Showing posts with label Andreas Oehler. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Andreas Oehler. Show all posts

Saturday, September 1, 2012

‘Me and My Baby Sister’

He loved her even before he laid eyes on her; he would accompany me for my pre-natal check-ups and burst into the clinic asking: "So, doctor, how is my baby?"

The doctor would correct him: “It’s mummy’s baby.”
And he would correct the doctor: “No, doctor, she’s my baby.”

The first thing he said to her, a couple of hours after she was born, was: “Meimei, you are so beautiful.” The second thing he said was that he would protect her so long as they both shall live.
The first incident of significance was when she was 5 years old, and he, 9. A neighbour in the next block stole something that was dear to her. He found out where that neighbour lived and went to ask that the stolen item be returned.

Sadly, the young thief’s father gave him a frightful scolding him. All righteous, he told the man: “I don’t know how you raise your children, but in my family, there are no thieves.” The man waved a threatening finger at him.
He snatched away the stolen item and told the man: “I’m only taking back what rightfully belongs to my sister.”

On another occasion, when she was 11 and he 14, another neighbour sent profanities to her mobile. Innocently, she asked him what those words meant.
After finding out where that “texter” lived, he went to her home. He asked the texter’s mother if that particular mobile number belonged to her daughter. The texter’s mother confirmed it. He then showed the texter’s mother the text that showed the profanities.

The texter’s mother was appalled and apologised.
“I am upset that your daughter has introduced such words to my sister. But I think your daughter should apologise to my sister.”

The texter’s mother made her daughter apologise to both him and her. For good measure, she confiscated her daughter’s mobile.
As the brother-sister set grew up best friends, I remarked that they were not normal because they never quarrelled.

Me and my big mouth! The very same day, they did.
Just as a walked through the front door, she stormed out of his room, shouted that she was no longer going to speak with him and slammed the door shut. He reopened the door and shouted that he was fine with that.

Foolishly, I felt quite pleased that they were, at last, “normal”.
For a whole week, I noticed that they did not speak with each other, and both wore long, angry expressions. I decided to mediate.

After much trying, she burst laughing.
I scolded: “This is no laughing matter. The two of you have not spoken to each other for far too long. Whatever you were upset with, sort it out and move on.”

Poker-faced, he said: “Mum, didn’t you say we were not ‘normal’ because we never quarrelled? So we have. Why are you still upset?”
I said they were carrying it too far and I stressed that they had to make up.

She laughed out loud and said: “Mum! We’re only kidding you! We didn’t quarrel. We were just putting up a show!”
He explained that they had carried on life as normal every day – until I walked through the door.

“Do you prefer us ‘normal’ or ‘abnormal’?” he asked.
When he checked into Boarding School, she would hold on to him and cry. Years later, when she checked into Boarding School, she would also hold on to him and cry.

“Meimei, it’s just until Friday when you’ll be home again,” he consoled.
“But I shall miss you so much.”

“Call me when you can, and I’ll drop everything to talk to you, OK?” he promised.
Last night, he made me drive out to Adam Road Food Centre to buy her favourite Pork Rib Noodles. When I asked why he bought an extra share, he said a girl was coming over.

Ooooh… Girlfriend? Did they meet at uni? How long had they been going out? He must be serious about her to bring her home…
“You’re so annoying, Mum. If you must know, she’s a Roman Catholic.”

What that last remark had to do with my questions, I couldn’t figure out.
He and I watched the All Blacks-Wallabies Super Rugby Cup final on Cable TV. And just as All Blacks made its second conversion to take a 6-0 lead, a head popped into the living room and a soft voice said: “Hi Mum.”

The night before, she had called him and made him promise not to tell me that she was coming home to visit.
Surprised? I surely was. Cuddles beat calls any time.

No regret whatsoever that Andreas and Michaela are best friends.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

My Birthday Bag


Singapore, 25 February 2012

On 29 February 2012, I will be celebrating my “thirteenth” birthday.

The advantage of being born on a day that marks the Leap Year is, I usually have two celebrations in a non-Leap Year.

My mother says Asians can celebrate pre-birthdays but not post. My friends insist that 28 February is not my birthday as I wouldn’t have been born yet; so they choose the day after 28 February, which is 1 March in a non-Leap Year.

As for me, I usually go to bed on 28 February with a smile and the thought: “It’s my birthday tomorrow,” only to wake up the next morning, in a non-Leap Year, asking myself: “Where did my birthday go?”

Of all the presents that I have received over the years, I have often talked about a particular one – a super huge beach towel with the words, “Wonder Woman” and the picture of Linda Carter in her super hero costume printed on it. It was gifted on my “sixth” birthday, by Michael “Army Daze” Chiang, the very talented and celebrated publisher and playwright. We were colleagues in New Nation and The Sunday Times.

On 29 February 1984, Michael came to my workstation, lifted his arms and unrolled the gift, then popped his head from behind the towel and said, “This is who you are.”

I melted.

But from this year on, I will move the story of the Michael Chiang gift to the backseat; I have another story to tell. It is the story of my birthday bag – gifted by my son, Andreas, and daughter, Michaela…

Both have grown up knowing that their mother is not a fashionista. I am most comfortable wearing an oversized adidas T-shirt, a pair of adidas Bermudas and adidas shoes and throwing my keys, wallet and what-not into one of my numerous adidas bags.

Both also know that while I often splurge on others, I am less willing to pamper myself. And when they purchase anything that is branded and therefore expensive, they will get an earful from me for days and in some cases, years.

Not this time. Not this birthday bag.

In the past year, Michaela had worked as a part-time cashier at FairPrice Finest at Bukit Timah Plaza. She mostly worked on days when she didn’t have classes and on weekends. After receiving her first salary, she told me that I need not give her pocket money. She used her paycheck to buy her own bowling balls and other bowling equipment, fund bowling competitions and buy treats for her friends and the family. When she went on holidays overseas, she used her savings from her earnings.

On the nights of 13 and 14 February this year, Andreas asked to use the car. As I discovered only after the fact, he and a close friend had taken orders for flowers and teddy bears from NSmen who could not book out from camp to celebrate Valentine’s Day with their girlfriends. They topped up my petrol tank after emptying it, of course. And even after that, each had a tidy sum to keep for their delightful entrepreneurial efforts.

And so, with their hard earned money, Andreas in Singapore and Michaela in Australia purchased my gift. They calculated that it would be cheaper for Michaela to buy it from Australia and post in to Singapore than for Andreas to buy it from Singapore. So, one day last month, at Andreas’s request, I helped him deposit some money into Michaela’s bank account.

Last night, upon hearing that I have a cousin’s wedding to attend today, Andreas took out the present and said: “Mum, we know you love adidas. But MeiMei and I thought it’s time you try carrying something different. So… we hope you like this.”

I didn’t ask Andreas why he was depositing money into Michaela’s bank account last month. Now, I know…