Stories of KK

I had a good feeling, a really good one. I ran downstairs, two steps at a time, to collect the mail, something I only do once a month if I can be bothered. There, I saw the magic red words: Professional Engineers Board. These are the words I have seen, annually, for the past four years. I bounded upstairs, waved the letter around, KK’s eyes widened and he retreated straight to the kitchen. I couldn’t bear it either. I cut the letter open and passed it to Day who had just come out of the shower with the words: Don’t say anything, Day, don’t say anything! Day, green bath towel wrapped around his wet body, unfolded the two sheets. He read. And read. Jo joined in the letter party. She read and read. I finally mustered the courage to whisper: Did Papa pass or fail? Both looked up. “I don’t know,” both said. I grabbed it. I still couldn’t bring myself to read it. I got up and went into the kitchen. I handed KK the letter. He took it and stared. He looked at me. Only then I read. Oh my God. W...

We loaded up on meat in Darwin. Steaks, lamb, pork. * Choon's lamb Inspired, KK dreamt of making the perfect steak in-house. He watched Gordon Ramsey, he watched Jamie Oliver, he put them together and rehearsed in his mind the steak steps. First off, like most men would, he spent a bomb on a load of kitchen weaponry to prepare for the steak coronation. He bought a pepper mill, steak knives, nice forks, tongs, all from horribly expensive WMF. Of course I already have all these things in our kitchen. He only wants better ones. * In the back, my humble pepper next to the great silver WMF mill See, he needs great equipment to make great food. Then he asked me to buy inch-thick steak. Oh boy. Knowing him, I buy a terrific cut of beef, thickest slab I see. $22 for two pieces. Straight home after cycling, sweat still running down his face, he launches into his steak cook-out. Kids are all hyped up. It’s a big event with a whole lot of build-up. Day is the kitchen hand. Both boys had read ...

This is KK’s fourth try now, to try and cross the Professional Engineering hurdle. It's an annual ritual that has become familiar to me and the kids. It’s the only time in the year when we head downtown on a working weekday evening to the SMU campus, and wait for papa to come out with a whole lot of other men who are similarly dragging textbook-filled trolley bags around. He, however, seems to be the only candidate with a posse of one big and three small cheerleaders madly jumping outside the door to try and see him through the glass slit. * KK in white at the back The lead-up to the big event has also been the same for four years: The nightly studying which starts several months before, his overcast mien on his birthday (which always takes place a few weeks before the exam) and my having to take over all household duties for a while. Also similar every year is the same strange mix of relief and despondency as he walks out of the exam hall and sighs. What I have figured, if I could...

In what would have been our first wind-chasing trip since the kids came along, Trikora in Bintan was to have given KK his first rip-roaring gusting taste of kitesurfing. (Yes he has to go overseas to learn it)  Our reality: A beach so still a piece of tissue wouldn’t flutter.     * KK and kiting instructor discussing the dismal state of wind as someone tries pathetically to have a go outside  But we are oh so good at making the best out of the bad.   THE BAD: The Bintan Cabana, a two-bedroom villa with scummy sinks and so little furniture we had to eat sitting on the floor.     BUT: The bedrooms had aircon! It was so great I took five hours worth of naps on Day 1 (and three hours on Day 2) and the girls gushed about being able to sleep in aircon.   THE BAD: Food at the Bintan Cabana which consists of stale bread, what looks like leftovers from the day before and bad buffets.   BUT: We bring our own gas burner to cook! Instant noodles and Camp...

KK’s really gone off. What with the cycling and windsurfing, the newest bee in his bonnet is kitesurfing. Which basically involves flying a gigantic kite on a surfboard out at sea.  He's never done it, but to get there, he decides to get a preliminary feel of it by giving wakeboarding a shot, which he's also never done. He takes off from work after lunch one day and pulls the whole family with him to Ski 360 at the East Coast Park, which offers a wakeboarding-like experience except that instead of a boat it’s a cable line pulling you along. He says: I also want the kids to learn that there’s no giving up.      * Me and kids, doing nothing   The thing is, KK doesn’t actually have a hard time. He gets up, gets it and completes one round after 30 minutes. I say I'm the one who  will really prove the perseverance point, because I’m sure I’d still be falling flat on my face into the water at the start point at the end of the hour. But see, I’m not going to ...

KK's 40 and a light has gone on in his head: He wants to re-live his Olympian days. First it was the cycling to and from work which has been going on for six months, and is still going strong, rain or shine.  Then suddenly, as we approached the end of the year, he announced that he is going to start windsurfing, a sport which he had stopped oh, maybe seven or more years ago to replace with golf.  I ask: “Are you not going to golf anymore?” He says: “No. I’m still going to. When it’s off-season I can play golf.” These days, I am of universal benevolence and as long as he is happy, I am happy. (in other words, I don’t care!)  Honestly. I like that he is going to windsurf again. I have always thought of my husband as a windsurfer than a golfer. Operation Windsurf is short and sharp. When KK makes up his mind, he doesn’t stop to consider options. In two days, he installs a roof rack on the car and gets his hands on a board, a mast, a boom, a sail, surf shorts, harness, l...

KK works late three nights in a row.  Three nights, we don’t hear the loud click of the door lock turning at 7pm and the kids don’t have the sturdy pair of arms to run into, squealing “papa”!  Each time KK has to stay back, he tells me almost apologetically and I respond: “OK”.  Home alone with the kids doesn’t faze me anymore. But one of us cracks.  The second of KK’s late nights, I tuck Day in bed. As I pass by his room door on yet another thankless errand the girls send me on, I hear quiet sobbing.  The boy is lying face down on the bed, legs clamped tightly together, arms crossed under his face. I go over to him: What are you thinking about, Day?  He looks up, mucus running, eyes red and streaming with tears. “Papa… I miss papa,” he squeaks.  KK tucks Day into bed every night. The talk man-to-man in the dark. They play games on the iPhone. They sleep next to each other until Day goes down, which usually takes all of five minutes. That’s why he miss...