If you find that you start a busy day that you lose your energy before the fag end of the day, that you don't ever bother remembering it, that you feel lost along the way, it may be that there is nothing at the end to cheer you up.
That end-of-the-day event probably feels like desserts, like ice-cream that we buy ourselves after hard work. You don't need a seven-course dessert. It may simply be a flickering moment of good bite at a candy. And then, you get your sense of humor back.
It was a busy Tuesday packed with activity and clinic sessions today. I was tired, but I kept awake long enough to finish the clinic and sign all the letters. Then I wrote to invite reviewers for a newly submitted journal manuscript. The rest - student assignments - I was forced to leave unchecked till tomorrow.
On my journey back home, I found that I had lost my voice. Still, one thing put me in the spirit to laugh. I went to the public library and borrowed Alison Jay's storybook The Nutcracker for my dear daughter. That is a great read for her after our recent watching of The Nutcracker ice skating performance. Jasmine was truly enchanted by the new book. Sitting on her mum's lap, Jamsine listened to the story, drew in her breath, as amazed as the story character Clara in the Sugar Plum Fairy. Before long, I forgot the day's hustle and bustle.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Priming
One day, a professor asked his student to his office. The student walked down a long corridor, came through the doorway, and met his professor.
"Look, this is a scrambled-sentence test. You can find a list of five-word sets in front of you. Your task is to resemble a grammatical four-word sentence as quickly as you can out of each set."
"Yes sir," the student's face lit up at the examination paper. "This is easy."
01 him was worried she always
02 from are Florida oranges temperature
03 ball the throw toss silently
04 shoes give replace old the
05 he observes occasionally people watches
06 be will sweat lonely they
07 sky the seamless gray is
08 should now withdraw forgetful we
09 us bingo sing play let
10 sunlight makes temperature wrinkle raisins
After a while the student finished the test like a piece of cake. He said goodbye to the professor, satisfied. It had never dawned on him that he walked out of the office and down the hall much more slowly than the way he walked in few minutes ago.
How so? That was hardly a difficult test, it seems, that could have made the student tired or frustrated to walk at such a slow pace. So it is perhaps surprising to find the same aftermath - slow pace - when the test was repeated in other students. Nobody could get the energy to walk fast. Ever. It was like falling down Alice's rabbit hole. One simply got weird and slow after the scrambled-sentence test.
Yes, it is possible, and the odds can be calculated quite precisely, according to the psychologist John Bargh, when you take a closer look at the words. See? Words like "worried," "old," "lonely," "gray," and "wrinkle" are scattered all around to prime our brains about being old. The exercise, as it turns out, is never meant to be a language test. The unconscious exposure to the priming words simply make one act old and become slow. Easy enough.
"Look, this is a scrambled-sentence test. You can find a list of five-word sets in front of you. Your task is to resemble a grammatical four-word sentence as quickly as you can out of each set."
"Yes sir," the student's face lit up at the examination paper. "This is easy."
01 him was worried she always
02 from are Florida oranges temperature
03 ball the throw toss silently
04 shoes give replace old the
05 he observes occasionally people watches
06 be will sweat lonely they
07 sky the seamless gray is
08 should now withdraw forgetful we
09 us bingo sing play let
10 sunlight makes temperature wrinkle raisins
After a while the student finished the test like a piece of cake. He said goodbye to the professor, satisfied. It had never dawned on him that he walked out of the office and down the hall much more slowly than the way he walked in few minutes ago.
How so? That was hardly a difficult test, it seems, that could have made the student tired or frustrated to walk at such a slow pace. So it is perhaps surprising to find the same aftermath - slow pace - when the test was repeated in other students. Nobody could get the energy to walk fast. Ever. It was like falling down Alice's rabbit hole. One simply got weird and slow after the scrambled-sentence test.
Yes, it is possible, and the odds can be calculated quite precisely, according to the psychologist John Bargh, when you take a closer look at the words. See? Words like "worried," "old," "lonely," "gray," and "wrinkle" are scattered all around to prime our brains about being old. The exercise, as it turns out, is never meant to be a language test. The unconscious exposure to the priming words simply make one act old and become slow. Easy enough.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Healing
I went home last evening after giving a talk on open disclosure. That was a big term - open disclosure - close to naked; disclosure is in there, and appearing like a naked display. I wondered what my audience could have thought of my talk, what they could have said. But I was turning my attention to my daughter too soon to wonder long.
After dinner my wife told me a story at home.
Jasmine was crying at the top of her lungs all of a sudden in the afternoon. "What's the matter, Jasmine?" my maid asked, walking hurriedly out of the kitchen.
"I dooooon't want mom to come home," my daughter screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks. It was as unbelievable as the moon catching fire. My maid paused, looking at Jasmine's face and wondered. She then looked around the room, holding my daughter in her lap. Her eyes landed on one of our Charles Brown collection - with a broken neck. In a thoughtful voice my maid said: "I see. There we're. You must have worried to tell mom that you broke Charles Brown."
They talked over it for a while, and ended up putting Charles Brown under Jasmine's pillow. She herself would not have thought of this as casually metaphorical - almost like sweeping Charles Brown under the carpet. She didn't talk about Charles Brown when my wife went home. It just so happened that my wife saw Charles Brown, injured, at my daughter's bedroom. How did my wife talk to Jasmine? Hard to say, of course, but of all the things you might do at that moment, it's a pretty safe bet that we should help a little kid heal the wound.
This is the happiest story ending I've ever heard. It's about a mother and a daughter sitting together and putting glue to Charles Brown's broken neck. After the bedtime story, my wife asked Jasmine if she would tell mom when she breaks something again.
"Yes," said Jasmine affectionately, "and good night, mom."
After dinner my wife told me a story at home.
Jasmine was crying at the top of her lungs all of a sudden in the afternoon. "What's the matter, Jasmine?" my maid asked, walking hurriedly out of the kitchen.
"I dooooon't want mom to come home," my daughter screamed, tears rolling down her cheeks. It was as unbelievable as the moon catching fire. My maid paused, looking at Jasmine's face and wondered. She then looked around the room, holding my daughter in her lap. Her eyes landed on one of our Charles Brown collection - with a broken neck. In a thoughtful voice my maid said: "I see. There we're. You must have worried to tell mom that you broke Charles Brown."
They talked over it for a while, and ended up putting Charles Brown under Jasmine's pillow. She herself would not have thought of this as casually metaphorical - almost like sweeping Charles Brown under the carpet. She didn't talk about Charles Brown when my wife went home. It just so happened that my wife saw Charles Brown, injured, at my daughter's bedroom. How did my wife talk to Jasmine? Hard to say, of course, but of all the things you might do at that moment, it's a pretty safe bet that we should help a little kid heal the wound.
This is the happiest story ending I've ever heard. It's about a mother and a daughter sitting together and putting glue to Charles Brown's broken neck. After the bedtime story, my wife asked Jasmine if she would tell mom when she breaks something again.
"Yes," said Jasmine affectionately, "and good night, mom."
Friday, October 26, 2012
Taboo
Rare is the family in which there aren't taboos hidden somewhere. I encountered two of them this week.
The Chung Yeung Festival falls on my daughter's kindergarten term break this year. We went to my father-in-law's grave - without bringing Jasmine with us. "How can I explain to her in very simple terms that her grandfather is somewhere else and won't come back?" I wondered. "And, what if Jasmine asks me when her grandpa is going to stop being dead so she can have picnic with him?"
Three days later, we brought Jasmine and her cousin to a playground. It was a sunny afternoon in autumn, the kind of weather that brings energy to people. "Should we ask our mother to join?" I asked my sister. I brought that up because we don't seen our mom that often. My sister didn't answer for a moment.
"Um." That word spoke volumes of disapproval.
It's never difficult to understand why we feel pressured to have our mom to join (and give unsolicited opinion). I know that it is no use to stop my mom complaining why her grandson hasn't been potty-trained like the girl across the street, why the bathroom habit of bringing a book in would make the process of toilet learning to go on forever, and countless worries for the umpteenth time. My mom thrives on worrying.
Oh no, why am I comparing the experience of death and meeting my mom here? Of course, that isn't and shouldn't be the case at all.
The Chung Yeung Festival falls on my daughter's kindergarten term break this year. We went to my father-in-law's grave - without bringing Jasmine with us. "How can I explain to her in very simple terms that her grandfather is somewhere else and won't come back?" I wondered. "And, what if Jasmine asks me when her grandpa is going to stop being dead so she can have picnic with him?"
Three days later, we brought Jasmine and her cousin to a playground. It was a sunny afternoon in autumn, the kind of weather that brings energy to people. "Should we ask our mother to join?" I asked my sister. I brought that up because we don't seen our mom that often. My sister didn't answer for a moment.
"Um." That word spoke volumes of disapproval.
It's never difficult to understand why we feel pressured to have our mom to join (and give unsolicited opinion). I know that it is no use to stop my mom complaining why her grandson hasn't been potty-trained like the girl across the street, why the bathroom habit of bringing a book in would make the process of toilet learning to go on forever, and countless worries for the umpteenth time. My mom thrives on worrying.
Oh no, why am I comparing the experience of death and meeting my mom here? Of course, that isn't and shouldn't be the case at all.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Fellowship
The president of the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh is visiting Hong Kong, and we are invited to attend the signing ceremony (after being accepted the fellowship status). I accepted the invitation with alacrity. With this feather in the cap, we feel we're reaching another milestone in our career. If you're a fan of titles - and who isn't? - you'll love the opportunity to have another string of alphabets at your name card.
At first I thought the ceremony would be awesome. Then, as the weeks pass, I begin to regret my reply to join the ceremony, envisioning missing another chance to read bedtime story to my daughter. What kid doesn't like bedtime story? Especially if the cartoon characters are amiable, the tone tranquil and the plot clever. There are good reasons for me to regret: I borrowed the classic picture book Good Night, Gorilla from the library two days ago. This bedtime book by Peggy Rathmann, I was told, is a great read you won't mind reading to your kids a million times. I still haven't had chance to show Jasmine how beautiful this book is.
Chances are, if you ask me, my daughter will be far more proud of a daddy who reads the funny story about gorilla, armadillo and zookeeper than a father who is a fellow from the Royal College.
At first I thought the ceremony would be awesome. Then, as the weeks pass, I begin to regret my reply to join the ceremony, envisioning missing another chance to read bedtime story to my daughter. What kid doesn't like bedtime story? Especially if the cartoon characters are amiable, the tone tranquil and the plot clever. There are good reasons for me to regret: I borrowed the classic picture book Good Night, Gorilla from the library two days ago. This bedtime book by Peggy Rathmann, I was told, is a great read you won't mind reading to your kids a million times. I still haven't had chance to show Jasmine how beautiful this book is.
Chances are, if you ask me, my daughter will be far more proud of a daddy who reads the funny story about gorilla, armadillo and zookeeper than a father who is a fellow from the Royal College.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Good Morning
This paragraph, written at McCafe after sending Jasmine to school this morning, gave me energy in the tens of thousands.
If it sounds comfy, I can attest that it is. I didn't go back to work after a week's holiday at Okinawa, and decided to take another half day off. Jasmine and I could then return the furry moose who had hitched a hike with us. When we were waiting for the morning class bell to ring, Jasmine took out the Okinawa seashells and gave them to her friends. And no sooner had the class begun than my daughter ran to tell her teacher the travel experience.
By the time she started her class, I went to take a sip of coffee, reading Vikram Seth's novel, deeply satisfied.
If it sounds comfy, I can attest that it is. I didn't go back to work after a week's holiday at Okinawa, and decided to take another half day off. Jasmine and I could then return the furry moose who had hitched a hike with us. When we were waiting for the morning class bell to ring, Jasmine took out the Okinawa seashells and gave them to her friends. And no sooner had the class begun than my daughter ran to tell her teacher the travel experience.
By the time she started her class, I went to take a sip of coffee, reading Vikram Seth's novel, deeply satisfied.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Okinawa
Jasmine was excited to learn the good news before our recent trip to Okinawa.
Pleasant memory of this trip, of course, is not a matter of what we didn't bring; the highlight is what we brought with us this time. During a recent visit of my daughter's kindergarten, I read about a Norwegian moose doll that children can volunteer to babysit when travelling. Oh, this is great, I thought, beaming jovially when I showed Jasmine the moose. She giggled and promised to take good care of the moose. Indeed, the moose filled in lots of our photographs (to be shown to other classmates later). Jasmine taught the moose how to walk, showed the moose colourful tropical fish at the aquarium, and hugged it with love.
Without doubt, Jasmine was awed by the opportunity to travel with her school companion. No one would ever mistake this.
This is her fifth time out of town. And there seems to be no stopping us from bringing our kid around the world. The more mileage we go, the more I become confident of her growing up.
Not much hassle with packing diapers is one thing, negotiating with my daughter what to bring is a lot more easier. We planned to bring her own suitcase, and she could not wait to pack it with all her favorite books. But then we decided to scrap the idea at the last minute, worrying about the limited space in the rented car. She was let down, and strangely enough, let go after a while. With that, we gave her thumbs up.
Not much hassle with packing diapers is one thing, negotiating with my daughter what to bring is a lot more easier. We planned to bring her own suitcase, and she could not wait to pack it with all her favorite books. But then we decided to scrap the idea at the last minute, worrying about the limited space in the rented car. She was let down, and strangely enough, let go after a while. With that, we gave her thumbs up.
Pleasant memory of this trip, of course, is not a matter of what we didn't bring; the highlight is what we brought with us this time. During a recent visit of my daughter's kindergarten, I read about a Norwegian moose doll that children can volunteer to babysit when travelling. Oh, this is great, I thought, beaming jovially when I showed Jasmine the moose. She giggled and promised to take good care of the moose. Indeed, the moose filled in lots of our photographs (to be shown to other classmates later). Jasmine taught the moose how to walk, showed the moose colourful tropical fish at the aquarium, and hugged it with love.
Without doubt, Jasmine was awed by the opportunity to travel with her school companion. No one would ever mistake this.
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