My son fell sick

It was an inevitability. Living in a foreign land. Winter. Cold winds. Flu viruses in transmission.

What I didn’t expect was his reaction. On the day he woke up with a fever, he burst into tears. He was scheduled to put the finishing touches on the annual shopping bazaar with his classmates. The bazaar was to be held the next day, and he wanted to join them.

This isn’t to diss Sparkletots, his preschool in Singapore. I think his teachers are doing a great job and he proudly shows me his creations regularly. However, he never cried about missing school when he fell sick back home. The only occasion in which I can imagine him sobbing his heart out is when he falls sick on an excursion day and misses out on visiting Tayo Station or S.E.A Aquarium. Which has nothing to do with the lessons he attends.

His Japanese preschool, by putting the spotlight on fun (and nothing else) has achieved something remarkable.

Emotional resonance.

In the short time that my son has been with them, he gets to exercise his creativity about the stuff he will make. Hands-on experience with regard to making things. Working (and perhaps bickering) with his classmates. Fond memories in the making.

He didn’t make it to the bazaar in the end. But if he didn’t fall sick, he wouldn’t have felt this compulsion to go to school. I hope he remembers this feeling of wanting to cooperate with his classmates and engage with the greater world around him. I hope he remembers that he is not a lesser person if he doesn’t feel a sense of affinity with the Singapore educational system in the future.

xxxx By extension of his sickness, I am also undergoing something that is traumatic enough to put childfree parents off child-rearing.

The great thing about the Japanese healthcare system is that each dose of medication is sealed in a bag. This makes the dispensing of medicine convenient.

On the other hand, the medicine tastes bitter and horrible. Being Chinese, I can understand the logic of 良药苦口 (good medicines are necessarily bitter), but I just want to shove the medicine inside my son’s mouth without him putting up such a valiant fight. Omg.

Angry tears. Violent protests. Impassioned yelling. Even my feisty daughter keeps quiet during his outbursts - perhaps to give him space.

What’s more, he has to take the medication thrice a day, so this means we have to repeat the trauma without having fully healed from it. Threatening. Warning. Shouting. Persuading. Cajoling. Convincing. Praising. I have pulled all these stunts and more. Every time is a battle of wills and wits - and while the adults emerge victorious every time, I’m not sure that I haven’t incurred some mental scars along the way.

The silver lining is that I won’t complain anymore when he falls sick in Singapore. He actually enjoys consuming the sweet medicine.

xxxx It has only been a month, but I think we have all grown a fair bit.