A Sunday ago, my wife and I were having our breakfast in the kitchen of our 3-room HDB flat when we smelled burnt rubber in the air. I thought something might be wrong with some of our electrical connections and made a thorough check of the whole flat.

It turned out that the smell was coming from the flat directly below ours. From our master-bedroom window, we could see smoke spewing out of the flat’s common toilet windows.

I ran down to the flat and knocked on its door, but there was no answer initially. I had half a mind to call for the Fire Brigade and was already readying my mobile phone for the call when some sleepy voices rang out from the flat.

Soon, the door opened and a small boy came into view. Tailing him was an older girl. Both were woken out of their dreams, obviously. I could see the whole flat was smoky, with much of the smoke coming furiously from the kitchen - from a pot on a stove. I pointed out the smoke to these chaps and they screamed for their parents who were probably still sleeping.

Their sleepy mother came out into the hall with a toddler clung onto her hips. And their father followed behind. But, he was quick to move into the kitchen to take care of the stove. It could be he was working in the Civil Defence Force.

I asked the mother if everything was alright. It appeared they could handle the problem by themselves so I took leave and went back to my flat.

If I had gone down ten minutes later, it might have been too late. The whole family of five might have succumbed to the smoke, or worse, the stove might have exploded and fire might have consumed the whole flat. And the big wooden furniture items cluttering the corridor outside the entrance to their flat might have made escape more difficult.

My wife and I usually leave our flat by mid morning but that day, she had woken late and so we were having a late breakfast. Perhaps, it was fate that might have had a hand in making sure we were around to lend a helping hand to the family below our flat.

Over television last weekend, I heard Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew remark ‘I used to believe we could learn two languages…I was wrong’. 

Minister Mentor Lee’s admission did two things to me:

1. It made me feel at peace with myself - I could tell the world I wasn’t such a failure after all. You see, I have been fumbling my way through my Mother Tongue, Chinese, for as long as I can remember. And all along I have been thinking I am stupid or slow because I can’t manage two languages.

2. It made me respect him more than ever. We all make mistakes, but if I were in his shoes, I would have found it extremely difficult to tell everyone in the face I was wrong, but, not Minister Mentor Lee. It wasn’t beneath his stature to admit such things. That’s perhaps, one of the reasons why Singapore has progressed thus far. Singapore does not hide its cracks. It faces up to them, makes corrections and then moves forward.  

Though I had been scoring F9s for my Mother Tongue, I did pretty well in English at school so much so I topped my school in English in the ‘O’ Levels. I just can’t explain this anomaly. How can a person excel at one language and fail so miserably at another?

I thank my lucky stars that when I was at school, in my time, I did not need to pass Mother Tongue in order to go to the ‘A’ Levels. Thousands of Singaporeans who went to school in the 80s and beyond must have had a hard time grappling with two languages. I do not envy them. 

I admit I have sincerely tried to learn the language in my adult years. I have bought English-Chinese dictionaries and Primary One School workbooks - you see, I thought I should start at the bottom of the ladder again. But, regrettably, I gave up after some months of slogging.

As I grew older and realised that I could read English newspapers with one eye shut but would hesitate at every line in a Chinese newspaper, I told myself, I was missing out on my heritage, Chinese culture, for without a basic understanding of Chinese literary works and thoughts, I could not develop an appreciation of the culture. 

So, I set about starting my Mother Tongue learning programme again. But, I did not get to start at all, for my wife was concerned that any progress I made in my Mother Tongue would be at the expense of my English.
Yes, she’s right. My English will get worse as my Chinese gets better. And as one who writes for a living, this expense is one that I can ill-afford. That’s why I have abandoned efforts at learning Chinese before I have even started.

I must seem rather selfish for having done so. I have put the English Language first before my Mother Tongue. But, then, English is a language I have been excelling in for as long as I can remember. That’s an accomplishment in life and in my life, I must admit, I have had few accomplishments and many failures.

Oops! I just said something nasty about myself in public. Is it because I have just picked up this new habit from MM Lee? But, it’s alright. I feel good after saying such things. I realise I have to move on, despite my previous failures. And first things first, I must put aside my urge to learn my Mother Tongue, pick up the other pieces of my life, and move forward into 2005. 

I reckon that’s the way we should handle life - accept our own short-comings and failures, and march forward, instead of fretting about the past and letting it control us.