The Invisible Choice

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