CHAPTER 1
I liken one's life to a journey, as we travel through time with many encounters at each stop on the way. This is where one discovers many things, meets people from all walks of life, visits many places of interest, and tastes the many foods such destinations have to offer. Our interactions with all these would in one way or another offer us important lessons that will set the stage for our outlook on life. One can harvest rich experiences from these encounters that would offer valuable lessons on good practices, habits, styles, and behaviour that we can choose to adopt and adapt, while others we can choose to ignore or avoid.
Without exception, everyone will have many junctions to cross throughout the course of one's lifetime. Some are Godsend; others are manmade. While the former are quite beyond our control, the latter require some decisions to be made, and hopefully this book will offer some tips to help readers make the correct decisions.
Every stop, junction, or crossroads will shape and change us. It is important to ponder at these junctions and never walk back. By all means look back for the lessons, but never walk back, as life is progressive, not regressive. Learn from the past, and move on. What the future holds for us is for us to make. Life is what you make of it.
What follows is a narration of the encounters many of my friends have contributed on their journeys. Hopefully these will, in one way or another, help us better manage our own. My role here is really to aggregate the sharing in writing for the benefit of all. For ease of reference, the common and central characters are Dean and his wife, Bridget, who will assume the many roles for the many junctions as they travelled through the journeys that all these friends have contributed.
The First Junction
It was a hot weekend afternoon. Dean's mother was busy baking cakes for the coming Chinese New Year. Dad was busy helping spring clean their humble compound atap hut (an olden-style house with a roof thatched with dried leaves from the atap trees, which are commonly found among mangrove trees along the coast of Singapore), which was located in Choa Chu Kang. Everyone was busy with one thing or another, as usual during that time of year, preparing to usher in the Chinese New Year.
Dean was seven years old and had a sticky tendency to ape his older siblings. Cousin Kenny, having been in the school's scout movement, was eager to show off his newly acquired skills in building a tree house. In the huge village compound was a star fruit tree. Kenny and Dean's older brother, Danny, built a tree house, made up of only several discarded planks of wood, affixed with ropes. They had with them small penknives, water and salt, and some receptacles for their use. The lower-hanging fruits were theirs for the picking. There they were, totally immersed in their activities and oblivious to the fact that poor Dean was just below them, straining his neck and pleading with them to allow him to climb up to the tree house to join them. They did not bother, let alone acknowledge his presence. After a few pleadings and what seemed like an eternity to Dean, he was very upset that his pleas fell on deaf ears. Compounding his anguish was the fact that he was dealing with none other than his own brother and first cousin. He began back-stepping, his eyes still affixed on the two, hoping for some eye contact and that they would eventually relent and change their minds, to let him join them in their tree house. He muttered at them, hoping they would feel threatened, threatening to go home to complain to his mother. That was his recourse, as he was desperate in wanting to join them. Unfortunately, the two were not moved.
Back then in the village, piped water was a luxury and only for the better-heeled. Wells were dug to ensure the constant supply of water to all the households within the vicinity. That village had two wells; one had a circular retaining wall, while the other was squarish in shape. The water from the circular one was not potable, as it was clearly dirty and muddy and was only good for washing. It was heavily tinged orange, especially after a downpour. The square well had crystal-clear water and was used for cooking and drinking. The latter was situated about twenty feet from the star fruit tree and had only about a two-foot-high retaining wall.
Dean was about three-and-a-half feet tall. Back-stepping without eyes at the back of your head is one dangerous adventure. Dean was asking for trouble, as he found out later. Splash! His tiny legs hit the wall, his knee buckled, and he fell backwards into the water. He was drowning!
The strange thing was, he thought he was dreaming. The little he could remember involved kicking the sides of the muddy walls of the well and surfacing once or twice.
His time was obviously not up yet. Providence was smiling at him, as help was at hand. Another cousin, a burly, tall guy by the name of Joe, who had just returned home and was about to preen his pet parrot, heard the splash. He asked the two ignorant fools, "Where is your brother?" They were none the wiser, as their preoccupation had the better of their time—plucking the star fruits, washing them, and then gorging on them nonchalantly.
Joe approached the well with the parrot, first intending to wash his pet parrot and second to check out the source of the splash. True to his suspicion Joe was shocked when he gazed inside the well and saw Dean's tiny hands raising as if asking for help. Joe then shouted at the top of his voice that Dean had fallen into the well and yelled for help, just in case. Being huge and tall, Joe was able to reach down without much effort and plucked Dean from the jaws of death.
The few things Dean could remember after being revived were that everybody was scurrying around like headless chickens, and his mother, who was preparing for the Chinese New Year, burned her cakes. His dad applied whatever little knowledge he had of CPR and was pumping the water out of his tiny body, so Dean survived.
The water from the drinking well was then deemed undrinkable, as it had been contaminated. Far from crystal clear, the water quality was murky, and it was suspected that this was the result of Dean kicking the sides of the mud wall, causing the degeneration. Everyone helped empty the well for new water streams to flow. It took a couple of days before the well was flowing up to the usual level.
That was the first momentous junction of Dean's life—a Godsend, pretty much beyond anyone's control, but that incident made a difference in his life.
Dean had three siblings, two brothers named Henry and Danny and one sister by the name of Venus. The favourite of the family was Venus. Being the two older siblings, Henry and Danny, who were five to six years older than the two younger siblings, preferred not to involve Dean and Venus in most of their activities, so by default, the two younger ones had no choice but to create fun together. As a result, Dean and Venus had a special relationship, which endures today. They had each other for company on most days, as the two older siblings were never home. They developed games and had great fun together. Rainy days were their favourite time. They would make paper boats, which they would launch onto the streaming rainwater in front of their house, with an umbrella in one hand and paper boats in the other. Rushing in and out of the rain, they soon found that the umbrella was no longer of any use, as they were soaked to the skin. Soon after their mother discovered their prank, their juvenile laughter turned to cries.
On yet another occasion, both Dean and Venus decided it was time for their mother to buy them new wooden sandals. In truth, their sandals did not need replacing; they were still usable. So in order to justify the purchase to their mother, they went to a lot of trouble looking for something to artificially wear down their sandals. They found a discarded concrete patch with very rough surfaces and decided that would be the ideal tool to achieve their objective. Both began their wayward shaving of the soles of their sandals by exerting them onto the rough concrete slab with as much pressure as possible. It was hard work, and they laboured with full concentration for hours. Of course they were caught by their mother again and were spanked.
Both had their fair share of quarrels, which could be expected, especially at a young age. The relationship between Dean and Venus was no different, and that strengthened the bond between them. Venus was as stubborn and defiant as Dean and so some kind of juvenile violence could be expected. One day they had a usual quarrel, and Dean was unhappy with her attitude and told her to keep quiet, but Venus challenged Dean to silence her. Dean landed his fist on her mouth, and blood streamed down her lips. This time Dean received the sharp end of the stick from their father for being a bully.
But soon after that the two kids were up to no good again at home.
Life at that time in the village was simple and fun. Dean's family was quite poor, but they never starved. Home-cooked meals were the best and his mother was very handy in the kitchen. She was very proud of her cooking and could whip up some really mouth-watering fare in no time.
His parents had a loose division of labour between them. His father would buy the fresh food items like fish, pork, and vegetables, while his mother would take care of buying the dried food items like onions, ginger, dried prawns, dried chillies, and flour, and of course the cooking. It was amazing how his parents coordinated their purchases. The fresh produce buyer would second guess what the chef would prefer to whip up as Dean was sure his father would purchase whatever he liked but not knowing how they would eventually turn out. But there was one thing Dean remembered that could possibly explain this unspoken arrangement between his parents. There were times his mother would fry all the fishes that his father had bought, and these were supposed to last a few days. These would be fried again and again. Other times his mother would cook a big pot of pork in black sauce that would last the week. The strange thing about that was Dean, his siblings, and his father never complained, as the overnight food was just as good.
His father would do the marketing on a weekly basis on a Sunday. Being a Roman Catholic, he would attend the 6.30 a.m. Mass every Sunday, lugging his favourite rattan basket. After the Mass he would proceed straight to the wet market for his weekly routine. Dean would occasionally accompany his dad, not to help, really, as he would be more of a nuisance, but to mingle with the crowd and soak in the fun. The market was located at the mouth of a small tributary where all the fishing boats were anchored. After their catch, all the fishermen would dock and unload their catch, which would then be auctioned off. Many auctions happened simultaneously, and it was a wonder how transactions could ever take place. With the din that was created, Dean was certain there would be mistakes when money changed hands, but everyone seemed happy and satisfied with the deals. That market was the central distribution point for all the fishmongers who came from all over the vicinity to buy their stock for the day. Some had stalls at some smaller wet markets, while others would hawk their purchases on their bicycles around the villages.
Dean's mother would take care of buying the dried provisions from the shop in the neighbourhood. Dean's family could not afford a telephone to do the ordering of these dried stuffs. So poor Dean had to make a shopping list of what his mother wanted to order and then would either walk about or cycle the one kilometre to do the needful. Deliveries would be done the following day by the store's staff. Sometimes cash would be paid upon receipt of these deliveries while at other times these would be done on credit. Payment was usually made upon the next order or within a thirty-day period.
Dean's mother had to scrape through her little savings from his father's meagre income as a clerk with a small shipping company to put the children through school. His two brothers had the benefit of having tuition. It was his mother who insisted they had tuition, as it was quite fashionable at that time. It was very much a kind of status symbol, much akin to having maids as helpers in the home these days. Dean's brothers Henry and Danny had once or twice weekly tuition sessions on several subjects. It was more an opportunity for adventure than to really enrich their intellect. Unwittingly, their mother was bankrolling the tutors from their dad's hard-earned money, and the duo was none the wiser.
As Dean matured with age and progressively with time, he made a conscious effort never to be like his older siblings but to do things very differently. And from what he had experienced, witnessed, seen or learnt in his encounters to be of help to those who need it, to teach those who are eager to learn, to share his experiences generously, and to be as charitable as humanly possible.
During his primary school days, Dean did well only in the first two years when he was never denied the first and second positions in class. Thereafter, at best he would be positioned somewhere in the middle of the class for the rest of the six years during his compulsory primary education.
That he did quite well in the formative years in primary school got him into all the `A' classes. From the six years in primary school he had the misfortune to have the same teacher by the name Gigi for three years, a fierce lady with an iron fist who was not very proud of being a teacher of the school. Now why did he form that conclusion? She married a rather well educated and prominent person who was quite a social luminary, and when they tied the knot, their wedding was featured in the local papers, complete with their wedding photo. The photo caption was that she was a "teacher of a school which was located near ..." another which she saw fit to name, but not the school that she was teaching in. Why? If she were proud would she have done such a thing? Unthinkable, was his conclusion!
Dean was in Primary 3, the very first year with Gigi. He was a real prankster and was classed in the morning session. The same room would be taken by another class in the afternoon. Teachers' working desks were always positioned beside the blackboard in front of the class, facing the students. During dismissal, all had to line up in front of the class waiting for the bell to signal that school time was over. Dean and one of his classmates jostled for vantage position to be closer to the teacher's chair and would dust the chalk onto the teacher's chair. Not content with that mischief, they progressed to placing thumbtacks and wished the teacher in the afternoon a `comfortable' seating experience. No complaint was ever lodged, so it was quite safe to assume the victim must have been quite alert, or that he had skin so thick the thumbtacks had no effect on his rear, otherwise the two pranksters would have been in trouble.
Another incident worthy of mention was at another occasion during a momentary absence of teacher Gigi. The same two boys were horsing around the classroom with paper planes with the inscription ITALY (meaning I Trust And Love You) written in full. It was a juvenile activity attempting to be topical for Connie Francis's hit song. It was just not their day when Gigi caught hold of one the planes. Both had the thrashing of their lives so they would remember this incident for a long time. Their knuckles were badly rapped. `Executioner' Gigi's torture tool was the duster. With these bloody bruises both were still required to write some few thousand lines, something to the effect that they should never resort to mischief again. It was one painful experience, based on an action they did not think deserved such harshness. There was nothing good that the punitive measures could have achieved except to aggravate their already illegible handwriting. It is hoped the Ministry Of Education would wise up to this silly, misplaced, and totally useless form of punishment. If anything, only the stationers would be pleased.
Dean's primary school days were fraught with many accounts of things that he, on reflection, was not too proud of. In the early years he was a street fighter or a gangster in the making, in the strictest sense of the word. He chose to be the champion of the weak, a kind of Robin Hood. Always available for his friends and regardless whether his friends were in the right or in the wrong, he would readily assume his role as their champion.
