Imagine taking a class in integral calculus, frustrated and puzzled. A long exhale. "What the heck is the point of studying mathematics?"
That's what Jordan Ellenberg is showing in his book How Not to Be Wrong.
Right now, I'm learning from this professor of mathematics why mathematics is the extension of common sense by other means. Soon after borrowing his book from the public library, I found mathematics everywhere.
It happened to be the numeracy week in my daughter's school; there were number games here and there.
And then our family had a weekend holiday at the Discovery Bay. My daughter pointed to the seashell spirals on the hotel elevator door, and said something I haven't heard before. A foreign and recondite name, somewhat resembling Leonardo da Vinci. A big word that left me in a quandary: Did she refer to the name of the nautilus? But is it?
Ah I think hard, trying to google a word or two, here and there, and soon the word "Fibonacci" pops up. That's what my daughter was talking about. Fibonacci Sequence, as what her teacher taught her.
Another mathematics stuff, again. Everywhere.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Monday, January 26, 2015
Snail
I was told stage version of any book won't be as attractive as the original book. That's the rule, everyone says so.
It would be natural for me to read Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl, without bothering to watch the film version.
True wit, however, exists onstage, and Toby Mitchell's drama version of the picture book The Snail and the Whale changes the way I look at adaptations. For those of you who haven't read the book version, that's a tall tale of a tiny snail. And a great big, grey-blue humpback whale. That isn't just a snail, and it is a snail with the itchy foot to sail, to hitch a lift, to see the shooting stars and enormous waves. The story book chronicles the voyage of this tiny snail sitting on the tail of the humpback whale. All the way from the coral caves to the golden sand.
I've been reading this picture book with my daughter for a while. We watched the drama version last week.
But it's hard to transform this story into a drama. A dizzyingly complicated challenge to depict two creatures with extreme ranges in body size. Remember, a tiny snail and a great big humpback whale. Imagine your difficulty in telling the story of Gulliver's Travels in drama format, for that matter.
How should the drama get around? Obviously I'm not supposed to give away too much of the plot. I would only go so far as to let you know the production team borrowed the theme of Storybook Soldiers. That's an organisation which helps British military personnel record bedtime stories for their children to listen to while daddies are away.
So instead of casting as the tiny snail and the great big whale, the two characters become a girl who stays home and her dad in the navy.
What could be easier for a drama actor to be a little girl with itchy foot than to be a tiny snail longing to go around the world? Then the bedtime story (of the tiny snail and the great big whale) recorded by the navy daddy enters the picture.
The transition - from an adventurous snail to the curious little girl and from the brave whale to the strong dad who serves on a military ship abroad - deftly connects two stories. My worries are over. The original picture book and the adapted drama mingle like Velcro. And I understand what is meant by the dad when he says in the drama, "A good story can take you all round the world, without even leaving your room."
It would be natural for me to read Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl, without bothering to watch the film version.
True wit, however, exists onstage, and Toby Mitchell's drama version of the picture book The Snail and the Whale changes the way I look at adaptations. For those of you who haven't read the book version, that's a tall tale of a tiny snail. And a great big, grey-blue humpback whale. That isn't just a snail, and it is a snail with the itchy foot to sail, to hitch a lift, to see the shooting stars and enormous waves. The story book chronicles the voyage of this tiny snail sitting on the tail of the humpback whale. All the way from the coral caves to the golden sand.
I've been reading this picture book with my daughter for a while. We watched the drama version last week.
But it's hard to transform this story into a drama. A dizzyingly complicated challenge to depict two creatures with extreme ranges in body size. Remember, a tiny snail and a great big humpback whale. Imagine your difficulty in telling the story of Gulliver's Travels in drama format, for that matter.
How should the drama get around? Obviously I'm not supposed to give away too much of the plot. I would only go so far as to let you know the production team borrowed the theme of Storybook Soldiers. That's an organisation which helps British military personnel record bedtime stories for their children to listen to while daddies are away.
So instead of casting as the tiny snail and the great big whale, the two characters become a girl who stays home and her dad in the navy.
What could be easier for a drama actor to be a little girl with itchy foot than to be a tiny snail longing to go around the world? Then the bedtime story (of the tiny snail and the great big whale) recorded by the navy daddy enters the picture.
The transition - from an adventurous snail to the curious little girl and from the brave whale to the strong dad who serves on a military ship abroad - deftly connects two stories. My worries are over. The original picture book and the adapted drama mingle like Velcro. And I understand what is meant by the dad when he says in the drama, "A good story can take you all round the world, without even leaving your room."
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Graffiti
Ask parents how their children act (or react) in different situations, and chances are good that mums and dads make wrong guess half of the time. Just don't pretend you know more about your kids than you do, because you don't.
During the festive lunch last Sunday, I entertained my friend's daughter by making a few drawings. It turned out that I had chosen an unfinished page of my daughter's sketch book. By the time I realised my mistake, I had nearly used up the whole page. My daughter cried. It's a matter of unauthorised graffiti, I know, but also perhaps a wee bit of jealousy.
So I vowed never to "invade" my daughter's drawing without asking. But some vows are made to be broken, right?
I went to a wedding party with my daughter this Sunday. With an eye for subject to draw and a deft style, Jasmine quickly pulled up chair and settled down with her own picture of wedding cake. After a moment I noticed my friend's two-year-old girl and thought that it would be a good idea to invite her to share my daughter's colour pencils. And she did. My daughter actually gave her a new paper to scribble all over.
Wow. Good girl.
I let the two girls sit side by side. Everything seemed fine.
But this was not exactly what happened. Or at any rate, this wasn't what I was told on my way home. "Dad, I want to tell you something good,"my daughter said. "Olivia scribbled on my paper, just next to my wedding cake."
A long exhale. (Unauthorised graffiti again - oh my!) "How did you feel?"
"It's okay," my daughter answered. "I mean, Olivia used the black colour pencil, and I took that as the shadow of my wedding cake. I added some more black colour. It works."
Amazing.
During the festive lunch last Sunday, I entertained my friend's daughter by making a few drawings. It turned out that I had chosen an unfinished page of my daughter's sketch book. By the time I realised my mistake, I had nearly used up the whole page. My daughter cried. It's a matter of unauthorised graffiti, I know, but also perhaps a wee bit of jealousy.
So I vowed never to "invade" my daughter's drawing without asking. But some vows are made to be broken, right?
I went to a wedding party with my daughter this Sunday. With an eye for subject to draw and a deft style, Jasmine quickly pulled up chair and settled down with her own picture of wedding cake. After a moment I noticed my friend's two-year-old girl and thought that it would be a good idea to invite her to share my daughter's colour pencils. And she did. My daughter actually gave her a new paper to scribble all over.
Wow. Good girl.
I let the two girls sit side by side. Everything seemed fine.
But this was not exactly what happened. Or at any rate, this wasn't what I was told on my way home. "Dad, I want to tell you something good,"my daughter said. "Olivia scribbled on my paper, just next to my wedding cake."
A long exhale. (Unauthorised graffiti again - oh my!) "How did you feel?"
"It's okay," my daughter answered. "I mean, Olivia used the black colour pencil, and I took that as the shadow of my wedding cake. I added some more black colour. It works."
Amazing.
Monday, January 5, 2015
Resolution
I worked overnight in hospital this New Year's Eve, and didn't have time to make any resolution.
That's supposed to be the ideal time of setting goals. After 365 days, it's time to take stock of any gain (in terms of waist circumference) and loss (think the time with Facebook). Let me be honest. I am not used to make new year's resolution. I don't think there is science with this tradition.
Except now I do: I read about new research telling us to make plan and avoid keeping a backup plan (translation: lame excuse), to chop up a massive goal into parts (translation: to let yourself feel good with each small step).
Near the end of last year, I purchased an app that allows me to create to-do-lists in my smartphone. The reason? A key factor is its design for users to put a tick next to a completed item, followed by hitting a gratifying button "to delete all completed tasks."
The same way infants celebrate potty training by the sound of toilet flush, ticking off an item from my to-do tasks makes me feel good.
Yes. And it's called instant gratification.
That's supposed to be the ideal time of setting goals. After 365 days, it's time to take stock of any gain (in terms of waist circumference) and loss (think the time with Facebook). Let me be honest. I am not used to make new year's resolution. I don't think there is science with this tradition.
Except now I do: I read about new research telling us to make plan and avoid keeping a backup plan (translation: lame excuse), to chop up a massive goal into parts (translation: to let yourself feel good with each small step).
Near the end of last year, I purchased an app that allows me to create to-do-lists in my smartphone. The reason? A key factor is its design for users to put a tick next to a completed item, followed by hitting a gratifying button "to delete all completed tasks."
The same way infants celebrate potty training by the sound of toilet flush, ticking off an item from my to-do tasks makes me feel good.
Yes. And it's called instant gratification.
Saturday, December 27, 2014
Campers
Sure, many of you flew out of town to celebrate the Christmas. We didn't.
Last night, we slept in a waterproof tent at a country park campsite. That's our holiday idea. Oh, and I should mention that our idea of wild camping started with two families, and ended up with the third family joining us impromptu. With that, the fun more than triples.
Call me a fox who doesn't need sour grapes, or just plain jealous, but I do think that the magic of wild camping can bring new angles of holiday option.
If you haven't camped as a family before, let me tell you our tricks.
Before you go, it makes sense to buy or borrow essential camping equipment. Sleeping bag is a must, and I learned this lesson twenty years ago when I was camping without sleeping bags with my classmates (one of whom being my wife now). We did not faint as the temperature dropped after nightfall, because we didn't have time to. We were busy shivering.
Next, prepare for the bedtime rituals, as what your kids would have brought - although we'll never know for sure - when they sleep over at the best friend's place. Our examples included milk bottle, story books, stuffed panda and elephant.
What about food? Never think about haute cuisine. Your best bet in the outdoors (and, remember, in case of torrential rains) is easy-cook food. You won't have much problem with an outdoor gas stove, as a rule of thumb. On that note, here is one of our recipes last night. We cooked some rice, and brought with us seaweed. Kids could then create their own version of sushi.
The lesson? We don't have to bring an oven to roast a turkey, but we need ideas to burn off the kids' excessive energy.
Last night, we slept in a waterproof tent at a country park campsite. That's our holiday idea. Oh, and I should mention that our idea of wild camping started with two families, and ended up with the third family joining us impromptu. With that, the fun more than triples.
Call me a fox who doesn't need sour grapes, or just plain jealous, but I do think that the magic of wild camping can bring new angles of holiday option.
If you haven't camped as a family before, let me tell you our tricks.
Before you go, it makes sense to buy or borrow essential camping equipment. Sleeping bag is a must, and I learned this lesson twenty years ago when I was camping without sleeping bags with my classmates (one of whom being my wife now). We did not faint as the temperature dropped after nightfall, because we didn't have time to. We were busy shivering.
Next, prepare for the bedtime rituals, as what your kids would have brought - although we'll never know for sure - when they sleep over at the best friend's place. Our examples included milk bottle, story books, stuffed panda and elephant.
What about food? Never think about haute cuisine. Your best bet in the outdoors (and, remember, in case of torrential rains) is easy-cook food. You won't have much problem with an outdoor gas stove, as a rule of thumb. On that note, here is one of our recipes last night. We cooked some rice, and brought with us seaweed. Kids could then create their own version of sushi.
The lesson? We don't have to bring an oven to roast a turkey, but we need ideas to burn off the kids' excessive energy.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Age
It should come as no surprise that the most common introductory sentences in doctors' commentary are about the age. These opening remarks appear every now and then in the morning round: "This is a 75-year-old man who came in with a fever."
That's the way medical students have been taught to describe a patient, I know.
The at-a-glance knowledge of a patient's age is so important (universal, I might add) that nobody dares to skip it. Well, yes and no. Yes, that number on the top right corner of patient's case note might give you an inkling how fit the patient is, but never emphasize too much on the chronological age. I'm more interested in my patient's biological age, and I've taught my students so.
Biological age, as it happens, is imprecise and less scientific. To many, this kind of guesswork seems like counting the grey hair. In the hands of experts, like yourself, it is a window into your real age. Instead of magical formula, it refers to "how old do you feel you are?"
Time for a quick quiz: How old do you feel you are?
A simple question, but a meaningful one. That's what I just learned from a research publication of the English Longitudinal Study of Ageing. Researchers studied some 6500 adults aged 52 years and older, asking the exact question I just mentioned. Some of them perceived their age close to their actual age; some felt more than one year older than their chronological age. More than half (me included if I were recruited), in fact, rated their age at least 3 years younger than their actual age.
Take one more close look at the mortality rate after 8 years of follow-up, and you'll see the pattern. Alas, after adjusting for the baseline health, physical disability, and health behavior such as smoking and alcohol use, those who felt younger live longer than those who felt their actual age or older. It's not hard to explain the finding if the terminal ill patients rated themselves older. But the same conclusion was shown after excluding death within 12 months of baseline question. In short, feeling young gives you a phenomenal edge over longevity. The upshot is that we now better understand the merit of feeling young - a sense of mastery.
Although trite, the old saying still is true. "It's not how old you are. It's how you are old."
That's the way medical students have been taught to describe a patient, I know.
The at-a-glance knowledge of a patient's age is so important (universal, I might add) that nobody dares to skip it. Well, yes and no. Yes, that number on the top right corner of patient's case note might give you an inkling how fit the patient is, but never emphasize too much on the chronological age. I'm more interested in my patient's biological age, and I've taught my students so.
Biological age, as it happens, is imprecise and less scientific. To many, this kind of guesswork seems like counting the grey hair. In the hands of experts, like yourself, it is a window into your real age. Instead of magical formula, it refers to "how old do you feel you are?"
Time for a quick quiz: How old do you feel you are?
A simple question, but a meaningful one. That's what I just learned from a research publication of the English Longitudinal Study of Ageing. Researchers studied some 6500 adults aged 52 years and older, asking the exact question I just mentioned. Some of them perceived their age close to their actual age; some felt more than one year older than their chronological age. More than half (me included if I were recruited), in fact, rated their age at least 3 years younger than their actual age.
Take one more close look at the mortality rate after 8 years of follow-up, and you'll see the pattern. Alas, after adjusting for the baseline health, physical disability, and health behavior such as smoking and alcohol use, those who felt younger live longer than those who felt their actual age or older. It's not hard to explain the finding if the terminal ill patients rated themselves older. But the same conclusion was shown after excluding death within 12 months of baseline question. In short, feeling young gives you a phenomenal edge over longevity. The upshot is that we now better understand the merit of feeling young - a sense of mastery.
Although trite, the old saying still is true. "It's not how old you are. It's how you are old."
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Five
Jasmine turned five yesterday.
How do you know when your kid is five? That's the question I put up in the Facebook on my daughter's birthday.
What's so eerie about this question is that I don't quite know how to answer it.
Many parents have trouble with telling how five-year-olds should be different from those below five - some kids, too. I have no problem with the grey zone. What's wrong, I believe, is to prescribe the milestones and be obsessed with the yardstick.
What could be luckier for a five-year-old than to make the strides at one's own pace? I went to my daughter's school on her birthday, and found all those different traits. Some kids are mastering the monkey bar skills at a level that is supposed to be attained by gorillas. A few of them are even more skillful than great apes.
So what? We're not supposed to compare children to each other. And not even to our closest evolutionary cousin.
How do you know when your kid is five? That's the question I put up in the Facebook on my daughter's birthday.
What's so eerie about this question is that I don't quite know how to answer it.
Many parents have trouble with telling how five-year-olds should be different from those below five - some kids, too. I have no problem with the grey zone. What's wrong, I believe, is to prescribe the milestones and be obsessed with the yardstick.
What could be luckier for a five-year-old than to make the strides at one's own pace? I went to my daughter's school on her birthday, and found all those different traits. Some kids are mastering the monkey bar skills at a level that is supposed to be attained by gorillas. A few of them are even more skillful than great apes.
So what? We're not supposed to compare children to each other. And not even to our closest evolutionary cousin.
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