Festive season never cast its spell again like it used to be ever since i learnt about them. at least not on me. Not that i am going thru anything but my friends. yes, i am referring to BGR. or maybe the, the more adult(not adultery.. mind you) term is MWA, Man and Woman Affair.

i was wondered why couple chose to have something major happening during festive season. perhaps they didn't choose. it happened inevitably. it just happened. instead of spending time to think about how to celebrate this season. time wasted on quarreling; on miscommunications; on arguments... where are those sweet, lovey dovey thoughts? has it gone boring, dull when you spend quite some time with that person? or people now just can't be bothered. Or is it because after being together for some time, the so-called romance died.

i'm talking about singapore. where life at a point of time is uncertainty. though carefully planned pathed by a group of somebodies. many followed a typical pattern of lifestyle. you study till a certain age. national service for guys; working/ further studying for ladies. and then the mindset is differentiate, evolve and changes even with the similar age peers.

i was reading an article in TODAY.
Are Singaporeans mature enough as a society and as individuals to make their own choices? The question was raised last month on the topic of a casino, but readers are still buzzing ...click on the picture for a bigger view.






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Another week of Mr Brown's column - LITTLE MIRACLES

What most parents take for granted are small wonders for us



This is a photo of our daughter Faith, in a pram. She is three years and seven months old, and she is sitting in a pram that is too small for her.

It was the Deepavali holiday and that morning, I had gone to Serangoon North to buy a replacement fish tank for my poor fish. Their two-footer had leaked some weeks ago, and they have been living in the fish equivalent of a one-room HDB flat all this while.

So when faced with the choice of buying them a new tank, I decided to do what most Singaporeans do best upgrade.

The persuasive aquarium auntie told me that my discus would need more space eventually. I looked at the three-foot tank wondering first, how I was going to carry it, and second, how I was going to mount it.

"No problem, very light, even I can lift it alone," said the store auntie.

She must have been a former superhero (AquaAuntie), or was a Pro-Wrestler in her previous career, because when I swung the car around, I realised that it was going to take both my wife and I to carry this glass monster back to my car. It was the longest 25 metres I have ever experienced carrying a fish tank. The wife and I had to carry the tank together, while egging our daughter to follow us.

Now you may not think that this is a big deal, since most three-year-olds can generally be trusted with walking alongside their parents without their hand being held, and without running into traffic. But Faith is not a regular three-year-old. Faith is autistic, has no speech, and has a tendency to sprint away on tiptoe when she sees something of interest.

Fortunately, Faith found the fish tank extremely amusing, and scampered along with us, giggling and touching the tank like it was a new pet. That was a relief for us, until we reached the car and realised that the tank could only fit into the back seat instead of the boot.

So, we had to put the tank down, strap Faith into her seat first, then huff and puff the tank into the back seat.We spent the afternoon recovering from the morning, and then had the hare-brained idea of going to Ikea to look for a cabinet for the fish tank, plus have our dinner there.

Yes, you heard right, Ikea on a public holiday. It must have been the sun.

We were very co-ordinated in our approach to the whole thing. It was like a military operation. When my car joined the queue of cars trying to get into the car park, I told my wife and maid to stand by.

"When I say, NOW, take the kids out of their car seats, grab the baby bag, and exit by the door on the kerb side, then go to the restaurant to try and get a table, while I park the car, so we don't waste time. I will carry Isaac's pram up after I park."

"Okay ... NOW!"

A flurry of arms, legs and kids later, my squad was on their way to take the restaurant. I joined them, but they still hadn't found a table. So I handed the pram to mummy and started to look for people finishing their food. I grabbed Isaac from my helper, Celia, to see if having a cute baby boy in my arms would help get sympathy votes.

I had hoped to use his baby cuteness to counter the phenomenon where people suddenly decide to eat their last spoonful of food very, very slowly, when they spot you waiting for their table. When we found a table, I waved to my wife, who had been waiting outside with Faith and the pram, and when she came over, she was beaming as she pushed Faith over in Isaac's pram.

My jaw dropped.

I was speechless for a few seconds, but found my voice enough to tell her, "Take picture ... take picture!"

People around us were wondering what these parents were fussing about.

You see, Faith has not sat on a pram since she was less than a year old. She has not sat on prams, supermarket trolleys, tricycles and 20-cent kiddie rides, and other moving things that kids love. By contrast, they terrify her totally. Her senses could never deal with the lateral motion.

We gave up trying to get her into her pram long ago, and resigned ourselves to carrying her, or later, after she learned to walk, walking with her on our outings. Her pram was mothballed until Isaac came along almost two years later. But there she was, sitting happily in her former pram, playing with a packet of tissues and babbling to herself in a language only she understood.

We were almost reluctant to take her out of the pram, in case it was just a one-off fluke.

"I just decided to try it, while waiting for you," whispered the wife, as if saying it too loud might jinx it. "And she just got in without crying, screaming or fighting."

Thank God for a mother's optimism.

After dinner (gotta love them Swedish meat balls), we put Faith in again, just to see if she was really okay with it. She was.

In fact, when we stopped to look at something, she would get upset, and swayed herself forward to indicate that she wanted us to move. The wife and I just grinned and silently thanked God for this moment, pushing the pram as casually as our trembling hands could manage.

So, that's the story of Faith in her old pram. The photo means absolutely nothing to anyone else. It is not even well taken. But it will be one of the most profound reminders of life's little miracles that we, as parents of an autistic child, will carry with us to the grave.

That is why what most parents take for granted, like getting their child to sit in a pram, are little miracles for us. They sometimes arrive a little late, but that makes them all the more precious. We cannot wait to celebrate more.

mr brown is the accidental author of a popular website that has been documenting the dysfunctional side of Singapore life since 1997. He is now looking for a motorbike for his daughter.