Elsa

What did Cinderella eat?

Whether we know it or not - and apparently we do not - the Disney Princess swallowed up our daughters.

Is it true, even a little bit, that parents should do our best to rescue our daughters from the inexplicable obsession with Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Ariel, Belle, Snow White (and many more)? Are girls destined to go gaga over the Disney princess? I've been reading Peggy Orenstein's Cinderella Ate My Daughter to find out more. Orenstein saw no reason for the royalty of girls (and hers) to the submissive, low-achieving and pink femininity, earnestly waiting for the prince to rescue, protect and take care of them.

She had a point. Many of us have a hard time when a preschooler answers "Princess" when being asked what she wants to be when she grows up.

What about the latest Disney princess movie Frozen? I know most of you will ask by now.

Unless you haven't met any little girl over the last six months, you must have heard about this popular movie with two Oscar nominations. Girls are simply drawn into the gravitational pull of the story about Queen-to-be Elsa and her sister Anna, and never quite get back out. My four-year-old, enamored of the fictional snow kingdom and icy power, told me her favorite color is blue now (and not pink any more). I swear, my daughter has sung the hit song "Let It Go" for three hundred times.

To those of us who are somehow uneasy with the traditional plot of charming prince saving a princess, Frozen departs from the kissy-kissy formula and broadens the message to include another type of true love - the bona fide sisterly love. In many ways, the blueprint of this Disney movie is a breakthrough. The prince remains charming, and yet he turns out to be the bad guy. Exactly the opposite of the case in Beauty and the Beast.

Written on purpose or not, as this Disney movie has shown, the big step away from the romantic fantasy is the way to go. Let us go.

Kakadu

Visiting Australia's national parks is pretty different from going to the theme park Legoland in Malaysia. I did both.

As an adult city-dweller, I prefer the wilderness and natural environment. I'm not suggesting that you should delete Legoland from your itinerary. If you have kids, they will tell you to go there and stay for many many many many days and nights.

When I started off planning this summer trip, I wasn't sure if I want to fill the whole page with playgrounds. Over the course of time, as I get the knack of travel with my daughter, what seems to adult's dream can also be kids' wonderland. Now that we've come back from Litchfield National Park and Kakadu National Park, I knew I'd made the right move. Jasmine enjoyed the scenic experience among open forests, spring-fed waterfalls, rock-art galleries and wetland areas.

It's such a pleasure to hear that Jasmine rates both Legoland and Aussie national parks equally funny. Yes, she said so.

There wasn't water park, as what they have in Legoland, but the impressive Wangi Falls plunging into rock pools made an ideal swimming area safe from crocodiles.

Instead of using Lego blocks to create castle, the Aboriginal guide taught us to use paperbark tree's bark sheets to make new tools. These can be creative, like canoe-shaped containers for holding water, cradle for carrying newborns, quasi-raincoat, impromptu bowls and plates.

Compared to the hotel in Legoland, which is attractive (I must say), the campsite and picnic table at the national parks offered much more variety and surprises. We could never guess what would come up when we heard the sound of scurrying up tree trunks, scratching, squish, or food foraging. "Squirrel?" "Whoops, it's wallaby."

Seasick

Try this quick word association: fishing tour.

And you respond … barramundi? Snapper? Mackerel?

Actually, I didn't come up with these targets when we took a boat ride in Darwin. I was completely at sea. And seasick. Or both. As the boat departed from the ferry terminal, I was overcome with a wave of nausea. My heart went wonky in my chest, my brow knitted with anxiety and my stomach spinning. My tummy flopped and bloated like a puffer fish on the hook.

Still lost in thought after I threw up in the toilet, I took few photos that weren't in focus. Yet what could I do? I didn't have energy to hold the fishing rod. I could not eat. I simply could not keep on an even keel.

The irony is that I didn't have to worry about my daughter who was as excited as kids in Ferris wheel.

On the way back, my friend told my daughter the good old stories in the Outward Bound course. It was the year I graduated from medical school. The summer course took place on a yacht Ji-Fung, and in the rough sea. We didn't have to hold fishing rods at that time, but were told to put on harness and make sure we vomited on the right direction on the deck – the lee side and never windward. Obediently I followed. When it was our turn to clean the cabin toilet, it was going to be much, much harder than what you'd thought. Harder than that of Sisyphus. Obviously, enclosed area inside the cabin is the last place in the world to go when you have seasickness. Up, down and around my stomach plunged, like a bad roller coaster ride. Wait. What else could I complain? Isn't being nearest to the toilet better than running to the leeward deck? Well, if and only if you're not supposed to clean up the toilet.        

How could I have believed myself joining the course on Ji-Fung 19 years ago? Yet I had.

Medley

With so many destinations, choosing which to visit during my daughter's summer holiday can be tough. When you hear about wild explorer's opening an atlas randomly for the choice, this might not sound rational. But it should. There are many theories. The simplest explanation is probably this: it feels good. Plus, it doesn't cause any major harm.

Few months ago, I happened to see the Lonely Planet's Central Australia in the public library new collection. I checked out the travel guidebook and started to plan our trip. As I sat down and invited my friend to go, I was told that his family had already planned to visit Singapore. Translation: my plan didn't work out.

Like most – maybe all – travel plans, mine worked out by itself. "Wouldn't it be so much easier if we visit Singapore together? Then we can fly directly into Darwin Airport; there isn't direct flight from our town to Darwin." We ended up fixing a medley of itineraries, including my friend's family, and that of his brothers, dad and mum, all the way to Singapore Zoo, Legoland in Malaysia, and our two families' last stop in Darwin, Litchfield National Park, followed by World Heritage-listed Kakadu National Park.   

I didn't say it is logical, I said it happens. And it works.

 

Vocabulary

For as long as I can remember, I had a notebook next to my dictionary during my primary school days. (I was 12.) I kept a list of new words in that notebook. The list grew as I looked up more words in the dictionary.

My four-year-old daughter isn't equipped to find words in the dictionary. Well, she doesn't need a dictionary; a child's vocabulary simply grows by asking and listening. It reminds me of a recent conversation with my daughter, when she asked me for the meaning of new words.

"Touching. What does that word mean?" Jasmine looked at me.

"You must have heard it somewhere. This is similar to moving. It's a feeling, of being moved and touched by something that brings special meaning. Bittersweet, umm, what shall I say? I'm not exactly sure what can that be. Let me tell you when we have something really touching."

The day after the conversation, we went to the wedding ceremony of Jasmine's kindergarten teacher. She decided on her dress pretty quickly. She picked a white one, almost the same as her best friend, and quite close to that of the bride. By the time the bridegroom and bride said their speech, my daughter whispered, "Dad, why is Ms Anna crying?"

"This is touching," I smiled back. "Do you remember the word touching? Anna cries. That doesn't mean she is sad. The wedding brings back memories from when she was a girl, as small as you, when her dad and mom brought her up with love. There are so many touching memories with her family. In fact, she cries because she finds the memories touching."

I didn't know if Jasmine got the meaning right until Jasmine connected the word touching to a shadow and puppetry show two days ago. That's the story of a boy suffering from a rare disease that threatens his eyesight. He will lose his vision by Christmas, the doctor told his father. The boy's father decided to give his son lasting memories of the world's amazing sights before it's too late. He sold his small business and started a heartwarming globetrotting journey with his child.

A touching story, I agree.

Tiger

Playing violin is hard. Making a four-year-old practice the bow stroke is quite impossible. Bringing up a daughter to be violinist, with the house turning topsy-turvy while the wife crumpled invalid after getting multiple sclerosis, almost never works.

You'll know just how hard this is for the Ukrainian-born music teacher Mr. K to do so after reading the book Strings Attached.

As a dad who asks my daughter to practice piano for not more than (and often less) ten minutes each day, I can't imagine the number of hours Mr. K's daughter spent on practicing and symphony rehearsals. I dare not think about the instrument's strain on the chin and neck, the throbbing pain between the shoulder blades, the row upon row of sweep back and forth, bow up and down.

That's why I've never had the courage to read Amy Chua's Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. Some of you might be proud of the stamina that can be found in the blood of a tough mother and her daughter. I am not sure if I am.

Passion

Many people have a preferred way to motivate themselves, to arouse enthusiasm and uncover what they want in their life and work. Some of us buy ourselves good coffee before work, and others go for Häagen-Dazs ice-cream after a big project.

Yesterday morning, as the sun was breaking open the clouds, I took my camera and crafted a picture before going to work.

Not a groundbreaking picture, but good enough to build my energy for the long hours of hospital work.

I worked till the sun set behind the hills next day. I didn't sleep too much in the hospital last night. Even so, I'd kept my sense of humour, stayed clear about my mind, and then took another nice picture of the dusk after work tonight.

Okay. Why am I still awake after these long hours of work? To me, the most important thing is to avoid the pitfall of poached frog. When we drop a frog into boiling water, it will instinctively jump out. And if you place a frog in a pot of cool water and increase the temperature slowly, the frog can't - and, in fact, is not supposed to - notice. All this boiling goes on little by little, most of the time without the frog even being aware that it's sitting in hotter and hotter water, until it got burned and burnout.

The moral of the boiling frog seems all too clear: Look out for the slowly boiling water that indicates we've lost touch with our real self and lost the fun at work.