Postcards from Paris: The City of Light through my children's eyes!

Paris through my children’s eyes

We got our girls a camera each just before we left for Europe, as a reward for an amazing school year and wonderful results and achievements that they had had all year. But mostly, we wanted them to take ownership of their travel snapshots. We wanted them to see new places with their own lenses so to speak, so here are my favourite photos of Paris which they captured with their own cameras. They are especially precious to me as I was able to see what they had observed while I was in hospital for my emergency eye surgery and couldn’t be with them!

At the Lourve museum, we did a very unbecoming thing, as parents. To get them laughing and giggling, I suggested a Lourve expedition with a twist: we would look for as many statues, sculptures, statues and paintings with boobs and bums. After seeing the Mona Lisa and the standard ones, what else was there to enjoy at the Lourve, its vastness gets tiresome after all and one gets easily museumed out,( plus it wasn’t the first time for M and I) so we were being naughty parents indeed. Rather than memorising dates and artists' names, their 'slightly twisted' and naughty experience at the Lourve was more fun, more real and definitely less boring!

I noticed that when children have their own cameras, they then have the desire to create their own narratives. We learned that as they photographed what they saw, felt, touched and sensed around them, their self-actualisation and awareness became stronger and more vivid. Belly Boo has now been able to re-produce Degas' ballet dancers and all three can easily sketch out Paris's key landmarks from memory. They also use their own photographs as fodder for sketches or paintings which they did later on.

At the Notre Dame, I noticed S taking a keen interest in the stained glass patterns and the history and description of each painting or dyptiches on the walls. Belly Boo was keener to take action shots so there were lots of star-jumping mostly throughout Europe. Little T had our SLR camera most of the time, and from his wee height, he managed some cool photos too, especially later in Brugge.

Plus they notice wall murals better too!

Enjoy their photo-journey encapsulating the joie de vivre that is Paris!...

Wall art in the Quartier du Marais

Well-decorated vespa

Ladybird at the Place des Vosges

All is lost for France with Hollande the clown?

A pic of Daddy on the Eiffel Tower with a bird's eye view of Paris

Oh no! It's Spidey on Champs Elysees!

The view from our window at our Marais apartment. Perfect for recuperation.

Our favourite Paris roundabout taken from the Lourve!

Stalking Mummy through the Marais!

I got you, under my skin.

Travelogue Paris: Rendezvous at the American Hospital

Travelogue Paris: Rendezvous at the American Hospital of Paris

My retinal detachment drama

Two days after my discharge from the American Hospital. Our only en famille photo in Paris.

Most ladies who go to Paris end up with a handbag or two, whether a LV, a Chanel or a Birkin. I ended up with the Hermes of eye surgeries. Ever since we got back to KL, I have been inundated by questions such as, “What happened? Why did you get an operation in Paris? What IS a retinal detachment? Were you in pain? You mean you chose Paris for the surgery? Why not Singapore, if you don’t trust Malaysian doctors? (Haha, I had to laugh at that one, and the little faith we have in our poor surgeons).

So, here’s my story. A blow by blow account of my treatment du jour through my lenses.( no pun intended!)

First of all, a retinal detachment is NOT an elective thing, it’s almost a silent but acute emergency. It’s definitely not like, “Okay, I am flying to Seoul, and getting my nose done!” It’s not like I know that on July 16, when we arrived in Paris, I would suddenly emerge from a dark plane in CDG into the early morning summer sunshine to see hundreds of annoying floaters swimming in the periphery of my visual field. It’s more like as the day progressed(We managed to take the children to Place de Vosges( my favourite square in ALL of Paris) while I sat on a shady park bench just resting and enjoying the fresh cool Paris air, walked through the Marais quarter,sat down to watch buskers & dancers on the Ile St Louis bridge & finally, in submission, sat down for Mass at the Notre Dame where I fervently prayed for 3 important things, one of them was 'DEAR GOD, PLEASE HEAL MY EYE'), the floaters would still be there, but later that evening, it felt as though half my contact lens had peeled off, and my visual field got slightly opaque, with a shadow cast on my the bottom left side of my right eye.(I think the exact moment this happened, I was at the local Marche Prix buying milk, cheese, ham & eggs with family, and I remember telling M : I have to go back to our apartment NOW to lie down as I really didn’t ‘feel well’ (as though lying down would help reattach my retina!) So, those were the symptoms- floaters,a shadow and opaqueness, then flashes of neon in the darkness, all in silence. Spontaneously detaching. Silently but surely, urgently. Painlessly...

First day in Paris; fun with the kids despite my retina slowly detaching itself silently.

Citing jet-lag and tiredness( I had been so looking forward to some time away from KL after a hectic and quite challenging year at work- the last 6 months have been really tough and stressful, and I just needed this break to clear my mind from the reality of work life.) So on the evening of July 16, I dropped off to bed by 8.30pm while M and the kids watched a movie- I think it was a cartoon called A Monster in Paris, which he had downloaded( all Paris movies) prior to getting to Paris being a hopeless romantic that he is). I slept restlessly then woke up at 4am Paris time, and this time, I knew that I HAD to go to a hospital that morning. The neon flashes in the dark had become more frequent, and I just didn’t feel right. I could still see okay but I calmly & silently prayed in the dawn light, & waited for M & the children to wake up.

When Martin woke up at 8, we rang up his very amiable and friendly Paris-based client/now friend G who happened to be in their farmhouse in the Loire at the time, but she very quickly phoned her ophthalmologist for an appointment. However, being July, he was already away on vacation. G suggested we go straight to the American Hospital in Neuilly- sur- Seine. I quickly googled the American Hospital and got the exact address and read up their homepage and we got dressed and got a taxi there. (Now, what I didn’t know then that green and clean Neuilly-sur-Seine has had its fair share of famously rich and well -heeled French top guns.) It’s a leafy upmarket suburb west of the centre, on the fringes of central Paris, just beyond Arr 17. The infamous DSK was born there, Sarkozy and Hollande both grew up there. SO, you can imagine my hospital bill later! :) Our lived-in Filipino helper, who used to work for a royal Syrian/Lebanese family in Beirut later told me that her employer had a mansion there, next to the Imelda Marcos’ and were friends with them. Her previous Ma’am had had brain cancer and had treatment there and it’s an excellent hospital. Ok, had we know it then, would we still have gone there? Without a doubt of course. A retinal detachment is not something to be taken lightly. When you are abroad, the best place you will feel is in a hospital where you would receive the best treatment.

The corridor of my ward at the Hopital Americain de Paris.

My point is, the French have one of the best health systems in the world and even if I had walked into a public hospital, I would have been fine. But the American Hospital is excellent- so good and efficient that I was seen too within 45 minutes of my arrival. They even asked if we needed a Mandarin or Cantonese translator! 187 patients to 400 doctors? The second we arrived at the hospital by taxi, we were ushered to the Ophtalmological Suite 3. The attending doctor was an older doctor, with a pot-belly named Dr L. He was nice enough, but dismissively French with all the flourishes that we typically associate Parisians with, and he announced to us after examining my eye, confirming my WORST fears, in a French-accented English: “YES, you have a retinal detachment. You need an operation!” We asked, “Dr, could we fly back to Kuala Lumpur immediately and have it done there? His answer: Yes, you can fly back, but you will lose your sight. ( Okay, that was reassuring, NOT, Dr!) Us: Let’s schedule for an operation straight-away then. Dr L then rang his colleague on his mobile, spoke in rapid French about ‘this patient with an emergency retinal detachment from Malaysia’, and immediately confirmed that the surgeon would see me at 6, and the operation would happen that evening at 7. “I can’t do the surgery for you, but my colleague, much younger than me, about 40 who is a retinal specialist will come later. He's good. Don't worry. Start fasting."

Suddenly, it SANK IN. I started processing- 'OMG, SURGERY, in Paris?' The costs involved were the last thing on my mind. I knew that side of things would get taken care of. But an actual surgery in an operating theatre, with anaesthesia and scalpels and scrub nurses, in a foreign country?( I think I had been watching too many episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and have also listened too much to my brother in law who is a consultant anaesthesist and his sometimes funny cum horror OT stories over the dinner table!) I thought of my poor children, my sweet husband, my parents? my 2 sisters? my dogs! What if I don’t wake up after the surgery? What if... what if...? For someone like moi, who essentially likes to be in control, (As my husband says of me, you are a formidably strong woman, and that’s what I love about you), I have NEVER had anaesthesia in my life. Even with the au naturel birth of my 3 children, which were quite textbook, I was in complete control of my labour, my obgyn and the nurses. But to 'go under'? To have someone cut open my eye(my EYE?!!!) and do stuff to it? I masked my fears behind the bravado of a loving mother and put up a brave smile for the children and M. Secretly, I was a little terrified.

Trying to stay brave in front of the kids just before my admission.

I first thing I did was try to ring my Dad in Penang. For some reason, we couldn’t get him on his mobile, so I had to speak to Mum instead. We Leng daughters know that when there are emergencies, we always speak to Dad first, not Mum. Mum loves us to bits and is a wonderful woman, but she’s also a Chinese Hokkien mother. So she was like, “What, an eye operation? In Paris? Aiyo, why like that? Why didn’t you look after you eye? You shouldn’t have flown, must be the pressure and high altitude. (Okay, how do I explain to Dr. Mum over 10,000km away, that no matter how much I ‘look after my eye’, if my retina was going to detach, it will just detach regardless??) Anyway, it was nice chatting to you, Mum, I feel better already! Next, I whatsapped my best friend D, my prayer pal, and admitted to her that I was scared. Later on, I sent a short text by whatsapp to my sisters and my other best friends who by then were getting ready for bed in KL to tell them what was going on. My great tough-cookie friend, S, who had surgery on BOTH her eyes to fix both her retinas a few years ago assured me all will be well! “You’re in France, babe, you’ll get the best treatment. So just relax, you’ll be fine.” Their support and encouraging words held me together. And faith kept my spirits up. Together, we had a mini family conference cry, just to let things out. The children were amazingly strong. My eldest was stoic as ever, my two younger ones held me close. I could see M trying not to break down and I felt really bad putting him through this.

My patient tag!

By 1.00pm, I got admitted as an official patient at the American Hospital of Paris, short of checking into the Crillon or George V, the smooth English-speaking staff assured me that I would receive the best treatment.I thought of Yves St-Laurent doing the same, years before, before he died there. ( No negative thoughts, no negative thoughts!) I spoke to my KL ophtalmologist as he was having his dinner KL time, who advised me to use silicone oil & wished me luck! M was sorting out the insurance at the same time. The kids, bless them, had the ipad to occupy them; the only times they ever were hooked on the ipad to distract them was when I was at the hospital.

The kids were immersed in a game on the ipad: we allowed them that small treat only during my time in hospital and at the doctors' to distract them from the reality of the emergency.

By 2.20pm I was checked into my room no. 516. All rooms are single, so the patients get all the privacy they needed, watching French TV and drinking copious amounts of Evian water, if you are not fasting or on drips and they even give you a set of Peckniffs' mood therapy toiletries! The last time I had Peckniffs' mood therapy was in our hotel in Shanghai a couple of years ago. I started smiling, amused, to myself, to console myself of the COST( & irony) of this Hermes operation! But again, that was the last thing on my mind! At least, I’ll smell nice, I thought!

My room!

Once settled in my room, I asked M to take the kids out for a walk and for a late lunch. Neuilly -sur- Seine, especially where the hospital was located, was unfamiliar territory to us as tourists. Leafy boulevards with gated mansions don’t result in too much entertainment for kids. Just before that, my debonair anaesthetist, Dr K came in to ask me some questions. Do you smoke, what’s your health pattern? ( I thought, wait till I tell my bro in law, E about this impeccable PR skills of his Paris colleague!) He was surprised I haven’t had any epidural for my 3 children but I feebly joked that I was trying to save my husband money but look where that got me? His response, in effusive accentless, English was “May this be your last one, Mrs Leng."-possibly NOT the best thing to say to a girl who was about to go under, but it became a standard joke between us in the next 3 days! ( I was also too tired to correct him to say that I was not really Mrs Leng,( but actually Mrs LEE nee Leng) and that it's not de regueur for Chinese women to adopt their husband’s surnames when they marry but I didn’t think this was the right time for me to be so gungho about my feminist ideals either so I smiled back at him.) Then the rigmarole began, nurses and orderlies started streaming in. My blood pressure was taken, my blood( oh yes, I discovered that the veins on my right elbow joint may be fat and look really juicy but no blood can be drawn out of there. If we had known it then, I would have been poked and prodded so much).

I was weighed, had my temperature taken and then given some antiseptic to wash myself my top to toe. So that I get squeaky clean for the OT. I changed into that dreadful hospital gown that labels you officially as a PATIENT! You'd think that with the room rates they charge you at the American Hospital, the least they can do was to give you a silk dressing gown, all sterilised of course! I thought: Good one, Renie, from TOURIST TO PATIENT! Then the paperwork came, the signing of the CONSENT FORMS! I did them quickly and kept my fingers crossed. Alone, in my room at last, I started to pray again and my fear slowly evaporated, and I managed with one failing eye, to write a letter each to the four most important people in my life ---to dearest M and the 3 munchkins. Only then did the second reality hit me, I was well & truly going under, and I better get out of the OT with my eyesight fully restored, if not for me, for THEM!

With my iphone and complimentary WEEFEE (They bring you a new password everyday!), I managed to google my surgeon to see who this person was who was going to operate on me. The first page on google netted some positive results- I was relieved that he was consulting for the American Hospital, had a double-barrel surname, was in a medical video on youtube and has written copious amounts of research papers, and was Chief of Surgery at Hospital Foch so he must be be pretty impressive.

By 5pm, the nurses popped by to give me two happy pills, atharax which is a very sleepy anti -histamine, and a relaxant. I felt drowsy straight away, and suddenly felt much better. Now I know why some people are hooked on drugs! When M & the kids came back, we prayed together as a family and I was starting to languish into my own drug-induced world of a new druggy! The kids too started to feel tired and were falling asleep on my bed as by then they were a little worn out and jet-lagged.

After 6, the orderly brought a wheel chair to take me down to the eye examination room to say that my eye surgeon ( & an assistant surgeon who, I recall reminded me of Steve Jobs) was finally here to see me. The second I met him in my drug-induced state, when he shook my hands firmly and smiled very kindly, and told me that it will be alright, I INSTANTLY felt much better. Dr PK, is so not your typical Frenchman or alpha male surgeon. Not that I have met too many of them in my lifetime. For starters, he’s really warm, reassuring and very nice. He seemed very sincere and had very kind eyes. And even with my wonky eye, I could see that he was a bit of an eye candy( again no pun intended). And for a girl on drugs and about to go into surgery, that truly is a bonus. ( As my girlfriends later tell me, “Trust You to get a dishy doctor, for most of us would probably end up with an old fuddy- duddy, grumpy one"). In the words of my best friend D, "Well, if you are going to be operated on, what better person than a Mark-Ruffalo looka-like!"

But seriously, it’s not the eye candy bit. But more that he completely radiated compassion and emanated kindness and a genuine honesty that you don’t get from surgeons especially. There was no showiness, cockiness or abruptness that I have experienced with other male doctors like : "Trust me, baby, I’ll fix you right up with my scalpel.” Lucky me, I got a doctor who took his Hippocratic oath very seriously. He examined my eye thoroughly( I was down to only counting fingers by then), listened to me intently, and patiently drew an eye and two holes to show 2 TEARS in my retina, on a piece of paper and explained that he was going to perform a VITRECTOMY in my eye. At that drug-induced stage, I wouldn’t have cared if it was my appendicts or heart or brains that he was taking out, as I was suddenly overwhelmed by drowsiness, nothing too intense was registering really. (Sorry). I remember him telling me he does 400 of this type of surgeries a year which I thought was reassuring. I later looked up the meaning of vitrectomy only AFTER reading the surgical report and am glad I had no idea what it meant BEFORE the surgery! As M was with the kids in my room, I requested that the surgeon explain to my dear, worried -sick husband what he was going to do to me and he kindly consented to, and that really reassured M so very much that he said it made him feel so much better straightaway.

Soon, I was transferred onto a gurney trolley & wheeled into the OT. Drowsy, in semi-induced state, with a detached retina in one eye, and no glasses on the other, it was all a haze to me. I recognised Dr PK’s voice saying hello and Dr K my friendly anasthesist saying hello, and my male orderly, who looked Algerian, was so sweet, he kept reassuring me on the way to the OT to not worry and that I was in the best hands. All in all, the best bed-side manners I had ever encountered from all the staff. I remember seeing a window, and joked with them,"Wow, an operation with a view; at least we're not in the basement!" At about 7.20pm Paris time on July 17, I had my FIRST EVER dose of general anaesthetic. The second Dr K told me that he was going to put me to sleep, I was knocked out completely!

I wouldn’t know what exactly happened to me in that two hours when I was operated on, but all I know, in layman's terms is that advanced medical science and an excellent, experienced surgeon can do wonders. In most cases now, retinal detachment surgeries are done under a local anaesthetic and the patient goes home straightway. ( Had I been operated on in KL, it would have been under local anaethesia.) But I don’t see how that can be comfortable for the patient. In the 2 hours "as I lay sleeping" under anaesthesia, with a clamp to keep my right eye open, Dr PK made two incisions in my right eye, on both sides of my pupil. Through a microscope, he then removed the vitreous( gel like liquid) to get to my retina( which really is at the back of my eye) He repaired the two tears on my retina by cryotherapy, removed all the burst blood vessels-probably sucked out at the same time the vitreous gel was removed ( which were causing the floaters) then reattached the retina and the macula as well. Pretty complicated stuff and such a delicate procedure! ( A month later, I youtubed some videos of retinal detachment surgeries, I was almost sick, & slept really badly after, as it’s not a pretty sight AT ALL, and I am NOT a squeamish person!) The anaesthesia worked so well that I didn’t come to until about 11pm that night. They had difficulty slapping me awake. I may have lost a few good cells but that's a small price to pay.

M was hugely relieved when the surgeon came to my room to wake him up to relay the good news, that the surgery was a success, and all would be well. He then told me that between 9.45 to 11pm, I was delirious, holding his hand, and moaning to him that my eye was painful. But I have absolutely no recollection of this. I remember being moved to my room and onto my bed and had to lie in a face-down position for the entire night as the viscous silicone oil which is a tamponade to help seal the retina flat back to my eye ball won’t run upwards. Normally gas( which will dissolve naturally) is inserted to buffer the retina but that would mean absolutely no flying for at least 3 months. As I had to return to KL in the 3 weeks, silicone oil was used, ( I will, however, need another procedure to remove the viscous silicone oil in the next 2 months which to me is a bugger, as that means the redness of my eye won’t fade for another few months.)

I think I mostly slept well that night in the hospital. I was worried about M and the kids getting home to the apartment so late in the night. The nurses kept checking on me, checking my pressure, my drip, etc. I really felt quite positive the morning after even with a bandage on my eye. I was wheeled down just before 7.30am for Dr PK to check on me but he wasn’t there yet, so the impatient orderly wheeled me back up again. In my sleepy state with my eyes half-closed, I just remembered hazy hospital corridors and busy orderlies and nurses walking about in the early morning, and wondered if the children had slept okay and what M would be feeding them for breakfast. When Dr PK finally arrived, they wheeled me back to the ophthalmology suite and I was reassured by him that my surgery went really well,the worst I would feel was that day, with a sandy feeling inside my eye, and he had even reattached the MACULA which was off as well. ( Having forgotten my biology lessons on the eye, I had to research my macula later, and it’s the centre of the eye that allows us to get a bird’s eye view in our visual field). Because my macula hole was also involved, my visual field on my right eye sees a slight dip/curve when I am reading of looking at straight horizontal lines. The doctor said I didn’t need an eye patch but had to lie on my front or left side for a few weeks. One of the side effects of a retinal attachment is unfortunately an early onset of cataracts( which is in my family history anyway) & in some cases, ptosis( droopy eyelids), etc.

I then returned to my room and pretty much slept through the day. M and the kids got to the hospital by 11, and it was so lovely to see them again, without floaters in my eyes, without the opaque lens feeling. It was so wonderful to see them in high spirits and my fear and doubts the day before vanished in a flash. I was really thankful to be alright. But I think the painkillers were still working and that sedated and calmed me a lot. I even managed to update my facebook status to tell my friends & family who have rallied for me that I was now fine, with my eye sight saved, no less!

I sent M and the kids off to see Paris that I had intended- they happily found their way to the Eiffel Tower and they WALKED up 669 steps up and down to get a bird’s eye view of the City of Light. And they brought back lovely photos to show me. I felt a new awakening by my reattached lense. And a bit subdued. It’s very humbling when something like this happens to you. Medical emergencies are scary no matter what. ( My last one was when I was 20 weeks pregnant with T as we found out that he had a 1 in 100 chance of being a Down Syndrome baby as opposed to 1 in 300, and I had to live with that for about 19 weeks but no matter what, the grace of God was with us then, as it was in Paris with my detached retina).

So I slept and slept, face-down, or propped up with my head down, (probably tired too from a very hectic term, a little bit of jet lag, and just recovering from that along with the shock of surgery abroad.)

I told the good doctor that I would like to stay one more night and then be discharged the next day. So he thoroughly examined again on Thursday, two days after my surgery, and was happy to see that my retina was now flat and reattached, my intraocular pressures had improved as well as my visual acuity. These terms will afterwards become common terms for me as I understood my eye problem better. Oh yes, Dr L, the first doctor, the anterior specialist, who checked me on the first day had found my left eye to be slightly problematic too(with evidence of lattice degeneration and had offered to do a laser photocoagulation for me, but I sought the opinions of Dr W and Dr PK and both agreed that I could do that when I get home. I really didn’t wish to have another medical procedure on my eye, with one retina recently attached and another getting lasered at 4-6 times the price it would cost me to do it at home. Plus if truth be told, I would now actually prefer to be asleep when I am being operated one, and I had told Dr W once that laser surgery to me is worse than being in labour!

One of my meals during my stay. Mushroom poillet and rice with a bottle of Evian!

Two nights after my surgery, I was discharged from the American Hospital. We went to say goodbye to Dr L and to say thank you. In yet another taxi-ride with a slight mad, Merde-chanting French driver, we made our way 'home' and we celebrated by having lunch at the Cafe de Musees near our apartment in the Marais quarter where little T had his first taste of escargots and simply relished them. I just wanted to get to bed and sleep again, and I did. M took the kids to the Tuileries and to Musee D’orsay where the kids had a fun time sneaking photographs of some classic paintings. I was happy that they go to run in the gardens around Tuileries and that they didn’t get lost!

Finally, discharged from the American Hospital, a cloudy summer's day in Paris @ 20 C.

We had a lovely quiet evening as I would do at home. I got used to my routine of a saline eye-wash and instilling various eye drops, including a steroid-based drops and drops for dilation. I only slept on my front with my head down position juxtaposed sometimes with a left-side position. I stopped taking any sort of painkillers the day I left the hospital. Poor little T, who had looked forward to climbing in between us was so mature and understood that he could NOT sleep in-between Mummy and daddy for he might inadvertently kick Mummy’s eye.

The next morning, a Friday morning, we went for my final check up with Dr PK at his lovely private practice( with a very beautiful receptionist), near the Arc d’Triomphe in Avenue Niel in Arr 17. Again, the check-up was very good & thorough, and Dr PK as ever, with his impeccable bed-side manners, was positive and professional and he was determined that we continued with our holiday without any major change in plans. Hence, I was given the all clear to continue with our intended journey, which was a train journey to Brussels/Brugge the following Monday and a flight to Copenhagen the following Wednesday and subsequently two weeks later, another flight to Amsterdam and finally, homeward to KL from Amsterdam. Dr PK was very reassuring, and M, especially felt very comforted by his kindness and generosity. He actually let us leave France without paying his surgical fees as we couldn’t settle it by credit card as his fees were separate from the American Hospital’s. A bank transfer from Denmark was possible a week later. That was kindness and trust beyond belief.

With the kind surgeon who saved my sight.

We spent the last weekend in Paris mainly taking things easier than I would have normally liked it. We didn’t make it to Giverny to see the real water lilies, or to Chartres for the stained glass windows,or to the Phillipe Starck restaurant that I wanted to take the kids to, but no matter, France will always be there, and my eye- sight, possibly not. But as I promised the kids, we did see most of what we had promised to show them- the Eiffel Tower(kids loved it), the Mona Lisa(no big deal), the Arc de Triomphe(symbolic), Champs Elysees(completely over-rated), Parc Villete(comme ci comme ca), walks along the Seine(throughly romantic & therapeutic), the Sorbonne( for inspiration) and on my final morning, we went to Place de Vosges( did I say it's my fav spot for some Muse?) again to look at the square with no floaters swimming this time. And on lovely our final evening, I had the best duck dish that I have had in ages, at a buzzy, provencal bistro near our digs called Chez Janou at 10pm at night with my new Chanel shades on! It was indeed my most 'unforgettable' holiday, ever.

Did I panic? Or wished I had flown home? Not really. You just make the best out of bad situations and stay positive. I rested so well in our apartment in the Marais overlooking a quiet inner garden courtyard, more so than I would have done at home probably. My godsend other half couldn't have coped better and my wonderful children- they were amazing beyond belief!

I do know that I am NOT the anomaly in getting a retinal detachment. On one medical website- the NHS one, it states that it happens to 1 in 10,000 people. 1 in 4 of severe myopes( short-sighted with high power) people have a higher chance of getting it, Asians tend to get it more as we are more Myopic and it has to do with the change in our eyeball (corneal) shape. My myopia has stayed at -7.00 on both eyes since my early twenties and I have worn glasses since I was 11, contact lens since I was 18. And family history counts too- my dad has had eye issues since he was 38 but now at 68, he’s absolutely fine and doesn’t need glasses except for reading. The strange thing that despite my MANY visits to my KL opthalmologist in recent years, NOT ONCE was I told I was high risk in getting a retinal detachment. I was lucky that I had no side effects whatsoever from my first ever GA. I actually woke up feeling high and relaxed! ( But I now have 4 opthalmologists' direct numbers on speed dial, just in case!)

They say that the eyes (les yeux) are the windows of the soul- and what happened to me did open up my soul, however corny it sounds. NEVER ever take your eyes( or any part of your body) for granted; I should know, having also occasionally suffered from another serious recurrent eye problem of uveitis. Don’t take EVER floaters lightly. Get your eyes checked often. My husband now has a private joke with me- “You would have saved your husband a lot more money if you had married an ophthalmologist.”

I have started to take things easy. No more making ten appointments a day and hurtling from this to that, when one would suffice. Me first. Not someone else. Family. Alone time. Walking slowly. Reflection. Naps to rest my eyes. Quietude.

Do I really need a Birkin bag? No. It's more tres chic to have my retina reattached. As for the American Hospital, well, it wasn’t the Four Seasons George V, but it’ll do.

I got to see clearly again, I am so grateful( and very blessed), and it’s a bit je nais se quoi to describe it but it was indeed a miracle. I call it my Paris miracle.

My little nomads helping with the luggage as we head towards Gare du Nord to catch our train to Brussels on our final morning in Paris. My heart breaks into a thousand pieces seeing how intent they were in NOT letting me strain my eye. Bless them.

PS. Had it happened in Siem Reap ten days before while I was there knee-deep in volunteer teaching, perhaps it might have ended up being a Cambodian Catastrophe instead.

PPS. A retinal detachment recovery takes months. I am lucky to be able to see very well with the silicone oil, with only a slightly distorted vision at times if I use only my right eye. I hope that once the silicone oil is removed, my retina will stay reattached and there will be no further complications.

R- August 2012

LESSONS FROM MY MOTHER

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY 2012

Growing up as a child of the 70s and 80s, my mum was well and ahead in the game of being a career and multi-tasking mum. And from her, I learnt these life lessons. I think for the first 18 years of my life, I was pretty terrified of my mother. Here she was,no-nonsense, tall, statue-esque for a Chinese woman, and though we used to joke about her Victorian disposition (when she had her acid reflex attacks or asthmas flare-ups), she was always robust and ready to roll. She was loving, but with that came a very high level of expectations that she heaped on us, her daughters. Speaking proper English with the correct grammar and pronunciation, not using the same connectives when we are narrating a story, using your apostrophes properly, correct subject-verb agreements etc. We were expected to score top marks consistently and do our best- in piano, in our subjects at school( nothing below 85%), and being her eldest , I think I always felt the pressure the most. She juggled a teaching career (being an English specialist and a minor in Geography) and was discipline teacher and senior school head amongst other posts. She used to have a hockey stick in her car as part of her walk-about as discipline head. So you can imagine. For her, the value of a good education comes with a good dose of discipline too!

On weekends, she managed her own very popular Joy Luck Club. ( which also became, for most of my teens and twenties, a source of bitterness and resentment, which I hope I have left behind now that I am older and wiser.) But our meals were always hot and freshly prepared, and very delicious, she would never forget birthdays and I would always get a small party with a cake nearly every year, and would not think twice about spending money on books( of the Enid Blytons and the Bobsey Twins and the Nancy Drews she bought us, then trips to Chowrasta Market to the second hand book stores for classics, and even overseas holidays despite being on a government-school teacher’s meagre salary. When I was 15 and my second sister was 13, she single-handedly paid for and shipped is off to Australia for 2 weeks to be with our aunt, so that we could broaden our horizons and enjoy a special Xmas. There started our wanderlust for travel beyond numerous trips to KL and Singapore.

My mother’s most obvious golden trait is her generosity. I think she learnt that early on from her own mother( Our Ah Ma), who, even during her numerous post-baby recoveries, would share her one rare egg with my mum, her only child( out of 12) to suffer from asthma and therefore needed the nutrients, and hence was always well-protected. Like my Ah Ma, she would do the same with us, though we now have more eggs than we can handle. At restaurants, Mum would always ask us to try the dish that she ordered first, always wanting to share with us what she ate. If she bought herself a new scarf or purse, and if we complimented her on them, she would offer to give it to us straight away. Once, much to my sister’s chagrin, she offered me her LV bag that my sister has passed on to her, haha! And being a fair parent, mum was always and is always fair when it came to the three of us. When my sisters and I were very young, she would practise a true happy birthday celebration for us all. I would get a gift as a birthday girl, and my sisters would get one too. And the same would happen when one of my sisters had their birthdays. This was so no one felt left out. When my youngest sister was old enough to suss out that being born on June 23 was quite ordinary compared to both her sisters’s big bang birthdays (New Year ‘s and April Fool’s Days respectively), I remember hearing mum rock her gently on her sturdy legs and cooing to her that people born on June 23rd was the most special birthdate to have !

Mum’s closet in the 1970s right up to when she retired in 2000 was full of exciting, well- tailored clothes. She has long maxi dresses that were de rigeur in the 70s and smart tailored matching skirt and blouse suits in the 80s. With her we were introduced to Aladdin’s caverns of fabric shopping in stores Sungai Petani, Bukit Mertajam and Campbell Street. Looking for the best rolls of gorgettes, linens and Japanese cotton for her to make the best clothes. Needless to say, I think we are clearly chips off the old block now when it comes to being clotheshorses and style mavens!

From our mum, we learnt that it’s essential to go out of the house with your lipstick on. After all, you never know who you might meet. She would never get out of the house without proper clothes on, which means no shorts or sloppy t-shorts in case she met her students outside of school. Errr, I guess, it’s the noughties now, and I do love my short shorts and I don’t really care how my students view me outside of school but a bit of lip gloss is always essential.

Mum made time to create special moments, though as her joy luck club members increased, it became abundant clear to an adolescent and more aware me that her priorities had changed hence those to me were the most turbulent years of our relationship. They were not all bad, but those were the years when communication was difficult and I turned to Dad more and more despite his strictness and set ways. To say that both my parents have mellowed so much is an understatement. I think an important lesson out of mum here, is that I learnt not to get too emotional and to not use crying as a form of blackmail against my spouse, having seen it done the artful way by her! She’d make me delete this part for sure.

At university, I remember after a particularly bad week of orientation by the seniors, upon ringing home, and hearing Mum’s voice, I burst into tears. Her letters from home were always newsy and full of who had struck 4D in the family and who was treating dinner, or what tricks my dad had got up to up on the mango tree that week! It got more serious when devastatingly our beloved grandmother suddenly got terminal with lung cancer at 75 but mum dealt with that very admirably and recovered from her grief much quicker than the rest of her siblings did. From Mum, I learned to begin to truly honour my own. And I am sorry it’s taken my 40 years to write this for you.

Millie and I especially enjoyed some really fun special moments with her when she was a young mummy, with fun trishaw rides to Georgetown to old style coffeeshops like Kek Seng where she would never allow us to have fizzy drinks, lest we pleaded. She would then remind us of the Colgate advertisement of the girl with bad cavities( she would quote, pointing to our teeth- LAIN JADINYA) It always worked and we would stick to plain water. ( Till today, thanks to her, I stay away from carbonated drinks like a disease) Hence, when we did, it was a WILD treat indeed! Barley ice was as much a treat as a glass of coke. I remember in the late 70s when she had this penchant for Taiwanese movies- ( these days she loves American Idol and The Voice, which she has to fight with dad who will be channel-flipping to watch). After school, she would whisk us off( still smelling of her Elizabeth Arden perfume and in her lovely school clothes) to any Odeons or Cathays that were showing any of those with Lin Ching Xia, Chin Han, Ling Fong Chiao love triangles, set in bucolic Taiwanese scenes. A pure banana Chinese, Mum read the English subtitles as we did to understand what was happening. Mum was and is still a great cook but she wasn’t the world’s most fantastic baker. She had an amazing recipe called coconut biscuits which she used to bake every Chinese New Year. One year, the batch of cookies got burnt, and she was so embarrassed by it. She made us throw them away into the bin outside as she had a visitor coming.

What I most treasure about mum during my school days was that she NEVER missed a single sports day and end of year concert cum prize-giving day especially in Primary school. She would turn up and do the parents' races sportingly, once even got knocked off the pitch by an eager dad. She sat there proudly as I collected my First in the class or year prize and even though she never told me she was proud of me as in the Chinese way, the look of pride I saw when she saw me go up to collect the prizes of the smiles of assurances she gave as I played the glockenspiel, or as Millie read her speech, or Evelynn delivered lead lines in plays were enough to make us know she was well and truly proud of us. For that, I will forever be thankful for her.

Yes, our family is a rare Chinese breed who tells each other we love each other all the time. But any further praise or compliment is often veiled. We all know she is proud of us 3 girls, with all her heart but it’s not in her nature to show us off or be smug against her peers about our achievements. She knows she has raised us well, and being dad’s sidekick, I think one of their strongest strength as our parents is that they always believed in us, and were consistent in what they expected of us. She taught me that it was important to work at a great marriage. And it's okay to sometimes feel like you want to kick your spouse out of the house, but to never go to bed angry with each other.

Mum was with me both emotionally and physically for Isabel and Thomas’ births as she had retired from teaching by then. She gave up a month of her life in Penang to come and look after me and baby, and that in itself is an act of generosity and self-less that I hope I have learnt from her. She let me wash my hair and eat what I wanted though there was always plenty of ginger, steamed fish, chicken in Chinese wine , chicken essence, lots of eggs and copious amounts of red date water, she was the coolest confinement lady ever. We went shopping and she learnt drive from Sri Hartamas to Damansara Heights in my Suzuki Vitara and took Sam and then both Bel and Sam to school and brought them home safely. Anytime we had problems with domestic help, Mum and dad would be on their way in 5 minutes. Mostly they would drive, but Mum would sometimes take the bus from Penang to KL or Singapore to not miss her grandchildren’s special occasions.

From Mummy, we learned to always keep your husband happy (She’d chided us earlier in our motherhood for going to sleep with our babies and leaving the poor dads alone) but to get your way nearly every-time, haha and she lets you know she’s proud of you not through outward gestures but through her special rhetorical, sometime slightly passive-aggressive ways that her way, her advice is still THE BEST! And you never mess with a Chinese mother. If your results are less than par, she wouldn’t be happy. If your hair is unkempt or you are without your lipstick, watch her eyebrows raise. Or as a doting grandma, if you are over-disciplining your child! She would happily point out that you have a zit on your face, and that you are running out of time to complete your Master’s dissertation so you better get on with it( even though you were struggling with inspiration), and on a recent maiden Skype experience with Evelynn my youngest sister, she asked her why she had a congested forehead and asked if is she had put on weight on her face! Through these all, you just get tougher and more immune to loving criticism!

So, this is my parting paragraph, Mum.

I think I am turning into you, and it’s scary( but an honour as well), especially when I admonish my kids, and give them sage advice ala you or when I am trying to win an argument with my husband, haha. Growing up, I used to be more of daddy’s girl, and you, despite being hurt about it, you rose above it and knew that eventually we girls would return to the mother hen, who not only gave us everything that you could but MORE. And I mean everything, you taught us( besides how to play Scrabble), the value of strength and resilience and to not be ashamed of being yourself, and to never ever settle for less that what you deserve. You taught me to me a fighter, and to never give up, and to stay stylish and beautiful. You taught me to GIVE GIVE GIVE, as you have, and then be blessed. You have given me the greatest meaning in my life, Mum. I love you more than words can say.

Mum & her girls at our youngest sister's wedding at Lone Pine May 2010.

Love a Mom who Works

Love a Mom who works- inspired by Date a Girl who Reads

http://littlemissdorkette.tumblr.com/post/3118512524/date-a-girl-who-reads-by-rosemarie-urquico

Love a Mom who works, for she will be the best multi-tasker ever on the planet; she can drive, file her nails, check the news and text while admonishing you from the driver’s seat for not sharing your popcorn with your sister all at the same time. She would never feel guilty buying you expensive gifts with money she has earned herself and if she thinks you deserve it, she will take you for the nicest of treats and pamper sessions.

My Mother's Day 2012 breakfast presented by my little man a day earlier as he didn't want to do it when everybody else did!

Love a Mom who works, for even though she may not cook very often, when she does, she makes the meals so special that it feels like you’re eating at a Michelin- star restaurant, and meals that you otherwise would only eat in fancy restaurants like crostini or hor d'oeuvres in tiny plates which you would never complain are too bland, oily or too salty or boring.

Love a Mom who works, for her heart is always in the right place, though highly-strung, her mental health is never in doubt as she is too busy hurtling down the superhighway of deadlines and meetings, to have time to over-analyse herself or you, or get depressed, or think if she looks too fat in this suit or if her heels give her cankles. She just gets on with it because she has to! >

Love a Mom who works, for all the hours that she spends at work means that the hours she spends with you are extra special and a million times more meaningful than just taxi-mummying and helicopter mothering or plain nagging. Believe her when she tells you that you are her angel and breathe of fresh air after the many harried hours of work.

And that also means when she does ferry you around, it’s a novelty and treat it like riding in a limousine! Love a Mom who works, for even though she can’t be at home, she has the ability to sense, to knows and see what you are up to, for there is Skype, CCTVs and Facetime and a mother’s intuition sometimes all at the same time.

Love a Mom who works for she appreciates you more than anything in the world, and know how heart-wrenching it was for her to return to work after 2.2 or 6 months of maternity leave so appreciate her more. So she will squeeze you with the tightest hugs and warmest kisses for she feels guilty working but KNOWS that she’s a better mother for it.

Love a Mom who works for her mind is constantly active, and filled with knowledge and ideas that are all around her. Feel energized by the vibes she brings home, and give her a massage or a rub down to let her know she’s loved. And when she's feeling low, tell her that tomorrow will be a better day, and it usually is!

Loves a mom who works, for the hours and months she spent trying to breastfeed you fully, using any inconceivable space/cupboard/washroom/closet to express her milk for you so you still get the best nutrients for you means she would DO anything short of climbing Mt Everest for you in your life-time.

Love a Mom who works more for she would have just offended all the Moms who don’t with this post, for which she wishes she will be forgiven, for that is not her intention at all, for she respects, envies and admires them for their 101% they give to mothering. And so she salutes them all!

Love a Mom who works, because she sometimes has to, but that doesn’t make her any less of a mother! Better still love a mum who reads….

Happy Mother’s Day, to all mums, who work and who don’t!:)

Sensible tweens in love(not)

My eldest daughter, aged 11 shared a secret with me in the car today which led me to this post! It's top-secret but her 11 year old classmate apparently has a crush on this other 11 year old but they are shy, giggly and dewy- eyed and everything. Another bestie too has an admirer. But she feels sorry for her bestie as the poor boy aparently has mop hair. What's that? You know mum, the kind like you you have put a bowl on it? What about you?
No, mummy, no one is interested in me, and I'm not interested in any of the boys. They are so childish anyway. Remember I told you they rolled on the dance floor at prom and licked coke off the floor? Even in their mini-tuxes? Yes, no matter how smart they looked, they didn't act smart, so I am not into anyone of them. Alright then. Why, sweetie?
Well, first I have no time. I have dance lessons twice week, Enopi Math sessions, Mandarin, piano, Sunday school and now I have that role in the Drama production plus I am on the student council. I really don't have time, mum. Plus I have all that homework. So I say to her, well, you can always tell me about it if you like a boy, okay?
Okay, but the chances are slim. Besides, Mum, no one has the kind of energy you have! So, don't worry. I'm still your baby.
Phew...

Me, Myself and I for 24 hours!!!

(Musings on my solo flight from KL-HK 22 August 2011)
I am a mother of three. So,I am hardly ever, if ever, ALONE. On an everage academic/school year, I would have 100 students under my tutelage. So I am NEVER alone in school either. A 20 minute lunch break without a student popping in is a rarity. I am also a wife, daughter and sister. With an extended family larger than the A-team, and friends from all over the country and the world, (in real life, and on cyberspace), from all social circles, I hardly, if ever find myself on my own. My solitary, disciplined walks, usually taken on Saturday mornings up the hills afford me with 90 minutes of alone time- at best. Or a couple of precious hours at a beauty spa would constitute alone time for me. Twenty minutes by myself in the bath/shower before Junior 1, or 2 or 3, or ALL 3 waltz in( this open plan bathroom idea probbaly wasn't very well-thought out when we were designing our house),- either to chat, show me a painting, or a test score, a poem or just to make me to some inverse writing "I love you, cat, dog, Thomas" on the steamed up shower glass. So, you get my point. I am hardly, or ever alone. Solitude for me is a luxury. Solitude unencumbered is something that I am just no used to. Frankly, it's a little scary. But it's bracing. And a blessing.
But here I am , on a full-service(cheap sale) flight( nice) to HONG KONG, entirely on my own, no family, no girlfriends in tow. For someone who has (in the words or another friend) "a million friends & family" I can be totally stand-offish, not-chatty, unfriendly even when I am travelling on my own. I haven't chatted to anyone since hubby dropped me at Kl Sentral station this morning. I haven't started a conversation with my co-passenger. I don't want to talk to anyone. I have relished in the private moments that is me. Just happy being on my own, immersed in my thoughts, of the individual, and of what defines me.
I can look out of my window at the floating clouds in the cerulean sky and know for a fact that I am on hey, on my own! I can create poetry in my head, or make grand plans of our lives, wrapped up in my happy solitude, and cast worries away. It's a bit of a luxury undefined for this crazy mummy of 3 with a million things going on at home.
I know I am heading for Asia's most bustling and populous cosmopolitan cities, but I am sure I will find peace here. I have a purpose in Hong Kong that doesn't involve shopping or food( I can hear you laughing now)- wait for my next blog post! No,right not, let me enjoy my me time- for 24 HOURS+, before sister dearest arrives from Singapore and all consumeristic anarchy will break loose. I may go to the parks, the Teapot Museum, jog up the Peak, take a ferry to Lamma island, or just shut myself in my ladies' only floor in my hotel room and READ! WHO knows? I may master Dicken's take on utilitarianism when I am here, and finally complete Orhan Pamuk's tome- I am just celebrating being me, myself and I! It's truly liberating.
( though missing the little ones and the man terribly...)

My little haiku embodying how I feel:

Floating with the clouds
My thoughts meld- with love, sleep, life!
At peace with myself.

r
x

A birthday letter to Samantha on her 11th birthday

4th of July 2011
Our dearest firstborn Samantha,
Every year, I try to write your siblings and you a letter on your birthday, I know I have some unfinished ones stashed away in my drawer, ready to go into the memory box that you each have with you. This year, especially, Mummy would like to share with you some very important things/memories/events as your turn 11.
11 things actually.
Yes, I know, you are still 2 years short of being allowed to have a facebook account( you do have a tiger mother), and you are still practically the only child in your year group that doesn’t carry a mobile phone, and you don’t really bug me for either, so for that I am doubly proud of you.
Ever since you came into our lives 11 years ago today, you have made me, ‘your ole ma’, a whole new different person, a better person in all.
1. I became a parent, your mother, and that changed my life completely. Every day, since you were born, I am reminded about how blessed your dad and I are that we choose to have children. You, our firstborn, came in your own sweet time, after only 4 and a half hours of labour, only 4 days past your due date- minus any epidural, and with laughing gas that made only Daddy laugh,( and I finished a whole Bill Bryson book and even had a book discussion with Dr Woo in early labour)- you arrived as quite a whooper- 8 pounds 2 ounces and 52 cm long and I recall Dr. Woo saying to me, where did you hide her all these months? And you arrived on the 4th of July, which is why you are named Sam.
2. By 2 months, you understood that mummy HAD to return to work( very sadly) and you started sleeping through the night, waking up for a 6.30 am feed before I had to go to school then going back to sleep till 11.00am, so I didn’t feel too guilty about leaving you with Aunty Ruli. Those early months of rushing back at lunchtime, to nurse you and to check on you and to make sure you were okay will forever be etched in my memory. I think you were instrumental in starting Mummy on a multi-tasking route that would be taken to greater heights in the years to come. You understood that Mummy had to work, had private students to teach, and always, papers to mark, and you have always been an easy baby, taking long naps- sleeping in your car seat all the way on our numerous car trips to Penang and Singapore, and even on flights, you were so good that I could watch two movies from Perth to KL!
3. You MADE me the kind of mum who would make my own flash cards for you, and I miss those days when we were in your old room in our former house, doing flashcards with you while you sang, chatted, read and hugged, cuddled and loved.
4. By 20 months, you had decided on your own accord( and you are actually a quietly strong, resolute, dignified dragon) that you have had enough of Mummy’s milk, and in your OWN WORDS, declared, “Mummy, I have had enough nien nien, I am a big girl now!”- after gagging over my milk as a toddler!
5. When we lost your beloved grandmother when you were two and a half, I remember grieving and pregnant, in tears one night in your room, but you, ever strong and resolute and sensible, even at that age, determined to take care of me, running to me a whole box of tissues from the other room and patting me back until I fell asleep. ( I think Daddy had to work the night shift then).
6. When your baby sister was born 3 years later, you were and still are the perfect caring older sister. You helped us throw away dirty nappies and tissue paper, you would bring me clean flannels and nappies, and most of, you were such a sport when Belly Boo used to drink up your formula in one gulp! Seeing how you are with your siblings reveal to me the caring side of your nature.
7. Though you became a little shy in pre-school( Daddy and I were convinced that you lost your confidence after Grandma passed away as you were so close to her), you NEVER failed to try at every single thing that you do, even at Kumon Maths which you hated. You have made and kept some really good friends from Montessori years, and that’s a testament to what a great little friend you are.
8. And now, as you grow from a tween into a kinda mini teen already, although there are times we disagree with some issues, and there are times when there is awkwardness between us, as I know will be, as part and parcel of our relationship, I just want to let you know you MUST never forget that your Mother is ALWAYS right. ( Smiling….)
9. Ever since your first birthday, when we had that huge yummy chocolate NO. 1cake coated with enough M & Ms to give anyone diabetes, you brought Mummy a new dimension to birthday parties. Having celebrated 11 birthdays with you, and gone through many themes- from your Power puff craze days to Nemo, to that puppet show Daddy and I put up on your 4th birthday with a proper stage, to created a fairy garden for your fairy party, Mummy has become the pro at planning birthday parties, and sourcing for party packs, or making my own decorations complete with DIY special paper cups and plates. Mummy has never derived more joy than planning and organizing a birthday party for you, my sweet girl. ( and hence for your siblings too)
10. This year, especially, we have seen how much you have pushed yourself in all that you do in and out of school. And you have made us so proud of you. You went for House Captaincy even though you are not the sportiest of girlies and got it. You ran so fast in your cross country that you got into the top 10 for your girls’ category. But most of all, how you worked hard in Maths, which is not your strongest forte, but you worked diligently, and pushed yourself, and made sure that you got the grades. You have acquired a deeper sense of confidence and skills and have attained so many other achievements in dance, music and poetry and reading competitions. You make my heart swell with pride. But remember, the road ahead, in secondary school, is where the real tests lie- balancing your academics with your social and co-curricular activities and making sure that you remain that all-round global citizen but most of all, maintaining your true persona, and not have to cave in to peer pressure, and staying sensible.
11. And reason no 11, there should be an unending list, but really, you have defined me as a person. You ( and your siblings) are so much a part of every decision I make in my life, your Daddy and I do what we do best so we can give you the best, in terms of a strong family foundation, religious grounding, strong values and ethics, inner confidence and a strong awareness of the world around you.
Darling, this is your last year in primary school and already Mummy can feel my apron( well, metaphorically, since I don’t even come close to owning one), strings loosening already. I miss you baby smell, your chubby fingers, ( yes, they once were fat!), your dark dark eyes, so large and round when they stared at all the books we always read together, you coming to show me your art work after craft class, I miss holding you taking you for doctor’s appointments for your jabs and all. And I still look forward to your cuddles in bed every night!
On your birthday, darling, don’t forget to:
Love fully and care deeply.
Be kind and gentle, but firm when you have to be
Your prayers.
Think of others
Stay creative, be open to new ideas and change when you have to adapt.
Be loyal to your friends, but don’t lose sleep over a disloyal friend. Sometimes, human nature is complicated.
Eat your veggies, esp. broccoli, and never underestimate the power of an apple.
Remember, your family loves you to bits.
God Bless you, our darling little girl.

With all our love,
Mummy ( & Daddy)
xoxoxoxoxo