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Molly,

I was going to tell you this the day it happened which was a couple of weeks ago but I simply forgot
to.

Annie woke up one morning and, of all things to be completely observant about first thing in the
morning, it was this, she observed that her tiny grey plastic koala, courtesy of Aunty Julie Boon,
was no longer cuddling an even tinier grey ball, made up of the remnant of some very old dried up
'blue tac'. In fact the koala is just a 'cameo' or 'background decoration' in the Barbie Doll set that
she sent to Annie. Annie has a natural attraction and love for animals. She is not into 'Dolls' but
into toys or ornaments of animals, particularly dogs, cats and horses. She dreams of becoming a
Vet! Goodness knows why! Must have taken after you. Personally, I am more into companion
plants rather than animals.

I had woken up earlier than young Annie in pursuit of spiritual contemplation and happiness, which
as common knowledge or folklore would have it, can only be done in the early morn, when the
world as a spirit is still and calm and at peace with herself. Spiritual acolytes awake at this
unseemingly and uncivilised early hours of the day so that the Earth Spirit can bless them with her
'Shalom' - 'My peace I leave with you, my peace I give you.', the way that Jesus expressed it to his
disciples. Her peace must be 'spiritual' peace, as she is a Spirit. Otherwise, Jesus would not
have qualified what he had just said with 'not as the world gives do I give to you'. For worldly
existence has only yielded suffering, sorrow and misery to 90% of its population. The remaining
10% being mainly indifferent or complacent about the other 90%. All because human beings are
hung out with their 'Ego''Self'!

Boy oh boy, man oh man, did young Annie throw a tantrum! It was not an ordinary mundane
'ghum chump' 'fatt pei hei' sort of tantrum; it was more like the Mother of all tantrums. It was like
her father had died sort of tantrum. It was like someone had chopped off her arms and legs sort of
tantrum. But she was not really crying as such. Well, it was not a cry of grief! It was more like a
personal vendetta sort of cry! It was a 'I am going to 'fix' the culprit', sort of war anguish moan, in
bass flat, or maybe a low baritone. It sounded ominously threatening and dangerous!

Unfortunately, for Annie, there was just me in the lounge. Our flat is so small that if you subtract
the respective nocturnal repositories, the place where you attend to nature's call and other daily
worldly ablutions and the special room where somehow good food is possible of being
manufactured given that it is really a one-man kitchen, there is no place to 'hang out and about'
other than the lounge. If two were to cook in that small kitchen, the fiery incident that should occur
when tempers and frustration flare might be a possible genesis for WW III. The lounge is therefore
the only place in the flat where civilised co-existence is possible!

Unfortunately, therefore for Annie, because a father does not an audience make; at least not when
you are throwing a pubescent tantrum! Why? I have never had any experience of the moody
puberty blues of a growing girl; and as a young boy growing up in Chow Kit, what is this thing
called 'tantrum'. Action spoke louder than words! If someone is bigger than me, well, I just
intuitively 'shut up'. If he is smaller than me, then I tell him to shut up, or else! Thus action spoke
louder than words. Tantrum is just words. So Annie's tantrum fell on my deaf ears.

But between father and daughter there has to be honesty. Principles of good behaviour and
discipline have to be maintained. So, I owned up. I had taken that miserable tiny morsel of a
rolled up 'Maltese' sized ball of a decrepit derelict impotent remnant of a blue tac. I had noticed in
my early morning supplication and mendicancy that the A4 size photo frame of Jesus Christ was
out of kilter. It was not sitting squarely level horizontally. So, I had enlisted the long retired out of
service blue tac and put it to good use. Mind you, to resurrect it to its former glory or utility, I had
to give more than a Thai massage worth of manipulation to breath back the elasticity, viscosity
and what ever attribute that makes blue tac bond and stick!


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Next, I loaded Annie's ears with a tirade about her ingratitude, that the original packet of blue tac
was bought by me, that everything she wears, eats, her education, her very sustenance and
existence were from me.

To soften my heavy 'punches', I then delivered the 'band-aid'; I promised her that I will get her a
new packet of blue tac, when her mother wakes up, and we go shopping for bread.

Fortunately for Annie, her mother was still fast asleep! When she found out later about Annie's
tantrum, she gave Annie another verbal lashing to her ears. A mum's scolding is naturally more
effective. Fathers do not excel in this department. Annie was by now wailing and sobbing. I was
also chided that discipline is discipline. I should not have 'buttered' up her wrong with my promise
to get her new blue tac! That is not disciplining, that is spoiling!

Later, when we got back from shopping and Annie is happy again with her new blue tac, I asked
her whether she 'chee chaw'. She said 'Yes'. I asked her to explain what she now knows she has
done wrong. She said - 'It was wrong to make a mountain out of a mole hill'. I then asked her -
'Why are you still crying?' 'It's the after shock' she said.

Vince
3/5/14