public Health: the first head-to-head comparison found that single fathers had three-times higher mortality than rates in single mothers and partnered fathers. I went to washroom to splash my face with cool water. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I opened them, I congratulated myself for not being a single dad. In an instant I felt better, much better than those poor single dads.
Friday, February 23, 2018
Olympics
Thanks to the timing of our Karuizawa ski trip this year, our family have been watching the Winter Olympics much more often than before.
This also gives me a great chance to teach my daughter how the Olympic ceremony director Konstantin Ernst owned up to his mistake four years ago. The Russians faced international mockery after a technical glitch during the opening ceremonies of the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics, when one of the five snowflake-like figures of the Olympic ring failed to unfold. For illustration purpose, YouTube watching is the best way for replay of that embarrassing moment.
Imagine that you're Konstantin Ernst. And, hey, Vladimir Putin is looking over your shoulder. Even my eight-year-old daughter (without an iota of idea about Putin) knows what I mean. She was amazed when I told her how the ceremony director reclaimed or reappropriated the blot. Come what may, Konstantin Ernst decided not to let his ego stand in his way.
Here is what Konstantin Ernst did. In the closing ceremony, a group of dancers stayed tightly packed together when the rest of them recreated the Olympic rings. This joke, in effect, replicated the four-out-of-five Olympic ring motif of the faulty snowflake from the opening ceremonies. The audience loved it. They laughed, and my daughter applauded.
This also gives me a great chance to teach my daughter how the Olympic ceremony director Konstantin Ernst owned up to his mistake four years ago. The Russians faced international mockery after a technical glitch during the opening ceremonies of the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics, when one of the five snowflake-like figures of the Olympic ring failed to unfold. For illustration purpose, YouTube watching is the best way for replay of that embarrassing moment.
Imagine that you're Konstantin Ernst. And, hey, Vladimir Putin is looking over your shoulder. Even my eight-year-old daughter (without an iota of idea about Putin) knows what I mean. She was amazed when I told her how the ceremony director reclaimed or reappropriated the blot. Come what may, Konstantin Ernst decided not to let his ego stand in his way.
Here is what Konstantin Ernst did. In the closing ceremony, a group of dancers stayed tightly packed together when the rest of them recreated the Olympic rings. This joke, in effect, replicated the four-out-of-five Olympic ring motif of the faulty snowflake from the opening ceremonies. The audience loved it. They laughed, and my daughter applauded.
Tuesday, February 20, 2018
Influence
We have heard about the way parents shape a child's development. Well, it turns out that the other way round applies. The relationship is two-sided; parents and children shape each other.
No surprise then my daughter also changes the style of my holiday. Little did I imagine booking a ski resort before, not to mention taking a ski lesson myself. As soon as I knew our daughter's craving for skiing, I made up my mind that I'd better learn a knack for the sport, and take her with me on the chairlift.
The first thing I quickly learned during our Karuizawa family ski trip is the joy of influencing each other. As equally fascinating as zooming downhill, the private time for two of us talking with each other during the chairlift is precious. We talked about everything, but the best bit of conversation was how she thanked me for bringing her up as a bookworm. If anything, she wants us to be even more bookishly bookworm family. Like so many, many trips before this one, we have brought a truckload of books. The oldest one, in case you're interested, is The Naughtiest Girl Again by Enid Blyton, first published in 1940.
No surprise then my daughter also changes the style of my holiday. Little did I imagine booking a ski resort before, not to mention taking a ski lesson myself. As soon as I knew our daughter's craving for skiing, I made up my mind that I'd better learn a knack for the sport, and take her with me on the chairlift.
The first thing I quickly learned during our Karuizawa family ski trip is the joy of influencing each other. As equally fascinating as zooming downhill, the private time for two of us talking with each other during the chairlift is precious. We talked about everything, but the best bit of conversation was how she thanked me for bringing her up as a bookworm. If anything, she wants us to be even more bookishly bookworm family. Like so many, many trips before this one, we have brought a truckload of books. The oldest one, in case you're interested, is The Naughtiest Girl Again by Enid Blyton, first published in 1940.
Sunday, February 11, 2018
Recollection
One of my most vibrant parenthood memories is the sensation I'd have when I cradled my newborn in my arms.
And as much fun as it is now to go bike riding with my eight-year-old, there's an equal thrill in revisiting beloved moments at her newborn or toddler stage. Yesterday, a photograph popped up from the camera roll of the Facebook "On This Day" feature, reminding us of the very first time we took our daughter to Shatin Central Park on our own.
That picture of our two-month-old girl in mom's lap is easier to recall than those with minimal or mundane associations (for instance, the 123rd errand to buy diapers). Still, the picture itself is a profound reminder for me and my wife, the way an action potential firing magic spark across a synapse. There simply is no way to scroll down the Facebook News Feed and not be awestruck by the autobiographical memory.
If you don't have time to visit Facebook that often, an occasional detour to its time machine named "On This Day" is well worth exploring.
And as much fun as it is now to go bike riding with my eight-year-old, there's an equal thrill in revisiting beloved moments at her newborn or toddler stage. Yesterday, a photograph popped up from the camera roll of the Facebook "On This Day" feature, reminding us of the very first time we took our daughter to Shatin Central Park on our own.
That picture of our two-month-old girl in mom's lap is easier to recall than those with minimal or mundane associations (for instance, the 123rd errand to buy diapers). Still, the picture itself is a profound reminder for me and my wife, the way an action potential firing magic spark across a synapse. There simply is no way to scroll down the Facebook News Feed and not be awestruck by the autobiographical memory.
If you don't have time to visit Facebook that often, an occasional detour to its time machine named "On This Day" is well worth exploring.
Saturday, February 3, 2018
Marking
What happens when a student gets only 70% of the examination answers right but receives a score of 96?
I know this is a trick by assigning a total score of 137 instead of 100, now that I have read the book of the behavioural economist Richard Thaler, who had the temerity to let his students get a numerically higher score but the same grade. And that's not all, Thaler made a candid disclosure, printed in bold type, in his course syllabus: "Exams will have a total of 137 points rather than the usual 100. This scoring system has no effect on the grade you get in the course, but it seems to make you happier."
But ah - so what? All his students still felt happy. Alas, Thaler never got a complaint that his exams were too hard since then.
There is no way his students' reaction could be declared rational. One simple explanation is that humans are irrational. And we are.
To those of you who are addled why he chose the number 137, Thaler gives two good reasons. Ponder this: the average score will be most likely in the range of 90s, with some students even getting scores above 100. It doesn't take long to generate an ecstasy reaction. Second, his students won't bother to convert their scores into percentage when dividing one's score by 137 isn't that easy to do in one's head.
To follow the example of Richard Thaler, I should perhaps make a statement too: "For those of you who have been unhappy with the scores, please don't read this blog. Lest you become less happy from learning about my new way of allocating total score, please forget what I've written."
I know this is a trick by assigning a total score of 137 instead of 100, now that I have read the book of the behavioural economist Richard Thaler, who had the temerity to let his students get a numerically higher score but the same grade. And that's not all, Thaler made a candid disclosure, printed in bold type, in his course syllabus: "Exams will have a total of 137 points rather than the usual 100. This scoring system has no effect on the grade you get in the course, but it seems to make you happier."
But ah - so what? All his students still felt happy. Alas, Thaler never got a complaint that his exams were too hard since then.
There is no way his students' reaction could be declared rational. One simple explanation is that humans are irrational. And we are.
To those of you who are addled why he chose the number 137, Thaler gives two good reasons. Ponder this: the average score will be most likely in the range of 90s, with some students even getting scores above 100. It doesn't take long to generate an ecstasy reaction. Second, his students won't bother to convert their scores into percentage when dividing one's score by 137 isn't that easy to do in one's head.
To follow the example of Richard Thaler, I should perhaps make a statement too: "For those of you who have been unhappy with the scores, please don't read this blog. Lest you become less happy from learning about my new way of allocating total score, please forget what I've written."
Thursday, January 25, 2018
Jettison
"I have such a stressful job that the only way I can get it out of my mind is by running hard."
If this is your first time reading this quote, let me tell you it's from Alan Turing. I decided to follow his advice to run tonight.
It is perhaps not surprising that I feel stressful when my department is operating at 130% of maximal capacity, foreseeing an as-yet-undetermined higher record. What just happened in my brain is an overloaded boat on the brink of sinking. The natural response is to jettison as much as cargo I can. Not the simple tidying chore, but the hysterical throwing overboard of everything. Everything. I knew I did this when I opened my laptop and found absolutely no documents this afternoon. Let me repeat that: I found nothing; all computer files had disappeared. My heart sank.
I breathed in. I breathed out. For five minutes I refused to believe it. I thought high and low, trying to make Hansel and Gretel-esque trails for the whereabouts of my files. I rummaged through the computer and recycle bin in the hope that I might find my documents. Zilch. My conclusion: I must have been so mad that I deleted the folders at one fell swoop, followed by jettisoning the recycle bin. I lost my marbles, and then my files. You would have to be a total curmudgeon to have such a silly snafu. So much so that Alan Turing can't help at all.
And maybe it's just a signal for me to take a break, run home and retrieve my files from another laptop of mine.
If this is your first time reading this quote, let me tell you it's from Alan Turing. I decided to follow his advice to run tonight.
It is perhaps not surprising that I feel stressful when my department is operating at 130% of maximal capacity, foreseeing an as-yet-undetermined higher record. What just happened in my brain is an overloaded boat on the brink of sinking. The natural response is to jettison as much as cargo I can. Not the simple tidying chore, but the hysterical throwing overboard of everything. Everything. I knew I did this when I opened my laptop and found absolutely no documents this afternoon. Let me repeat that: I found nothing; all computer files had disappeared. My heart sank.
I breathed in. I breathed out. For five minutes I refused to believe it. I thought high and low, trying to make Hansel and Gretel-esque trails for the whereabouts of my files. I rummaged through the computer and recycle bin in the hope that I might find my documents. Zilch. My conclusion: I must have been so mad that I deleted the folders at one fell swoop, followed by jettisoning the recycle bin. I lost my marbles, and then my files. You would have to be a total curmudgeon to have such a silly snafu. So much so that Alan Turing can't help at all.
And maybe it's just a signal for me to take a break, run home and retrieve my files from another laptop of mine.
Saturday, January 20, 2018
Motivate
If your New Year's resolution was to exercise more but you haven't been sticking with it, don't sweat - the medal of self-control isn't that straightforward.
I'm talking about the cycle of forgetting resolutions that we have experienced over the years. This is common to all of us in ways small and large. There's, of course, the lesson of keeping the true north in mind. To paraphrase Stephen Covey, begin with the end in mind. Little do we realize that instant gratification is more useful to motivate ourselves than long-term goal. Instead of fantasizing the health benefit like longevity, we should focus on an immediate payoff of exercise. What's important to nudge myself to exercise is that I can readily find its value.
Think about my experience this weekend, when my routine is to borrow a book to share with my daughter on her way to gymnastics class. I checked out 12 Great Tips on Writing Poetry today, and much to my surprise, my daughter finished the book quicker than I'd expected.
"Daddy, can you find the next one for me: 12 Great Tips on Writing Fiction?"
The easiest answer would be taking taxi to borrow that book, yet a little homunculus in my head continued to jump up and down, shouting at me - "but I should take the errand as a chance to exercise." I reasoned that my tight jeans (and equally tight schedule) won't be that good for running. My back-up plan is to figure out a game: head to library by taxi and then unlock a GoBee bike for return trip, trying to beat the time of taxi ride with a bike that cost me one-tenth of the taxi fare.
I don't think there's anything I find more blissful than such simple way of keeping my momentum to exercise.
I'm talking about the cycle of forgetting resolutions that we have experienced over the years. This is common to all of us in ways small and large. There's, of course, the lesson of keeping the true north in mind. To paraphrase Stephen Covey, begin with the end in mind. Little do we realize that instant gratification is more useful to motivate ourselves than long-term goal. Instead of fantasizing the health benefit like longevity, we should focus on an immediate payoff of exercise. What's important to nudge myself to exercise is that I can readily find its value.
Think about my experience this weekend, when my routine is to borrow a book to share with my daughter on her way to gymnastics class. I checked out 12 Great Tips on Writing Poetry today, and much to my surprise, my daughter finished the book quicker than I'd expected.
"Daddy, can you find the next one for me: 12 Great Tips on Writing Fiction?"
The easiest answer would be taking taxi to borrow that book, yet a little homunculus in my head continued to jump up and down, shouting at me - "but I should take the errand as a chance to exercise." I reasoned that my tight jeans (and equally tight schedule) won't be that good for running. My back-up plan is to figure out a game: head to library by taxi and then unlock a GoBee bike for return trip, trying to beat the time of taxi ride with a bike that cost me one-tenth of the taxi fare.
I don't think there's anything I find more blissful than such simple way of keeping my momentum to exercise.
Friday, January 19, 2018
Footnotes
My knowledge in stock analysis is next to nothing.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, has renewed my interest in building (and checking) my portfolio more than my running workouts portfolio. Many apps have now automatically updated our portfolio with pie chart illustration of various running distance.
In much the same way as charts showing the movement of a stock's price over time, there are also graphs tracking the average pace. I can't recall any one-way direction of Dow Jones graph that resembles mine in terms of pace over time. At least that's what I've been achieving for the previous half year since I took up running. I try not to care too much about the results but a competitive gene is a difficult thing to ignore. I know.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, has renewed my interest in building (and checking) my portfolio more than my running workouts portfolio. Many apps have now automatically updated our portfolio with pie chart illustration of various running distance.
In much the same way as charts showing the movement of a stock's price over time, there are also graphs tracking the average pace. I can't recall any one-way direction of Dow Jones graph that resembles mine in terms of pace over time. At least that's what I've been achieving for the previous half year since I took up running. I try not to care too much about the results but a competitive gene is a difficult thing to ignore. I know.
Monday, January 8, 2018
Nudge
You're not alone if you do not know Richard Thaler.
Not anymore, after he has become the Nobel prize winner.
I came across his book Nudge in Time magazine almost ten years ago. The thought about checking out this book, nevertheless, didn't materialize. It seems like a good illustration of inertia. One of the reasons for my wish to learn more about nudge theory is my hospital chief's nudging three months ago. If there is a stronger driving force, it's the long waiting queue when I made reservation for Nudge at the public library system. I just could not believe that more than twenty people had been waiting for this book ahead of me.
The mere fact of scarcity drives us to desire the book even more. And the story that customers appear more attracted to restaurants with a long line waiting for a table illustrates similar psychology.
I'm pleased to have my turn (eventually) to borrow the book Nudge today. And there is an obvious catalyst for me to finish the book without delay: I won't be allowed to renew this book after two weeks, with the long queue of waiting behind me.
Not anymore, after he has become the Nobel prize winner.
I came across his book Nudge in Time magazine almost ten years ago. The thought about checking out this book, nevertheless, didn't materialize. It seems like a good illustration of inertia. One of the reasons for my wish to learn more about nudge theory is my hospital chief's nudging three months ago. If there is a stronger driving force, it's the long waiting queue when I made reservation for Nudge at the public library system. I just could not believe that more than twenty people had been waiting for this book ahead of me.
The mere fact of scarcity drives us to desire the book even more. And the story that customers appear more attracted to restaurants with a long line waiting for a table illustrates similar psychology.
I'm pleased to have my turn (eventually) to borrow the book Nudge today. And there is an obvious catalyst for me to finish the book without delay: I won't be allowed to renew this book after two weeks, with the long queue of waiting behind me.
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