It has been 1.5 years since my last post here. Not that my life has been boring. Within these 1.5 years, we visited Nagoya, Swatou, Copenhagen and Stockholm, where we experienced the most wonderful, snowy winter. And guess what, we are going to become proud parents in another six months!

The little fellow, now at 12 weeks, was seen dancing and swimming when the nurse was scanning. So active — totally unlike the parents. We heard the heartbeats, which were like double the speed of my own.

The foetus is growing well, and looks healthy.

That is a life, small but alive and energetic, so amazingly bestowed upon us, making the world a much better place…

Cheesy words and rosy dreams aside, we both know the challenges ahead. We are not young as new parents, and our health is not at its prime time. We have many hats to wear, none of which pretty. How about the child’s health? Education? And don’t forget to plan our finance.

There are concerns and worries, but we are happy.

We will know the child’s gender in 4 weeks. What will be the child’s name? What are the things that we need to put in the shopping list to prepare for the baby? Should we find a nanny or baby care centre? These are happy questions to ponder.

Our little one shall go into Mother Nature frequently, find happiness and humour in little things, enjoy our love and company, and become a gracious, loving, healthy individual. These are happy wishes to make.

I had never imagined that one day I would call an ambulance for a painful foot.

At first it was the mild discomfort resulted from an exhausting 13 km jog (mixed with walking) on a Sunday morning. That afternoon saw a slightly reddened first toe joint on my right foot. I didn’t pay much attention because it happened many times.

On the following day, 13 June, Darling and I went to Legoland as planned. I applied medical ointment and bandaged the toe before I left home. At Legoland, I took off the bandage because it felt uncomfortable. It was mildly painful throughout the day.

The condition persisted for another two days. The joint became swollen on 16 June. Since I could not join Darling for jogging, I brought my Brompton to cycle alongside. Then we went to Changi Airport. The joint suddenly became seriously painful there, perhaps due to excessive exercise.

So I decided to go to Ho Hong Meng Chinese Physician and Acupuncture Centre at Tampines, which I had trusted for long time.

One day after the treatment, the joint was no longer swollen. But because I could not assert force on the toes, my body weight was mainly on the ankle, and that led to a painful right ankle on the following day, 18 June. I did the usual stuff: medical ointment, bandage, massage.

On the morning of 19 June, it felt a bit better, but still had great pain when walking. On the afternoon, however, it suddenly worsened. I could not walk without Darling’s help. Darling suggested we should go to see a doctor. After Darling helped — almost carried — me to the void deck, I realised that I could not make it even to the street to take a cab. So I asked Darling to help me buy some Salonpas patches. The patches were working, but once I started walking again, I almost collapsed.

Ambulance was the next logical option. Since it was not an emergency, I did not call 995 for SCDF but 1777 for private ambulance. I was in the ambulance after some 40 minutes of waiting.

This was the first time I called an ambulance and the first time I was in the ambulance as a patient. It was quite old and shaky. I held Darling’s hand, which gave me lots of comfort and warmth.

We arrived at A&E of Ng Teng Fong General Hospital at Jurong East. The ambulance cost S$150, cash only. We did not have so much cash. Darling had to go to IMM to withdraw money to pay for it.

While she was away, I tried to go to the toilet in a wheelchair. Although I had no problem navigating, I could not open the door. An old gentleman helped me. After using the toilet, I attempted to open the door from inside but failed. The same gentleman came to help me and pushed me to the waiting area.

After the initial examination by a nurse, Darling tried to push me to a wheelchair spot near the consultation rooms. A gentleman came to help us when he saw we had problems.

After almost two hours of waiting, we entered the consultation room. The doctor asked me the same questions that the nurse asked two hours before, and he said my ankle pain should be due to mild gout. He decided the five steps of treatment: blood test, to check kidney function; painkiller, both injection (Tramadol) and tablets (Suniton); lowering blood pressure; X-ray, to check my ankle joints; gout tablet (Colchicine).

My kidney function was normal. Like a few years back, Losartan worked well on me, lowering my blood pressure significantly. The painkiller injection and tablets  relieved much of the pain, but still I could not walk without assistance. The X-ray showed my ankle joints to be normal.

I requested to buy a pair of crutches. This was the second time I used crutches. The last time I used them, I borrowed from a clinic.

The doctor offered me medical certificate of three days, and prescribed Losartan (for hypertension), Colchicine (for gout), Suniton (for pain).

When we were waiting in front of the pharmacy, I felt a bit feverish. Darling touched my forehead and said it did warm up. It might be a side effect of the drugs. Darling went to look for the doctor but could not find him, but a nurse attended to me. Another nurse checked my body temperature and it was 37.2℃, half degree higher than usual, but it was not a fever.

We collected the medicine, made the payment. A nurse pushed me to the taxi stand. It was almost midnight and the taxi stand was empty. I requested a taxi through ComfortDelGo app and soon we were in a taxi back home.

On the first day of the holiday I sprained my right ankle so badly that I could only stay home for almost two weeks — the full duration of the holiday itself.

At first I could not even stand upright. By the support of walls and railings I brought myself to the street, and struggled into a cab, heading to my favourite TCM clinic that fixed my joint problems for at least thrice in the past. The bandage and medicine helped, and I could stand upright on the second day of the treatment, but could not walk properly; every step made by my right foot was sufficient to induce a collapse. The extremely hot and humid weather of those few days also made my right foot itchy with the bandage; the skin became irritated and I dared not apply any more bandage.

Seriously in need of a pair of crutches, I searched online for any retailer within Tampines that carried stocks. The search was in vain; the most promising shop was an online shop that could only deliver crutches in three days. In despair I tried my luck at getting a pair from the family clinic beside my block, which I visited every time I needed and the friendly staff and doctor had known me as ‘Mr Weng the teacher’. Over the phone I asked whether they were selling crutches, and the response was, ‘no, we don’t sell crutches,’ and just as I was about to sigh, the response continued, ‘but you can borrow them! We have two pairs here. Ask your family or maid to collect for you as you can’t walk…’ Since my flatmates were at work and I had no maids, I decided to walk to the clinic; it was not so far anyway. The loan was free and indefinite. I almost shed my tears there in gratitude.

On the 4th day I visited the TCM clinic again, this time with more ease, thanks to the crutches. Other patients opened the door for me as I was too clumsy with both crutches. I felt so much better after the treatment, though no bandage could be applied due to the irritated skin. I continued to use the crutches for another week, before I could walk without them, in a laughably wobbly manner though. So I decided to get a walking stick. I used a walking stick for 5 days, and finally I could walk — limp — without it.

So, for most days of these two weeks, I ordered fast food and struggled to the minimart across the street to get some bread and drinks. I planned to walk around Singapore and take many pictures during this holiday, yet I could not even move around the house freely; I used my swivel chair as a wheelchair as much as necessary. I could not do any routine exercise, because all my routine exercises required strong feet or legs: walking, cycling, planking, squatting, staircase climbing…

I did feel upset and desperate. At the beginning, the pain kept waking me up at midnight, and turning in my bed, I kept thinking what I should do if I were to kill myself at that moment. The saddest part was I could not even terminate my own life because I could not move to either get a weapon or to fling myself over the corridor railings.

But darkness subsided before I realised. There were so many people that showed me graciousness and care. The staff of the family clinic, and the patients at the TCM clinic, are just two examples. One of the fast food delivery men was shocked seeing me with crutches; he chatted with me about his wrist sprain and wished me to get well soon. On some days I had to take bus (because I was disgusted by the daily fast food) with a crutch or a walking stick, and many passengers gave up their seats for me; at least three bus drivers waited patiently for me to catch the buses. The restaurant waitresses and waiters helped me carry my bags and guided me to easy-access seats. Singapore is full of kindness and love.

Now that the holiday has come to an end, I will try my best to be fully recovered, and hopefully I could be as active as before soon.

I used to express my awe in sunrises and sunsets in poetry and proses; now I have replaced them with iPhone photography. I used to be very sensitive to breezes and stars and reflect this sensitivity in my writing; now I have replaced it with occasional 140-letter tweets. Time has changed, but more blame should be on my own lifestyle. I am no longer the sensitive and productive, though unsuccessful, writer of youth and vigour, but a technologically enslaved and bureaucratically toiled teacher who seeks consolation in reading and alcohol but not in writing or art activities.

I would not say whether this is a bliss or a curse; to me it has been natural, though it should never be pre-destined. It is the easier way out, with iPhone and Twitter as my tools. Sometimes I found it difficult to limit my thoughts within 140 characters; but when I tried to write it in this blog, it could never exceed 200 characters. My mind has been adapted, or trained to adapt, to the fast-food-like, fragmented writing styles of the modern technological era.

I ask my pupils to write more while I myself stop writing; I preach the importance of frequent writing exercises while I myself seldom write. My personality has been torn and my integrity has been ruined; but what should I do? I have had interesting ideas that could have been expanded into a voluminous novel, just to meet my limited time and skills. Without the pious practice I have lost most of the zeal and techniques, and it would be unfeasible, or at least impractical, to pick them up at the moment, under the current circumstances.

Or maybe that is just an excuse. Maybe I am just too lazy, hopeless, pessimistic and negative. Being nostalgic does not help. The action-denial itself is devastating. I often convince myself that I can resume my writing enterprise any time I like, but of course it is not true. I can only mourn for the past, for the beautified memory and rosy past, like what I am doing now.

Is Mozart’s Requiem for optimists or pessimists? As a pessimist I love it; as a trying-to-be optimist I cannot refuse it.

Whenever I feel down I listen to it, but it never soothes me but makes my heart resonate with that dying soul. I seek no comfort in the beautiful melodies, nor do I lift my spirit up in that grand choir; I simply submerge, and indulge, myself in the sadness, thinking of the inevitable end of everything.

I believe in no god(s) or heaven, and I seek no refuge in Elysium or Paradise; my soul, if it ever exists, cannot be quieted by the vague promise of heaven.

Is it a contradiction that an atheist fall in love with religious music, or it is an evidence that music knows no boundaries among religions and races?

My awareness of the fact that my paragraphs above are incoherent brings this post to the end; yet wearily I am still struggling through the overwhelming helplessness even when I have stop thinking.