Kelvin's Musings

- My Writing Process #2: The Rewrite Phase – Step 1 “Shake, Rattle & Roll”
  
  Posted at 8:26 pm by Kelbungy, on July 15, 2020
  
  And so the rewrite begins.
  
  I started chronicling my writing process with a post I made last week, one that recounted the first phase of my process – the decision, design and discipline that helped me complete my first draft manuscript earlier this month.
  
  That first phase of my writing process I called “The Deadline Phase“.
  
  Since then, I have moved on to the second phase, or what I call “The Rewrite Phase“.
  
  This phase has many steps and each gets more dreadful than the last. No surprise that many writers wrestle with this phase! And no surprise that I decided to proceed ever so slowly and gingerly into it with…
  
  ________________________________________
  
  …Step 1: “Shake, Rattle & Roll”
  
  a) Shake
  When I first began drafting my manuscript, I had filed away drafts by scenes, chapters and acts, so there were multiple folders and files.
  
  The outcome? An organised ‘mess’ that needed a good shake to make things easier for what I was about to do next: combine everything into a single 300 page document.
  
  Then, I went ahead to send the final file to a printer to download and print out every page into a single, unbound hard copy. It cost me 15 bucks but it sure beats printing 300 pages by myself, one agonising page after another, using my slow and fickle home printer!
  
  At the risk of having Greta Thunberg come a-knocking on my door, I decided to print each page on one single sheet, rather than double-sided (sorry Greta!). It just makes it easier for me to flip to the next page. Plus, it would leave enough space behind each page to jot down any notes and thoughts I would have as I did my rewrite later.
  
  b) Rattle
  After collecting the printout, I left the pages to sit proudly on my desk, like a brand-new Olympics trophy.
  
  And there it remained.
  
  Untouched.
  
  For nine days.
  
  Why so long, you ask?
  
  Because it took me that long to pluck up the courage to pick up the first page and start to rattle off each word and line!
  
  Aloud.
  
  Yep, you heard me.
  
  A-L-O-U-D.
  
  I was simply too afraid to hear my own words read back to me and by me, in case they sounded horrid.
  
  So I procrastinated (insert sheepish grin here).
  
  Yet, reading aloud was key to this next stage of my writing process.
  
  I needed to hear with my own ears how the words I strung together, sounded together.
  
  There are certain ‘melodies and rhythms’ to every piece of writing. The way the ideas and themes unfold as I read them out loud. The syncopation, the dissonance. It’s like a piece of music – beautiful yet also potentially haunting and terrifying.
  
  Having researched this, I came to the conclusion that if I don’t read out loud my manuscript, and hear my words with my own ears, I might miss out themes, meanings and polished (or more likely, unpolished) prose. Not to mention, needless repetitions and clumsy sentence constructions.
  
  All these would have bearings on how my message came across to readers.
  
  So two days ago, I plucked up enough courage, locked myself in my room alone (but of course!), and started to read aloud for an hour.
  
  Why an hour?
  
  Because it was all I could manage! By the end of the hour, my mouth felt so dry and my throat so parched, I wondered how I conducted two-hour lessons multiple times a week in my past life as a full time lecturer!
  
  And, after an hour, my brain was also pretty much numbed from listening to the non-stop streams of consciousness issuing from my lips.
  
  Still, it’s proving to be a very revealing exercise.
  
  How so?
  
  c) Roll
  As I listened to myself read each line out loud, I found myself at times absorbed by the narrative; at other times repulsed by the fact that I had repeated scenes stitched into different parts of the same chapter!
  
  Then there were the never-ending sentences that made me lose concentration and go into a monotonous drone.
  
  Despite all that, I took deliberate care to make no changes in my first read. I simply let the words “roll” over me. At times they felt like the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, when I shuddered at my appalling choice of words!
  
  At other times, they felt like refreshing droplets of an autumn drizzle as the words awoke new memories or unearthed an insight I didn’t even realised I had.
  
  But of course, it wasn’t purely a reading exercise.
  
  As I read, impressions would come to me, and I would scribble on a note pad a list of things to do when I begin the actual editing later on.
  
  ________________________________________
  
  By my latest estimation, I should finish my “Shake, Rattle & Roll” step in another six days, if I read one hour a day.
  
  Then, it’ll be time for (gulp!) Step 2, which I call “Making a List; Checking it Twice, or…”.
  
  Wish me luck ok?
  
  Posted in Reflections, Society, Stay Home Dad, The Craft of Writing | 0 Comments | Tagged memoir, Writer's Life, Writing, Writing Process
- “Thanks, Dad. Here’s why” – A letter from my son, written….in 2030!
  
  Posted at 8:25 pm by Kelbungy, on July 11, 2020
  
  11 Jul 2030
  
  Hey Dad,
  
  How’s it goin’?
  
  This year 2030, you turn 60. It’s such a big number I can’t even comprehend what it’s like living so long! How do you do it, Dad?
  
  Hahaha…
  
  Anyway, happy birthday!
  
  I hope you liked the hand-drawn birthday card I gave you last week. Remember when I was younger, you used to complain that I never got you anything for your birthday? Well, I hope you won’t complain anymore this year.
  
  I’ve been reading your blog posts from the last ten years. I wish I could write like you, but you know how I hate writing. When I was still in primary school, you used to sit with me every afternoon as I did my English homework. You wanted to make sure my alphabets sat on the line, and my sentences ended with a full stop.
  
  Oh, the number of times you made me erase and rewrite!
  
  Do you remember?
  
  I do.
  
  Writing was tough for me then. My hands would tire so easily holding the pencil. But c’mon dad, you gotta admit your hands would tire too if you had to copy those sentences ten or more times like me! What’s more, my fine motor skills then were still lagging behind normal kids my age.
  
  Anyway, you must be wondering why I wrote you this letter today. Certainly not to discuss my pen(cil)manship.
  
  It’s actually something I would have written to you ten years ago if I had the words.
  
  I still don’t know now if I’ll get them right, but I’m gonna try.
  
  So please pretend as you read this that it’s 2020 and you just celebrated your 50th birthday.
  
  Ok?
  
  And if you can, re-read the post you wrote then because my letter here is a direct response to what you said there.
  
  You wrote in that post about three behaviors that bothered you about me. Please know that while I can’t take back those years and make them better for you and mom, it was never my intention to put you both through those trying times with me.
  
  But now that I’m older, and don’t behave so anymore, I think I can explain why they happened. If these things still bother you now when you think back, then hopefully my letter here will offer some answers, and more importantly, much comfort.
  
  So here goes:
  
  ___________________________________________________________
  
  1. Soaked bibs
  My constant drooling was probably your number one pet peeve. Many times everyday, you both took turns to say “Caleb, suck and swallow!” as another sliver of saliva fell from my gaping lips.
  
  If you recall, my mouth was never fully closed. You could see when I’m asleep at night; there’s always a little gap. I suspect I was a ‘mouth-breather’ back then. Even now, I still do that some times, though not when I’m awake.
  
  It probably goes way back to when I was a baby and had acid reflux in my first year of life. Remember those 12 months? You and mom always said that was the toughest year of child-raising you had! I’m pretty sure that reflux had something to do with my breathing irregularities back then.
  
  Though somehow I managed not to wet my pillow (or maybe it’s all dried by morning!), that ‘gap’ was my default lip position throughout my sleeping, and waking, hours. And while I was awake, I wasn’t aware of my drooling most of the time, so distracted was I by what went on around me, and when I was playing. So even if dribble trickled out and down, my mouth always stayed slightly ajar.
  
  With nearly a decade of that ‘experience’ by the time of your post, it’d become so much a habit that I didn’t even think much about it.
  
  I know it exasperated you and mom to distraction back then, but this really is the best explanation I can offer you. And hey, you guys did continue making me wear a bib so I took it as a sign you were resigned to my drooling.
  
  So it’s not exactly ALL my fault either, right? *wink*
  
  Oh, and all those daily mouth exercises you and mom had me do? To strengthen my lips and jaw muscles? I guess we’ll never really know if they did the trick. With or without them, maybe I just needed one more year to stop drooling, which as you recall, I eventually did.
  
  (By the way, can you remember when exactly ah? I’m guessin’ it was when I became a teenager and started noticing girls!)
  
  2. Leaked diapers
  Can I be blunt when it comes to this one?
  
  I really think you guys shouldn’t let me wear diapers to bed every night, right up to my tenth year.
  
  Okay okay before you get upset, hear me out. I know the prospect of changing and washing bed sheets every morning was likely the main reason. That, and the fact that nearly every morning my diaper was heavy, seemed to affirm your decision.
  
  Still, why not put me on the tiny rubber mattress instead and let me sleep there on the floor with no diaper on? Then, if I should wet myself, it’d be easier to clean up no?
  
  Alright, I know that doesn’t sound very convincing; it might even make you seethe that I should say this now. If I’m perfectly honest, I really don’t know why I couldn’t ‘hold my own’ every night till the next morning. I guess I just hadn’t learned how to back then.
  
  It’s like the ladders and slides at the playground near our house. Remember how it took me SO long just to climb up and down those? When kids half my age were literally ‘running rings’ around me with their superior dexterity?
  
  Resisting the urge to answer nature’s call immediately was pretty much the same.
  
  But hey, I did finally stop needing diapers by the next year right? Guess ten’s the charm *grin*.
  
  (Or was it 11?)
  
  3. Supervised showers
  The simple truth is this: I don’t like to bathe.
  
  Remember how I always tried to negotiate for extra time when bath time came around? Or when we went out under our hot tropical sun for our family walks? How I kept refusing to go because I knew you’d want me to bathe immediately after we returned, as we’ll be all sweaty and stinky?
  
  I’ll bet if you ask most boys, autistic or not, they’ll feel the same way too! And c’mon dad, weren’t you like that when you were a boy too?
  
  No? Really? (Okay okay.)
  
  And as for standing in the shower cubicle talking or singing. You have to admit the acoustics were so much better in there. How could I resist?
  
  Plus I love standing on that particular floor tile, two feet from the shower faucet. It just felt right, and I wanted to hold onto that moment for as long as I could. Cos once the water came down, I knew my time in the shower would be over soon.
  
  So yeah, you guys had to supervise me to make sure I didn’t catch my death of cold when I showered. And yes, you had to keep reminding me to scrub hard instead of wasting time forming soap bubbles between my elbow and torso. But I couldn’t help it. Those bubbles made me feel like I was an accomplished magician!
  
  ___________________________________________________________
  
  Sighhh…okay I admit it.
  
  Now that I’ve listed all my ‘defenses’, I see that I didn’t have any strong reasons for those behaviors, though I’m trying hard here to explain myself.
  
  And really, my point in writing this letter is more to let you know I’m okay now, and all those times you and mom spent tirelessly finding solutions were worth it because it showed me one thing.
  
  You cared.
  
  You could have easily walked away from it all, and gave up on me, like many other parents with special needs kids have. They often outsource the care to grandmas, helpers or nannies. Or just ignored their kids altogether.
  
  But you didn’t. And for that I’m grateful.
  
  And even though we’ll never know if any or all of those methods worked or were even necessary, it mattered that you tried them.
  
  I know I ‘fought’ hard against many of those methods, and as a result, we had endless tussles.
  
  And I know that more than once I’ve brought tears to your eyes, even as I too have cried each time we ‘locked horns’, and came away ‘bruised and battered’.
  
  But despite all that, your love for me came through and that I won’t forget.
  
  And for that, I love you and mom so much.
  
  Okay, I’m gonna stop now before I get too soppy!
  
  Let me just end here by asking that you keep this letter just between us, ok? I know you like posting stuff on your blog but I really don’t want yet another post about my past.
  
  In fact, would you be so kind as to remove that post of yours too? Cos ya know, girls have started noticing me, especially on social media, and I don’t want them to know!
  
  You will? Thanks Dad…You’re the best!
  
  And as you used to mimic Tony Stark when tucking me into bed when I was a kid, “I love you three thousand!”
  
  Once again, happy birthday Dad!!
  
  Your son always
  Caleb
  
  Posted in Autism, Caleb, Reflections, Stay Home Dad, The Craft of Writing, The Good The Bad & The Ugly | 0 Comments | Tagged Acceptance, Autism, Family, Love, Parenting, Perseverance, Special Needs
- My Writing Process #1: The Deadline Phase – Three “Ds” that nailed my first draft
  
  Posted at 8:30 pm by Kelbungy, on July 8, 2020
  
  Yes, it’s finally done! My 300+ page memoir.
  
  Oh, wait! I mean the first messy draft. The first ‘shitty’ draft. The first ‘vomit’ draft.
  
  Sorry.
  
  But hey, it’s a first nonetheless so excuse me while I gloat for all of 5 seconds.
  
  “1,000. 2,000. 3,000. 4,000. 5,000.”
  
  Okay done. I’m over it now.
  
  But as I was patting myself on the back, I thought why not chronicle my unfinished journey with memoir writing too? Make it a real-time road trip record of sorts, one that tracks my learning as it happens, allows me to share what I’ve gained, and also a reminder that this trip is far from over.
  
  In pursuing my writing project, I’ve come to relearn writing as a process, and one which has, for me, a few key stages.
  
  ____________________________________________________________________________________________
  
  Now that I’ve completed it, let me put on record here my first stage.
  
  I call it ‘The Deadline Phase‘.
  
  From it, I’ve derived what I refer to as my ‘3Ds’ for embarking on a writing project.
  
  Let’s start with my first ‘D’ – Decision.
  
  1. Decision
  
  I started my writer’s journey with a Decision that I would write on a topic I’ve some ‘expertise’ in, namely my experience as a stay at home dad of two boys, one with autism. It’s what I am still learning and discovering everyday of course, but I see no reason to wait until it’s all learned, done, and dusted before I embark on this writing.
  
  [And besides, are matters like family really ever done and dusted?!]
  
  In any case, the desire to write has always been there for me, having journaled quite a bit in my early 30s. This time though, I was specifically motivated by a couple of books I read last year, namely Simply Tuesday and The Memoir Project. Though neither were about parenting and autism, both books gave me the idea, inspiration, and incentive to get started.
  
  [The power of reading to drive Life-Pivoting Decisions – never underestimate it!]
  
  Now, while I knew that’s WHAT I wanted to write about, I didn’t really know HOW I should best go about doing it.
  
  Which brings me to my second ‘D’ – Design.
  
  2. Design
  
  It would have probably been easy just to journal daily my experiences being a stay home dad, and how I dealt with autism. However, I reckoned there wasn’t all that much different to say from day to day, or even week to week.
  
  It would also have ended up becoming no more than another diary; great for private reading but not much else. Not that I have any foreseeable plans to make it public either (something I’m still considering).
  
  But having said that, I thought if one day I do go public with my memoir, then it’ll probably save me time now if I wrote it with that end in mind. Instead of hiding it under lock and key for the rest of my life.
  
  And while a diary typically only has an audience of one (the diarist!), I wanted my words to sit on pages that (at the very least) my wife and kids could read someday.
  
  So, I set about finding out HOW best to write. For that, full credit goes to my memoir coach Marion Roach Smith, who incidentally also wrote that second book I mentioned above. She wrote it with such panache that I was completely hooked, and wasted no time putting her tips into practice!
  
  Once I learned the secret of the HOW, I embarked on her prescribed Design. It took me three months (Oct to Dec 2019), but in the end, I had my book pretty much mapped out, including the different scenes of my life that would go into the different chapters. And how the chapters would be sequenced to form three major acts, all of which would add up to my book-length memoir.
  
  But simply having a plan was pointless, unless the plan was executed. Which brings me to my third and final ‘D’ for this first phase of my writing process – Discipline.
  
  3. Discipline
  
  When 2020 started, I committed to writing everyday, five days a week, 750 words each time. The goal was straightforward – complete writing approximately 100,000 words in six months, or approximately 300 pages (Times New Roman, font size 12, double-line spacing).
  
  Initially, I would do it in the morning, shortly after sending my son to school. Then, when Covid-19 hit and our country went into lockdown, I used the time at night after the kids had gone to bed to do my writing.
  
  The Discipline involved was mind-numbingly hard, but I decided that there would be no exceptions, no breaks. I would stick to the 5-days a week schedule no matter what. And each time I wrote, I made sure to hit my target of 750 words. As of 2 July, I hit approximately 100,000 words, the equivalent of approximately 300+ pages of text.
  
  [Incidentally, that day was also my 50th birthday, a coincidence not lost on me as a significant marker of my humble writing accomplishment!]
  
  The whole process from conception to execution took nine months and two days.
  
  Whew! Now I can finally ‘put my pen down’ and rest. For a bit.
  
  I don’t think I’ve ever been so Disciplined when it came to writing for anything other than a university thesis. And that was something I did eons ago!
  
  But as many creatives would testify, it is Discipline that undergirds every creative endeavor, and not just some brilliant idea or notion. Without it, little ever gets done.
  
  ____________________________________________________________________________________________
  
  So while it’s still a ‘vomit’ of a draft (with all the attending nasty soundtrack that accompanies any awful retching!), the important thing is that I now at least have the tools to work with – those 100,000 words.
  
  And I did it – on Deadline!
  
  (Sorry, but I’m going to take another 5 seconds now to gloat!….okay, done.)
  
  Now to Phase #2 – The Rewrite Phase. Easily another six to nine months!
  
  But as my writing coach, Marion Roach Smith said to me: “Onward!”
  
  Posted in Book Review, Reflections, Stay Home Dad, The Craft of Writing | 4 Comments | Tagged Decision, Design, Discipline, Life's Journey, memoir, Writer's Life, Writing
- How soaked bibs, leaked diapers and supervised showers are my daily lessons in acceptance
  
  Posted at 8:26 pm by Kelbungy, on July 4, 2020
  
  There are three things you’ll typically hear in my household on any given day or night:
  
  “Caleb! Is it (his chin) dry? C’mon Caleb, swallow your saliva, please. Look, your bib’s
  all wet!!”
  
  Night: “Caleb! Come and shh-shh (pee) now before bedtime. Then wear your diaper properly before you get into bed. Be sure it’s pulled up snugged and tight.”
  Morning: “Get up Caleb, your diaper’s leaked onto the sheets!”
  
  “Caleb, we need to see more white (bath gel lather) on your shoulders…rub harder before you wash it off…Caleb, listen and towel-rub harder; your legs are still dripping wet!”
  
  Soaked Bibs.
  
  Leaked Diapers.
  
  Supervised showers.
  
  These are our “daily companions”, thanks to our dear son Caleb.
  
  ___________________________________________
  
  One of the most frustrating things for me his dad is the fact that I just can’t figure out why…
  
  1…he’s still refusing to swallow his saliva despite endless reminders from his grandparents, parents, sibling, and cousins, aunts, uncles; not to mention school teachers and classmates.
  
  In short, everyone who knows him.
  
  And in this season of Covid-19, it just makes it even more imperative that he exercises better control over his drooling. But true to form, our dear friend still ‘lets the good times flow’ with his never-ending drool that soaks any face mask thoroughly within half an hour of putting it on!
  
  2…he still can’t “hold his own” until he reaches a toilet. It’s why our nightly routine is about getting him to go one more time before putting on a diaper and turning in.
  
  And still, by the next morning, the diaper is heavy with you-know-what, and some days, when his flow is particularly strong, we’ll have to contend with soiled bedsheets and blankets!
  
  Thankfully it’s been a lot better these last couple of years, and the leaks only happen once in a couple of months or more. But just as a precaution, we will usually transfer him to a rubber mattress laid out on the floor next to his bed just before the sun rises each morning.
  
  Just in case.
  
  I mean, it’s fine and dandy if he’s a baby. But he’s not. And how many “niners-going-on-ten” do you know who still dons a diaper?!
  
  3…he continues to stand almost ‘helpless’ in the shower, as though waiting for us to bathe him like he was still a baby.
  
  We have to always get into the shower room with him to watch and make sure he starts dirty but ends up clean. Otherwise, all he will do is either break into a song or re-enact some dialogue between the cartoon characters he recently watched on the telly or Youtube.
  
  All the while standing and staring at the showerhead, instead of turning on the tap. As though the tap operates by voice command!
  
  Other times, he’ll role-play the Google map voiceover, giving directions to the shampoo bottle (?) how to get from point A to point B: “In three kilometers, turn right…slight left, then your destination is on your right.”
  
  ___________________________________________
  
  At this point, I have an inkling of what you’re thinking, so please let me make one thing clear: We really have exhausted nearly all possible reasons, medical and otherwise, so this isn’t a post pleading for more magic potions or angel’s feathers.
  
  Caleb has managed to defy definition with pretty much every appointment, therapy and medication we ‘threw’ at him in our increasingly futile attempts to find out why.
  
  In our attempts to turn the tide.
  
  About the only thing left is the threat of bodily harm, but no matter how angry a parent I can become, that’s one line I won’t cross. Though God knows I’ve often come close. Too close.
  
  Sighhh…
  
  I think I’ve come to a point where I’m learning that these daily challenges with Caleb are part of my ongoing journey towards accepting him for all that he is.
  
  Even the bibs, diapers, and supervised showers.
  
  You see, as I watch each time with mounting exasperation at all these ‘wet signs and wonders’ of Caleb, I have to fight hard to stay cool and not lose my temper.
  
  For I realize that if I can’t accept these challenges (which might still not go away for a long while), but continue to harp on them to a point that all day I’m just ‘managing’ behavior and having a tug-of-war with him, then what kind of genuine relationship am I building with him?
  
  Where is there time left every day if, after all these reminders, I’m too spent to do anything else with him? Time to play with him, read with him, share life with him?
  
  And when he grows up, will memories of his dad be filled with just those rants I shared at the start of this post?
  
  If so, then I would have missed learning the important lesson of acceptance.
  
  And we would both be the poorer for it.
  
  Posted in Advocacy, Autism, Caleb, Reflections, Stay Home Dad, The Good The Bad & The Ugly | 0 Comments | Tagged Autism, Daily Living, Fatherhood, Fathers & Sons, Life, Raising children, Spirituality Family Parenting
- Goodbye 40s, hello 50s! What turning 50 means for me.
  
  Posted at 8:13 pm by Kelbungy, on July 1, 2020
  For the past few weeks, I’ve been at a loss over what to write for this ‘inevitable’ milestone post.
  
  How should I best say goodbye to the 40s today, and hello to the 50s tomorrow?
  
  How do I even begin to talk about turning 50?
  
  Should I start, say, with a trivia pursuit question? Something like “What do Boeing 747, M*A*S*H, cigarette ad bans on TV, The Beatles disbanded, the Singapore Heart Foundation, Earth Day, Caterpillar (the construction company, not the creepy critter) in Singapore, and the Adidas Superstar sneakers have in common?”
  
  Or how about a celebrity name-dropping variation? Like “What do Matt Damon, Ethan Hawke, Naomi Campbell, Mariah Carey, M. Night Shymalan, Christopher Nolan, and Melania Trump have in common?”
  
  Nahhh…it’s no fun. This blog’s title is already a spoiler! But I can’t exactly mask the title just to slip those questions in now can I?
  
  Or I could start off like some rookie reporter and interview fellow 50-year-olds for their thoughts. Or just type ‘turning 50’ into online search engines and write about what pops up. I’m guessing what turns up would likely cover all the usual suspects: the mental, physical, recreational, social, spiritual, relational, and emotional aspects of aging.
  
  Ahhh….emotional. Maybe I’ll try that. Write a heartstring-tugging intro about turning 50.
  
  You know, start by talking about how my youth is now undeniably gone (cue Alphaville and their signature anthem…oh how intolerably cruel it sounds now!).
  
  Sob sob…
  
  I can talk about how I’m plunging headlong into those dreaded geriatric years as my now five-decade-old body feels exactly like what the famous actress and comedian Phyllis Diller once aptly declared:
  
  [Take it from me, the lady knew exactly what she was talking about!]
  
  Hmmm…maybe I should just go ahead and start with that quote instead? Or maybe another quote about turning 50? Something whimsical, maybe even poignant:
  - “Looking 50 is great – if you’re 60.” – Joan Rivers
  - “I’m aiming by the time I’m 50 to stop being an adolescent.” – Charles Caleb Colton
  - “The years between 50 and 70 are the hardest. You are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down.” – T.S. Elliot
  - “Turning 50 … is like flying: hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror.” – Erica Jong
  And having selected the quote, start to unpack what it means for me.
  
  Or maybe I should shamelessly shout it out on every social media handle I have? Then sit all alone like some needy, desperate teenager to wait for kooky emojis & birthday drivels from friends (the same ‘friends’ who need a Facebook notification to remember that you’re still alive and waiting for a birthday hug from them!).
  
  The number of ‘Happy Birthday’ greetings plus Instagram ‘Likes’ may then be totaled up and used to kick off my blog. After that, the rest of it will be nothing but a hollow boasting to the world about how ‘popular’ I am, and the many friends I have accumulated in half a century.
  
  Hah! As if.
  
  Oh, what’s the use??! I could go on and on but in the end, I still come crashing back to reality.
  
  And that reality is simple and straightforward: I say goodbye to 49 today, and hello to 50 tomorrow.
  
  And when I turn 50 tomorrow, I shall begin to uncover what this new chapter of my life means.
  
  For now, I believe turning 50 means that I…
  - …no longer need to CARE who (other than my life insurance policy agent) remembers my birthday — instead, I’m satisfied to just celebrate it with my wife and children.
  - …will most likely have MORE ‘yesterdays’ from now on than ‘tomorrows’ — so I’ll treasure every tomorrow. Starting tomorrow.
  - …do NOT have to bend where the winds of this world blow — cos I’m now a sturdy ‘tree’, not a slender ‘reed’.
  - … need NO affirmation from anyone (but God), for I’ve already survived half a century, more than many have — so I’ll just be the ‘affirm-er’ OF myself, BY myself, FOR myself. (Thank you Gettysburg!)
  - …CAN pursue what I want, when I want — and to h*** with what others think! (Pardon my language.)
  And that is what saying goodbye to my old friend the 40s, and embracing my new friend the 50s, means for me.
  Posted in Reflections, Society, Stay Home Dad, The Good The Bad & The Ugly | 1 Comment | Tagged Ageism, Birthdays, Life, Life's Journey, Turning 50, Twilight Years
- We’re getting 3 new affronts, thanks to 3 new furniture no one wants
  
  Posted at 8:42 pm by Kelbungy, on June 27, 2020
  
  It’s never occurred to me before but now it’s plain to see.
  
  There really does exists furniture that people would rather not want, and certainly rather not mention.
  
  Because they are an affront.
  
  And at least three of them will be arriving at my doorstep in the next three working days.
  
  Ever since my mother fell three weeks ago, and fractured her right hip, things have changed drastically.
  
  Being elderly (she’s in her mid-80s), her recovery from any hip fracture will require extensive times of healing and rehabilitation. More so than for most of us.
  
  And any hopes of resuming the walking ability she had before, dim.
  
  At best she will have a permanent limp and that will mean even on a good day, she will still need a walking cane. Preferably the kind that ends with four short stumps for more stable ground support.
  
  Upon her discharge in the next week or so, she will need every available family member’s assistance to support her daily living for these, her twilight years.
  
  And at home, she will need new furniture, each a painful reminder that she is irreversibly less mobile and unavoidably more dependent.
  
  These are the kinds of furniture that nobody wants, each to me representing the ultimate of affronts in three specific ways – Body, Will and Self-Control.
  
  ______________________________________________
  
  1. Commode Chair – An Affront to Body
  
  This one actually needs no introduction. Since no one would want to “introduce” it into any social tete-a-tete. More likely, it would be shunned at all possible costs!
  
  Because if ever there was a more debilitating device for one’s self-esteem, this piece of furniture would take the top prize.
  
  It’s the ultimate “insult” for that bodily function we all perform every day since we were born. What we all assume we will always be able to perform well, with nary a thought otherwise.
  
  That is until we age.
  
  And we fall.
  
  For my home, the dimensions of this new furniture must also fit our tiny bathroom so that when my mom needs to go, this dastardly chair can fit nicely inside and ease her time there.
  
  Every. Single. Day.
  
  It will also need to serve her well when she takes a shower, an undertaking she will now most likely need help to complete, either with the help of my wife, or our female domestic helper.
  
  And so yes, the body. Affronted. In more ways than one. Thanks to this furniture.
  
  ______________________________________________
  
  2. Upright chair with foldable table – An Affront to Will
  
  This is where my mom will sit in front of the telly from now on. Her usual favorite rocking chair won’t cut it anymore. Just the thought of her trying now to get in or out of the old rocker…
  
  ….so no, this new piece of furniture will be where she must sit. Still. Upright.
  
  Every. Single. Day.
  
  During those times she needs her daily fix of the latest Taiwan soap opera, or just to color within the lines in her drawing book.
  
  She can no longer choose to sit on any other chair she likes.
  
  Isn’t choice a fundamental human right?
  
  The will to choose. Affronted. By this furniture.
  
  ______________________________________________
  
  3. Bed rail – An Affront to Self-Control
  
  Henceforth, our fear every day and night will be that my mom might fall again when our guards are down, or when there’s (momentarily) no one near enough to intervene. Like what happened three weeks ago.
  
  So this third piece of furniture is a reminder that even in bed and at rest, there is no “rest”. There’s no guarantee that she can control her ability to rise out of or get into bed without the possibility of falling.
  
  The ability to control something as simple as getting in and out of bed. Affronted. By this simple “barely-a-furniture”, furniture.
  
  ______________________________________________
  
  But why stop at these three pieces of furniture?
  
  There’s also the newly bought wheelchair and the previously-mentioned walker. No images needed, and no explanations necessary.
  
  Except to say that to be wheeled around or be seen needing a walking stick must surely be the ultimate of affronts. With the three furniture pieces, at least one’s “undignified” way of life can avoid public scrutiny.
  
  Not so with the wheelchair or the walker.
  
  Each of these practically screams to the world:
  
  “My days are numbered”!
  
  “I am wasting away.”
  
  “Redundancy is my new name.”
  
  But these aren’t my mom’s affronts alone. These are now her caregivers’ too.
  
  For we too must live with them as we use them to help my mother live each day with some modicum of dignity. Despite how they “affront” us, reminding us of the eventuality that befalls all mankind.
  
  In Body, Will, and Self-Control.
  
  Every. Single. Day.
  
  Posted in Reflections, Society, Stay Home Dad, The Good The Bad & The Ugly | 0 Comments | Tagged Affronts, Aging, Body, Disability, Furniture, Life's Journey, Reflections, Self-Control, Will
- How a car accident exposed my ‘inner engine’
  
  Posted at 8:35 pm by Kelbungy, on June 24, 2020
  
  BANG!
  That moment just before impact seemed to almost slow to a crawl, like a slow-motion replay, as I watched in utter jaw-dropping disbelief.
  The way a spectator at an F1 race would watch as a race car suddenly goes off course and flips.
  I knew what was about to happen, but I was powerless to stop it in time.
  My first thought however when we hit the car in front wasn’t: “Oh no, Caleb!”
  Instead, it was: “Oh no, not again!!”
  That was quickly followed by “…this is so inconvenient….I can’t believe this is happening (again)…I must stay silent and admit to nothing…my family and friends will think I’m now officially a certified reckless driver!”
  Yesterday was a day like many others. Except for the rain.
  The kind tropical trees and monsoon canals dread. The kind motorists groan and curse at as they dash into their vehicles all soaking wet and ease out of their parking lots into the soggy roads. Where windscreens get so fogged up you can barely see beyond two vehicles ahead, as you make your way reluctantly along the congested and wet highway beside other equally disgruntled drivers.
  It was my usual run every morning to chauffeur my son Caleb to school. A trip that typically takes 20-25 minutes; made longer yesterday when the weather dumped down the heaven’s equivalent of a full (and bottomless) pail of water all at once.
  SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!
  There we were, exiting the highway to connect to another that would get us to his school. And just as I tried to make sure we don’t miss the turn, it happened.
  According to Huffpost, the top 15 most common reasons for car accidents include rain and tailgating. Those were my reasons yesterday.
  I should have known better, especially the tailgating part, since that explained my first car accident in 2013, which resulted in a four-car pile-up (I was Car Number 3). Then too I had been fortunate to escape unscathed.
  There had been no rain then, but it was past 10.30 pm on a stretch of expressway (not far from my home) that was notorious for traffic accidents.
  I had been tired from attending a long media ethics course that had just concluded on the opposite end of the country from where I live.
  (‘Night driving’ by the way, is also on that list of common reasons for accidents)
  But while I’m very grateful that we emerged from yesterday’s calamity with nothing more than a crumpled car front and exposed engine – and my bruised ego (the car in front barely registered any damage) – I was more upset that I had all those thoughts that I had when it happened.
  Shouldn’t my priority be Caleb and how he’s doing?
  True, I did take a quick glance at him to see if he was ok.
  True, the impact only smashed up my car, but left Caleb and me with nothing more than a momentary shock.
  True, the other party (a mild-mannered looking driver in his mid 50s, and his wife) were even tempered and didn’t cause a scene despite the potential danger and inconvenience I caused when I ran headlong into their car.
  True, the setback lasted less than ten minutes, and I ended up arriving at Caleb’s school just five minutes late.
  Still, as I reflect now what happened, I berate myself for not showing more immediate concern when the crash took place. Concern, not just for Caleb, but also for the other party.
  Instead, I just took the necessary crash photos, exchanged identification and contact numbers with the other driver before taking off. All because I was more eager to resume my mission and plan for the morning, and get my son to school.
  All of my initial thoughts when the accident took place seemed painfully protectionist and self-centred now.
  Not a proud moment for a man.
  Nor a dad.
  For this was the first time I had a passenger. That previous time seven years ago, it was just me.
  But this wasn’t any ordinary passenger. This was my nine-year old son. And I put his life in mortal danger during a wet and rainy peak-hour morning traffic condition. Not making any attempts to drive slower, despite the downpour. Instead, driving at almost the same speed I would during sunny weather.
  So if nothing else, this accident has exposed the glaring hole in my inner world, one filled with self-absorption and selfish drivenness. One which seems to have little room for my loved ones when something bad like a crisis strikes.
  International bestselling author and social entrepreneur Bryant McGill, once said: “Crisis is what suppressed pain looks like; it always comes to the surface. It shakes you into reflection and healing.”
  This incident has certainly exposed ‘to the surface’ not just the engine of my car.
  It has also exposed my ‘inner engine’ too!
  And if it looks anything like my car yesterday, then it too is in dire need of repair, makeover and inner healing!
  
  Posted in Caleb, Reflections, Stay Home Dad | 0 Comments | Tagged Car accidents, Death, Fatherhood, Fathers & Sons, Life, Rain, Roads, What matters
- This Father’s Day, I wish my father…
  
  Posted at 8:30 pm by Kelbungy, on June 20, 2020
  1. …hadn’t:
    - been trapped in his patriarchal past and so lorded it over us.
    - equated a person’s worth ONLY with money and power.
    - given endless lectures because he knew not how else to connect with his family.
    - waxed lyrical about his hometown incessantly, like it was heaven on earth
    - praised his own goodness non-stop, saying he’s the best father just because he’s not a criminal, murderer, drunkard, gambler, adulterer, smoker or druggie.
    - demonstrated, through frequent shouts and caning, that anger and violence will solve problems.
    - kept a record of wrongs.
    - told me that studying hard and having a stable, good job were ALL that mattered in life.
    - hoarded his savings like Ebenezer Scrooge until death, then bequeathing every available penny to his hometown, not his home.
    - scolded and treated my mom like a servant, just because their marriage (his second) was arranged.
    - been a turncoat at the slightest whiff of trouble, choosing instead to play the victim’s card, save his own skin and blame others.
    - assumed that filial piety is a given, just because.
    - surrendered home ownership because he thinks his children won’t abandon him (lucky for him a couple of us didn’t).
    - left me with impulsive, explosive fits of anger and rage at the slightest of triggers, even now.
    - left me with no positive memories of him when I was a kid, other than some mornings when he would comb my hair with Brylcreem before I caught the bus to school
  Instead, I wish he had….
  
  2. …taught me to:
  - - survive in a male-dominated world.
    - play well with others.
    - be charitable and kind.
    - be strong and steadfast.
    - defend the defenceless.
    - give unreservedly.
    - love and be loved.
  3. …spent the time to:
  1. - study with me.
      
      hear me out.
      
      admit he was wrong and say sorry.
      
      play with me when I was little.
      
      teach me how to clamour less for worldly affirmation.
      
      help me improve my written Chinese and penmanship.
      
      find out my likes and dislikes.
      
      affirm me as a unique individual of inherent worth.
      
      guide us siblings to be close and not estranged.
      
      learn to be a father in every biblical sense of the word (or even just a fraction).
      
      love me.
  But he’s been dead six years now so…
  
  Actually, he’s been pretty much ‘dead’ all my growing up years when I most needed a dad.
  
  Too late for recompense.
  
  But don’t worry Father. Your ‘negative’ modelling has taught me what NOT to do with my boys.
  
  So I shall still say a small Happy Father’s Day to you wherever you are.
  
  Rest assured that everything you’ve ‘taught’ me won’t go to waste.
  
  And that every now and then when I remember to, I still pray for your soul to be saved.
  Posted in Reflections, Stay Home Dad | 0 Comments | Tagged Father's Day, Fatherhood
- Please Lord, may I have 50 more Father’s Day?!
  
  Posted at 8:30 pm by Kelbungy, on June 17, 2020
  
  So what to say about this coming Sunday, my 11th anniversary of celebrating Father’s Day as a dad?
  
  After all, it’s an unfinished journey, so maybe I should wait a few more years to say something meaningful? Or when the kids have all grown up and flown the coop?
  
  Yet, as I turn 50 in two weeks, I find myself arriving at yet another one of those crossroads. You know, the ones you reach when you hit another decade and wonder: what will the next ten years look like?
  
  And in this case, it really is THE crossroad, since 50 is generally accepted as the middle of pretty much everything. Think 50% discount. The 50th percentile. The minimum 50 marks you need to pass every dreaded test you’ve ever taken!
  
  All I can think about though, as I mark this Father’s Day and my soon-to-be half-centurian status, is: I want to have 50 more years to celebrate it!
  
  Had I become, say, a father at 20 years of age. Definitely. Or add another ten to make it an even 30. Conceivably. Try another ten more, and it starts to feel like a stretch. But at 40. Possibly.
  
  Now, how about adding ten more and making it a formidable 50 more years of fatherhood?! What? You exclaim. I’m kidding, right? Do the math and one quickly realizes that I’m asking God to let me live until 100! That’s akin to returning to the Old Testament days, where men lived well beyond a century.
  
  Then again, my father did leave us six years ago at the ripe old age of 98, so I do come from “good stock”.
  
  Oh, how I wish my father’s long life can be mine too! Having struggled for nine years after my wedding to finally become a father at 39, an age when most of my peers’ kids were already taking their PSLE, it’s not hard to imagine how much I value and treasure my two boys, now aged 11 and nine.
  
  The bible says that from God’s perspective, a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like a day (Psalm 90:4). I certainly felt all of those thousand years nearly every day, during the first nine barren years of our marriage. The anguish, anxiety and agonizing wait that my wife and I endured were indescribable.
  
  So many days we wrestled with God as we looked around at our quiet and empty house, calling out for His mercy and grace. And many times our cries returned to us like echoes in a large and lonely canyon. It felt like there was no one listening. The silence was so deafening most nights I just collapsed on my knees in bitter tears, with my fists pointing angrily at the heavens above, asking, “Why? Why? Why?”
  
  Yes, it was at many points that dramatic. Because the sense of helplessness was that real.
  
  Flash forward to today though, and fatherhood has been an unbelievable journey for me. These past 11 years have been invaluable both for me and my wife. Parenting teaches you life in a way no other experience can, and I couldn’t be happier and more grateful to God.
  
  Certainly, there have been tough days. Like when my eldest came down with HFMD. Twice. And both times passing the germs to his daddy!
  
  Or when my youngest was officially diagnosed with autism, even as we spent many a day before suspecting; desperately praying and willing it not to be true.
  
  Still, I wouldn’t trade all those moments with my children for anything. In the bible, Jesus says to “let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these (Matthew 19:14). Our Lord clearly has a special place in His heart for the little ones.
  
  That’s how I feel about my little ones too!
  
  It’s because of them that I was finally able to celebrate that first Father’s Day, 11 years ago. And it’s because of them that I want so much to continue celebrating Father’s Day for another 11, 20, 30….and yes, 50 years…and more!
  
  God willing.
  
  So to all the fathers out there, Happy Father’s Day! May your children still have you with them for another 11, 20, 50 years and more.
  
  [A version of this post was also published here on 19 June 2020]
  
  Posted in Advocacy, Autism, Caleb, Jaedon, Reflections, Stay Home Dad, Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged Celebration, Father's Day, Fatherhood, Fathers & Sons, Spirituality Family Parenting
- This is It! 3 Things that Define My Blog “kelvinsmusings”
  
  Posted at 8:35 pm by Kelbungy, on June 13, 2020
  Yep, this is it!
  
  Most would say this ought to have been the first thing I wrote when I started my blog 14 months ago.
  
  Funny then that only after more than a year of blogging, I’m finally doing it today!
  
  Now just to be fair to me, I did mention what my blog was about before. This was in my very first post in April 2019.
  
  But looking at that now, I realize it doesn’t really capture fully what my blog is about. Especially not in recent months as my blog content has expanded in its topical diversity.
  
  So perhaps it’s just as well I’ve held back until now. Cos some things just take time to mature, like a good bottle of wine.
  
  And though my blog’s About page sheds some light, there’s still a need to clearly and succinctly present the intent of my blog.
  
  So at least you, my dear reader, will know what you’re in for each time you pay a visit. And, hopefully, you will do so more than once!
  
  So let’s do this, shall we? *grin*
  
  My blog “kelvinsmusings” is all about one dad’s musings on his unfinished journey with:
  1. Autism
    This was what got my blog started.
    
    You see, I have two boys, currently aged 11 and nine. The youngest was officially diagnosed with moderate autism in December 2017, a month before he turned seven.
    
    That began a roller-coaster journey for me and my family. Since that diagnosis, our family has been thrown into such an emotional tailspin that blogging has become my way to calm me down, piece things together, and figure him out.
    And figure ‘me’ out as well.
    
    The ‘me’ who is his dad.
    The ‘me’ who needs to be present for him and his needs.
    The ‘me’ who has absolutely no clue how to do any of that!
    
    So this blog has become an important way to process, learn, and share with those like me what I’ve come to know about this life-long disability.
    
    (Maybe with even those unlike me)
    
    It has also become a platform to speak out on social inclusivity for people like my son. For me to try and advocate for more grace and understanding from those who don’t understand him. Those who could potentially stand in his way towards leading a normal, productive life in society when I’m long gone.
    
    So you will see posts about the raw and real challenges I have with him. But also the moments of pure joy and revelation. And a suggestion or two thrown in for good measure, all in the name of awareness and advocacy for inclusion.
  2. Parenting
    I have been a dad for 11 years now. It’s not a lot I know. I’m probably a babe in the woods compared to other dads.
    
    But American writer Flannery O’Connor once opined that anyone who survives childhood has enough information for the rest of his or her life.So my childhood and those of my two boys (who are still living theirs in real-time now), mean that I already have three times the amount of info and materials I need to talk about matters close to every parent’s heart!
    
    But, and this is where I’m going to disappoint some of you, my posts will probably not distill many parenting “hacks” (don’t you just hate this overly-used word?).
    
    Hey, I’m a stay at home dad (SAHD) after all, so you would expect me to be true and not the least bit flawless right? Cause that’s what a SAHD (get it? *wink wink*) is like in the dirty day-to-day realities of life.
    
    In a word? S . A. (H). D!
    
    Which is where I prefer to be actually. Real and raw. No holds bar.
    
    So if that too is where you prefer to be, then stay tuned, ok?
  3. Life
    That little ditty by Des’ree always plays in my head each time I see this word on its own, like some ear worm you can’t dislodge!
    
    “Life, oh Life, ohhhh Li…fe…oh Life…to doo to too…!” (Preach it sis-tah!)
    
    And since at least some aspect of “Life” can pretty much be found in any blog post just about anywhere, consider this my third thing a catch-all ‘cheat sheet’.
    
    Apologies, just trying to be honest. And calling out the truth about all my fellow bloggers too. (Aww c’mon you guys, admit it!)
    
    However, since everyone’s unique, you can at least expect me to give my ‘unique’ take on what life throws at us. The same goes for many bloggers out there too.
    
    In my case, you’ll likely see posts about Life relating to stuff like:
    – current affairs
    – social issues
    – art of reading & writing
    – reviews of books, films and maybe the occasional TV series
    – teaching & learning
    – justice & society
    – faith, hope & love
    
    All from my perspective of course, but always with a desire to bring forth certain universal truths that will hopefully resonate with you.
    
    Cos hey, that’s what universal truths ought to do!
  Okay.
  
  That’s it.
  
  Unveiled and unpacked.
  
  The manifesto embedded in my blog name’s subtitle: “A Father’s Unfinished Journey with Autism, Parenting & Life”.
  
  Now, on with the show! (If you’re new to my blog, the best place to start would be here)
  
  Oh, wait.
  
  One more thing.
  
  I post every Wednesday & Saturday, around my local time at 8.30 pm (GMT+8).
  
  I mean, if you want to lock it into your planner.
  
  Just saying. *wink*
  Posted in Advocacy, Autism, Book Review, Caleb, Christianity, Film Review, Jaedon, Reflections, Society, Stay Home Dad, Teaching/Education, The Craft of Writing, The Good The Bad & The Ugly | 0 Comments | Tagged Autism, Blogging, Life's Journey, Society, Spirituality Family Parenting, Writer's Life, Writing
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