The Invisible Choice

Watching the Notre Dame de Paris on fire on 15-April-2019, triggered an avalanche of emotions within myself. It was, after all, “Our Lady of Paris”. THE ONE and ONLY NOTRE DAME. It was just too devastating to look at, too hard to believe, and definitely too agonizing to accept. I first heard of Notre Dame de Paris when I was around 6 years old, watching the Disney movie “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” with my family in cinema. I did not understand most of the dialogue and all I remembered was watching a guy with strange figure hopping around an huge church. People were holding torches and burning everything. It was nevertheless a memorable experience, as going to cinema was kind of a big deal at that time. We needed to plan at least a week ahead for the tickets, logistic, snacks etc. Now, people just taking planes for holidays without any plan or luggage. Going cinema became as mundane as taking a walk nowadays. When I first saw it in person many years later in Paris, I w

  One of my favorite scenes while getting out of a metro station during peak hour is at the exit with escalator. Most of the time we can easily notice that all passengers will converge to the tiny passage leading to the escalator, leaving a deserted staircase residing beside it. Occasionally there will be someone who defies the temptation and takes the staircase, leaving those on escalator looking at him in amusement. I was always one of those looking in amusement from the escalator previously. Taking stairs instead of escalators seemed counter productive and a waste of energy for me. Putting the health condition or limitation aside for those who are not physically fit to take the staircase, staircase vs escalator is, among others, one of the daily choices that we are making every day, right under our nose but without us even noticing. Escalator represents comfort, convenience, requiring limited effort; staircase represents hard work, struggle, requiring substantial effort. Man

I stepped into the dark movie theater, first time ever since many years ago. The last time I was in it  was for a premiere with invitation from a friend. The real challenge this time, was I am with my 3-year-old son and 2-month-old daughter. We chose a special theater which was branded as family friendly –  means the kids can cry, laugh, yell, snore and run around during the show and no one can complain anything about it,  lest my kids would cause too much nuisance to others in a normal theater. I was impressed that there was even a small playground in the theater, which my son instantly disappeared into right after we stepped into the theater. That day we chose to watch the latest “Dumbo” movie. There were different reasons why we chose it. Firstly, my wife and I had not been into a movie theater since the birth of our elder son, so we thought that it would be a good idea to try out this new family-friendly theater and to share a new experience with the kids. Secondly, every d

Please don’t stop me, let me pass, let me pass, just let me pass.  My heart was pounding when the traffic police officer start ed  to raise up his commanding hand, to stop our lane. Eventually when he sensed that I did not pay much heed to his command, he stepped into the lane to block me. Thinking that running over a police officer may not be the best option, I reluctantly hit the break and stop ped  in front of him. He stared at me with his piercing eyes. I deftly avoided eye contact with him. My car was right at the junction before entering the  main  highway, which was now clear and without a single vehicle in sight. Few minutes later, a deafening siren sound was approaching.  Following the sound was a series of VIP Motorcades, constituted of dozens of police motorbikes and a few luxurious cars all tinted in black which  were  accelerat ing  in full speed. I took a futile attempt to check the plat number of the luxurious cars, just in case I could google it later to kn

“Can I press this papa?”, my son asked innocently. “Yes dear, but just one only.” I told him. He then joyfully pressed the button “B3” on the elevator panel, which is the lowest level of the building. We were heading down to the car park level “B1” in our apartment, so having “B3” pressed does not actually slow us down.  Anyway, “B3” is the only level which my son can reach on that panel. I will probably have to figure out another strategy when he grows taller in future.   “Done. One only, not too many.” My son looking back at me with a big smile , excited that the button is now lit up . We then got off at the car park level, got on to the car and headed  off  to the hypermarket.  Or  marketplace, as  my son would call it.   Elevator has always been a very magical place for me. It is a tiny space which we step into, then  after  a brief moment of total  separation   from  the outside world  ( even  without  c e l l phone signa l  in most of the  c ases ),  we  will  step