Diversity

Legend goes that South Korea is at crossroads between traditional symbol such as royal palaces and recent hits like K-pop. As a tourist, you can expect very diverse recommendations on what to pick, betwixt and between. There's an old Korean saying: If you have a horse, send it to Jeju Island; if you have a son, send him to Seoul.

We were exploring Seoul last week, but have neither son nor horse. We were weaving our holiday into one that delights girls as young as six, and up to twelve. To get the best mix for them, my wife picked the Seoul National Science Museum. Families seeking fun for children of varying ages must try this museum. Inside? A toilet bowl at the virus exhibition. Lesson about how high viruses can catapult after flushing toilet uncovered.

If the kids aren't awed by these miniature living things with nucleic acid covered by a protective protein coat, they will be fascinated by the high-tech holographic projection in another hall. If your kids are dinosaur fans, this is a perfect place to say hello to Edmontosaurus and learn how to tell apart a real fossil from a replica.

But then, getting kids to look at (and even touch) the exhibits with meagre English subtitles can't last forever. Sometimes, your kids might just want to have outdoor play. Oh, what a good suggestion. For that, the playground outside the museum is just as much fun. Jasmine simply loves to run and frolic there after an educational afternoon walk.

Dad

Anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad.

I can't recall who came up with such meaningful words, but I know it's my wife who gives me good chance to be Jasmine's special dad.

This Sunday, my wife lent me her bike so that we could roam on our own. There were only two of us, and not a lot of traffic on the bicycle trail (because that's the Lunar New Year's Eve). That way we were guaranteed a great time. Rapt with joy, my daughter started to feel a readiness with the slope and learned to shift gears when going upslope. And pressing on when downslope, instead of alighting.

If I need any more reason to thank my wife, there is her arranging the ski lesson for us this week in Korea. No, I'm not her coach this time, but I went through the steps with her. Snapping into skis, picking oneself up after fall, braking. Yep, this meant a lot to my six-year-old daughter who'd been rather nervous with the new sports game. There is never a greater moment than being there with the child when she's in need and fear.

Thursday

We have seen buckets of evidence for having family dinner, and that children who eat dinner with families are less likely to drink, smoke, do drugs. We all know it. It's about coming together as a family. That's also what I learned from Bruce Feiler after reading The Secrets of Happy Families.

There's just one little thing. Few things are easier than citing the research, and few things are harder than walking the talk.

I worked till late this evening. By the time I was home, my daughter had finished dinner. Too late.

Soon enough, I was happy for real. I was late, but we weren't done yet. It's Thursday and I was just in time to see my six-year-old daughter washing dishes. Jasmine has been learning to do chores. Not every day, but every Thursday. You can't overestimate the satisfaction a kid gets by sticking to a self-directed goal of washing dishes after dinner every Thursday. The most satisfying moments came when I saw my daughter beaming after her "chores." It's that simple.

Ice Cream

At just 7:30 this morning, my daughter's alarm clock rang and she woke up, missing mummy a lot.

"Hey, I told you, mom has an operation this morning. Dear, let me help you." "Mommmmmmmmmmm, I want mummy."

I glanced at the clock on the wall, the steady sweep of the second hand ticking off precious time, getting closer and closer to the school bus time. My goal was to get my daughter ready before the school bus departed. I knew I couldn't. I was harried; my daughter was weeping; we were overwhelmed. I felt time slipping away.

Before all the tension boiled over, I decided to read a story book together with Jasmine while she had her cereal breakfast. My pick was Should I Share My Ice Cream? by the Caldecott Honor winner Mo Willems. That's a story about Elephant Gerald who bought an ice cream and then had a big decision to make: Should he share his ice cream with his best friend Piggie? An agonizingly difficult choice. Gerald wanted to gobble up his ice cream, but then wondered: Is it right not to share with his best friend?

"Hmmm ... Maybe Piggie does not like this flavour! Piggie is not here. She does not know I have ice cream." The answer, we believed, is difficult.

"Hurry up, Gerald, make up you mind," Jasmine said instinctively as she turned the pages, with a palpable sense of suspense. The ice cream was melting in Gerald's hand. So absorbed was Jasmine in reading the ice cream story that, by the time we reached the last page of the storybook, she hadn't had time to finish her cereals.

Of course, I shouldn't tell you the story ending here. Not so lightly. Which reminds me of another real ice cream story few days ago. We were buying ice cream for dessert after dinner last Sunday. At first Jasmine wanted to pick vanilla flavour. Then, she hesitated and ran to my wife, "Mum, do you want to share my ice cream? And if so, I will choose chocolate flavour, your favourite." Isn't it even sweeter than having ice cream itself? My wife counts it among her most-treasured moments as a mom. As it turns out, this is the closest to the ending of our storybook Should I Share My Ice Cream?

Daisy

After finishing a book on empathy by the psychologist Simon Baron-Cohen tonight, I switched topic and read Double Daisy with my daughter. That's a hilarious chapter book for intermediate readers.

Now that Jasmine has turned six, I don't really have to read the book for her. Not because I'm less willing to read but because she's more willing to read. In other words, I simply sit next to her when she reads aloud. What an amazing habit to bestow on our children.

To be extra clear, I didn't simply sit next to my daughter when she read the Daisy book by Kes Gray. I listened. The more I've learned about Daisy and her best friend Gabby, the deeper I was drawn to the story. Their conversation reminds me to view the world from another angle - through the eyes of children. Once, Daisy had trouble with getting cheese out of the triangle and then squeezed it all over her fingers. Her mum said, "Cheese triangles are really easy to open when you know how." (I admit I would have said the same thing.)

"That's the trouble with grown-ups," Daisy said. "They know everything. At least they think they do."

Now I know I don't.

Comfort

My dialysis patient was dying. The fluid drained from his abdomen was red, and his lips blue. We were discussing the ways to keep him comfortable during the morning round. "Should we stop escalating the antibiotics?" I asked.

Absolutely.

Every team member agreed and I leaned forward to write down the decision. I glanced at the consultant next to me and didn't have to wait long to find out he frowned at my handwriting. So, did I write too much? Probably yes, a small voice inside me told me, but it's impossible to know for sure.

To test the water, I quoted the recent New England Journal of Medicine review article on comfort care for patients dying in the hospital, "I recalled a recent piece of article supporting explicit orders to promote comfort and prevent unnecessary intervention, rather than simply writing an order "comfort care." It isn't easy for our interns to second-guess what we have in mind, say, in case our patient's blood pressure plummets tonight. What do you think?"

My consultant replied, "Not really, because they have to learn. Not just to follow." "But surely," I had to politely disagree, "the very fact that interns need the chance to learn doesn't mean we should write a vague term. Learning is a matter for the interns and ultimately the residents. Unnecessary suffering is a matter for the patients, in this case a dying patient. The two things should be kept rigorously separate."

We didn't have the right answer to the question, but I dared not to argue too much. To my mind, there is no right or wrong answer. I'm not arguing that once the team decision has been made and stated, there is no need to think and rethink, as if this is a gospel. But my argument is that at the very least a decision should be clearly spelled out for others to follow and, if necessarily, revised.

Boast

We've all been in a situation like that - growing old and looking back with some pride in how worse we've had been.

It is, without question, one of my favorite ways to talk to my juniors: "When I was your age ..." In so many ways, life is better now than it was then.

To tell others how we drew blood from each and every patient in a medical ward without phlebotomists' assistance can feel like we've been hundred times tougher than the newer generation of doctors. Think of the ooh and aah - it says way more about our accomplishment than any feather in our caps.

And once in a while, it's okay - even helpful - to let people admire our toughness. But if we brag endlessly about our past experience and suffering, that only ups our chances of eliciting hatred, but not admiration. This is an important lesson I recently learned from reading Marshall Goldsmith's book Mojo.

So please remind me next time I flaunt my brilliance in the face of adversity: how poor we were, how tough we were, and blah blah blah.