ST Dec 5, 2004

As good as it gets
It's not just the high points in one's life that are worth treasuring. Sometimes, mundane moments are what truly matter
By Sumiko Tan

A YEAR or so before my father died, I remember I was in his bedroom one afternoon.

Unable to walk because of a stroke a few years before, he spent his days on a special hospital bed which we'd got to help us help him move around better.

My sister and two-year-old niece had come from the United States to visit at the time.

My mother and niece were also in the room. The little girl was amusing herself with her toys.

My parents looked on. The TV played.

My sister was in another room, at the computer.

My dogs were somewhere in the house, probably asleep.

I was sprawled on my mother's bed, my feet propped against a cupboard next to it, staring out of the window into a tree outside, the chatter of my niece and the whirr of the TV in the background.

It was just another ordinary sleepy day, no different from the many hundred uneventful ones that had passed me by.

Nothing special had happened that day, or was likely to.

Yet I remember thinking to myself: This is as good as it gets.

My family are here with me. They are safe. My father is sick but still breathing and able to smile. Everyone else is healthy. There is peace.

And, I remember thinking, this is a moment I should hold on to. This is a moment I will remember and treasure.

True enough, I often find myself going back to that day, even though my life has since changed in myriad ways, some for the better, some not.

My father is gone, the hospital bed has been given away, my niece is all of seven years old, I even have a nephew now and my life has ventured off in ways I did not quite expect.

But if I close my eyes, I can still feel my feet rubbing against the grain of the wood of the cupboard.

I can still see the tree outside and the cloudless sky, and I can still remember that weird mix of gratitude I felt for what I had, and fear of how it wasn't going to last, and how I'd better grasp that moment forever.

The memory of that day makes me happy, yet inexplicably sad.

IT USED to be that it was only the high points of my life that I lived for, to cherish and preserve.

High points like being on a fabulously exciting date.

Or sitting in a dream car.

Travelling to an exciting destination.

Celebrating a big day in style and with beautiful and important people.

Achieving a career goal - getting a promotion, earning more money, being recognised for doing a job well.

Life had meaning only if there was frisson and there was glory, if there was something significant happening and I was in the thick of it and I felt special.

These days, I find myself thinking that it's not just the peaks in one's life that are worth measuring and treasuring.

Sometimes, mundane moments matter and, perhaps, matter more.

Perhaps it is a result of growing older and realising the fragility of life and how there may not be a tomorrow.

Or the recognition that, really, just how many high points can a life have?

Rather, it's the small and ordinary moments that string together to make up a meaningful existence. And instead of just tolerating them and living in hope for the Next Big Thing to unfold, why not make the small things count?

Why not be grateful for them?

In April this year, my mother and I went to my sister's home in the US to celebrate my nephew's first birthday.

My sister baked a tiny cake, my brother-in-law came back from work early, and we all headed for a roller-skating rink.

Two of my sister's friends joined us with their young sons and we went for pancakes at a small eatery later.

Then it was back home, a quick dinner and an early night.

It wasn't a big celebration. In fact, some would remark at the sheer ordinariness of what should have been a special day. Where was the fanciful party? The presents?

But for me, it was one of the happiest days of my life.

Everyone I cared about was with me. We got through the day safely.

It was as good as it got.

A FRIEND SMSed me the other night to say, arrgh, Dec 1 is already here.

I asked: Why don't you like Dec 1?

The year passed too quickly, he said. It's gone before you know it.
I see.

When you look back at 2004, what do you remember?

I think the tendency is to scan the past 12 months for the peaks and troughs.

What did I achieve? Where did I fail?

And when you look ahead at 2005, what do you want to see?

Achievements to be had? Failures to avoid? Big, happy, glorious moments?

Perhaps it is better that I aim to live for each moment, to make the most of it, and count my blessings.

After all, what's past cannot be undone, what's ahead is unknown but what I can shape is my here and now.

Things could change in a day, a minute and a second - and they do.

Isn't it safer to stick to the small stuff, to put your faith in the fragility of the moment and not expect too much?

I'm not saying that I should be so intent on appreciating the smallness of life that I denounce all dreams of bigger things.

But to bask in the ordinariness of the day is something I resolve to do.

For, more often than not, that moment of your life is as good as it will ever get.


How has 2004 been 4 u......it's been a great yr 4 me.....a lot o things happened...a lot o things really......it's been 1 yr.......wat's e next yr gg 2 b like......how do i 1 2 live it?????