Last weekend, instead of attending Pink Dot (Singapore’s annual celebration of our LGBTQ+ community), I was using a blender to pulverise carrots / pumpkin/ bananas and quick-cooking oats in an attempt to coax food into a ninety-year-old parent-in-law who’s decided he won’t eat any ‘solid’ (eg rice porridge/bread/regular rolled oats).
Medical consultations say there’s nothing wrong with his teeth/ swallowing reflexes / digestion.
And no, nothing indicates he’s on a hunger strike or determined to starve himself.
He does eat soft boiled eggs and drink Ensure though his sweet live-in helper complains that after a couple of mouthfuls he’s full.
The blended banana + yoghurt + Ensure did get swallowed. But then he complained that it made him have to go to the toilet. So… I’m wondering if that’s where the problem lies? He doesn’t want to have to go to the toilet?
And I realise I’ve been doing something like that to myself too.
When it comes to writing, I find that the more I read the more I get sparked by ideas for writing that I want to follow up and play with. So at times like this, when I’m short of time and in the throes of trying to wrestle a messy first draft into something I can show my editor, I try to cut down on my reading because I can’t afford to introduce too much new stuff into the mix I’m already having trouble taming.
I don’t always manage, though.
Here at the Parent in Law’s place, I find it hard to focus because sounds from the television worm into my head like Doris Saunders' words into Henrietta Savernake's model of Nausicaa (if you don't know what I mean, go read Agatha Christie's The Hollow and see why Henrietta had to destroy her model as a result).
There's no escape because he has the set playing YouTube as long as he’s awake.
Once a brilliant mathematician passionate about cars, now he watches (mostly) American AI-generated content (how noisy the blender is is a Blessing during Donald Trump’s speeches) or knife collectors discussing and comparing their blades.
And I Much prefer the knife collectors! The programme on the pros and cons of Fixed Blade Knives vs Folding Knives was surprisingly interesting—and might come in useful some day!
During advertisement breaks he asks me, “Did you do yoga today?”
“No, it’s Saturday, that’s why I’m here with you.”
“I see.”
Next advertisement break:
“Did you do yoga today?”
I repeat the same answer (eventually moving on to “No, it’s Sunday,”).
I used to try to come up with different replies but I’ve since realised this ritual has become part of his routine, like variations of YouTube content running on an endless loop.
He asks because “yoga” is something he associates with me, and he wants to show he remembers that.
So now, even though I’ve been there with him, I sometimes switch to, “Yes, and I had a good session. You should come with me next time!”
Which makes him smile and say, “Okay. When I get better.”
Another regularly repeated question is, “When is your next book coming out?”
Even though a copy of the latest mystery is on the table in front of him, next to the TV control.
But I understand this too—he’s telling me he sees me as a writer. And it’s touching that every time I point it out to him, he beams and says he’s proud of me and will read it.
There’s comfort in familiar routines, and I definitely appreciate being comfortable. Maybe that’s why I like reading and writing traditional mysteries. Though at times (like now) when I’m wrestling with a messy mid-draft I wonder what all this struggle is for. What ‘good’ does it do, even if I finish this book, even if Dad-in-Law eats his pumpkin puree? Even if I someday write a mega-bestseller and buy him a Rolls‑Royce La Rose Noire Droptail he’s not going be happy about it any longer than he remembers it—or about half an hour.
And no matter how good he is about eating his pumpkin puree, he’s not going to morph back into the man who used to run up and down the fire escape stairs between classes for ‘training’… in the days when he was a university lecturer.
But the bright side of things is how small things make him happy.
We went out and found a Korean ginseng chicken soup that he liked (minus the chicken, the ginseng and the rice in it) and he talked happily about a trip to Korea with his late wife—how much they enjoyed the samgye-tang (ginseng chicken soup) and kimchi.
We also enjoyed the cockeral with white ear lobes who came to watch us eat--
Our local kampong chickens don't usually come with white earlobes; he explained to me it was probably the result of cross-breeding with an imported Andalusian.
And no, it's not the first time I've been surprised by how he manages to retrieve such nuggets of information!
It reminded me that small moments like this matter.
Just like reading easily digested books when you don't feel strong enough to stomach esoteric literary pieces about existential angst can be better than not reading at all.
Finding it difficult to work, I treated myself to Vanessa Kelly’s Murder in Highbury and it was wonderful reading about Emma Woodhouse’s patience with her father while solving a murder! I highly recommend it, especially if you’re a Austenophile—and don’t worry about being offended. I was all ready to be, but I wasn’t. Plus the ‘right’ victim dies… ‘right’ as in it was someone I’m dying to kill myself, every time I re-read Emma!
So yes, there is a reason we carry on reading and feeding ourselves on comfort foods and comfort books. Because something is easy to absorb, (whether mashed carrots or a traditional mystery) doesn’t mean it doesn’t play an essential part in keeping us alive.
And that’s also why we keep on running the blender and writing books: because all you can do day by day is keep going.
May this be a great month for us all!
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