Victory at Last

On June 24th, 2013, five signatures from the weathered hands of five stoic Gatekeepers of the Tunnel Exit signed a document confirming acceptance of my doctoral thesis for graduation.

The document concerned is the middle page in the photo below. Looking at it now, it makes me wonder about the intangible connection between the climbing of Mt Everest and the value of a certificate, however humble, saying that one had done so.

The moment itself was a favourable one. Immediately after my final defense session, I was courteously banished from the Room In Which The Decision Is Made for an indeterminable period of time. Sitting by myself outside, in the cumbersome unfamiliarity of a button-up shirt and tie I sat, involuntarily reliving the experience. The time was passed with minute self-critiques on how every rebuttal and explanation I provided could have been delicately improved. Feelings of quiet confidence began to seep into my conscious periphery with strangely unwelcome conspicuousness. When the stakes are so high, one does not dare to tempt the inestimable forces of irony with hubris.

When the door opened, I was welcomed in to the sight of all five professors on my assessment panel standing. I then received a handshake, and the words "Congratulations, Dr Farrand." 

And that was how, after years of toil, it came to pass. Euphoric, no; but satisfying, yes. Whether it was worthwhile will be judged in the years to come.

I intend to post a more detailed summary of the secrets, scandals, rewards and woes encountered during my PhD at Seoul National University, at a later date. In the unlikely event that I do not do so, I would like to preemptively convey my conviction to our valued readers (some of whom may be graduate students), that no single attribute or philosophy is the key to succeeding. But patience and hard work are strong contenders.

I do not wish to belittle in any form the efforts of any of my colleagues who have yet to complete, or who have previously chosen to give up on their PhDs, of which more of my closest friends at SNU have than haven't. The undertaking of such a decision is considerable in itself, and it's simply unfair to claim that success is entirely dependent on personal determination. A myriad of adverse outside forces are incessantly at work, and they are unbalanced in their selection of whom they wish to provide a greater number of stumbling blocks for.

For those seeking some form of inspiration or guiding advice for graduation, I would say the following. In order to graduate from any doctoral course of considerable difficulty, one must jump through a dizzyingly vast number of hoops, each of which, although small, collectively represent the difference between Making It and Not Making It. These hoops are tasks to be completed, deadlines to be met, people to be placated and any number of other tediously repetitive daily minutiae. Some people quit after jumping through only a few hoops, others quit after jumping through nearly all of them. If you are destined to quit, then it will most likely be a single hoop or a very small number of them that represent your final judgement.

The ability to succeed is helped not by an accurate assessment of the number of hoops or the amount of stamina required, but by a transformation of perspective. There are too many hoops to realistically comprehend without experiencing a potentially fatal dosage of inadequacy. One must therefore think of oneself as an amateur hoop-jumper from the beginning, practicing to become a professional. The focus lies not in jumping through all of the hoops, but to become so accustomed to jumping that no matter how many of them there are, the task will always be achievable given adequate time. Just keep jumping. There will be more hoops after you graduate.

While I'm relieved and happy to have completed this chapter, I'm acutely aware of the contributions made by my kids and especially my wife, who has endured my late nights in the lab, absent mindedness and workload complaints over the years with patience and dignity.

And I also hope to get back to more frequent blogging. Even the cobwebs here that used to provide some macabre decoration for my blog have long been abandoned by the Google spider. During some of my late nights in the lab, especially over the past few months, I would open my blog, scroll through the photos and read friendly comments left by readers from bygone eras. It certainly helped to lift spirits.

But anyway, for now, these hoops are done. They're dusted.
And there will be more to come.

"Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet."

-Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Royal Vavi

On the sidebar to the right of this post is a link to an online shop called Royal Vavi. It sells clothes and accessories for toddlers, and is run by a certain Korean brother-in-law of mine. I have three Korean brother-in-laws, but he's undoubtedly the biggest and scariest one. 

I shall tell you more about him someday.

I've been in self-imposed blog torpor for the past couple of months largely due to my thesis defense sessions, the final of which is approaching on June 24th. It's a little busy these days, but the light at the end of the tunnel draws tantalisingly near. I hope to do some catch-up blogging in the near future, but am temporarily emerging from hibernation to plug these products.

Partly because I like to think of myself as a good brother-in-law.

To bring our valued readers a better understanding of the quality children's goods available at Royal Vavi, we've chosen to display some of the merchandise with the help of these two toddler models.

We shall call them Toddels.

Toddel #1 is getting bigger everyday. Note her height in comparison to Toddel #2, who is her cousin and two years her senior. Also note their purchase-worthy Royal Vavi clothing. The prices are very reasonable.

Although he doesn't speak an ounce of English, I'd like to thank scary Brother-in-law for the free clothes he gave us. And if you have a toddler of your own, I highly recommend perusing the fine clothes or accessories available at Royal Vavi.

See you soon!

Back in the Game

Alex is a very cool and chubby chap. But immediately after his birth, the ethereal master switch that governs the daily events of the Farrand household was reset again, as it was when Baengy was born.

And once again, we find ourselves under the command of another tiny tot.

We have thus far surmised that he enjoys a snuggle, and a wrap.

And is becoming increasingly agreeable to the taste of milk.

Mother Farrand breastfeeds him when possible, but at times the (wailing) demand exceeds available supply.

He's nearly a month old now, and on most days of the week appears to consume his own bodyweight in milk.

Heather is a star.

As she has always been, in the role of Mother.

Alex lost his fetal name of Ga-ga, pretty much as soon as he was born. He just seems more like an Alex than a Ga-ga.

Ashley, on the other hand, continues to be called Baengy by just about everyone. I'm sure it'll pass in due course.

Alex opens his eyes for a few hours each day and has a look around. It sometimes seems as if he can see things, but at his age, he doesn't quite know what he's looking at.

If you zoom in and pay close attention to his pupils, you can see that they're just moving around in a somewhat random and leisurely manner. If I were obliged to narrate what I suppose he's thinking when he's looking all over the place, it would go a little something like this:

"I think I'm gonna have a little look towards the vicinity of my left now. Great. Ok, now I'm gonna have a look in the general direction of my right...A-huh. Now back to the left and up a bit. Cool."

Sometimes it seems as if he can see us. But then if you move, he continues to stare at the place where you used to be.

And then if you say "Aaaaalex!", he'll wiggle his eyes over toward the general direction where he thinks you are.

Australian Grandma and Grandpa kindly sent us some baby boy's clothes. But apart from those, we've just got a whole lot of Baengy's old garments. It seems a waste to go out and buy new ones.

I'm pretty sure Alex doesn't mind.

Baengy's also being helpful and seems to be acutely aware of the new household arrival. When Alex starts crying, she'll turn to us and say "Agi-ya!" (baby!), as if to alert us to the wailing, in case we hadn't heard yet. 

She also touches Alex very carefully sometimes and says "Yeppeuda", which means "pretty".

With a bit of luck, they'll grow up to be good chums.

The Birth of Alex

This past week has been a flurry of activity, sleeplessness and excitement. Both Mother and Alex Seo-jin Farrand are recovering here in the maternity ward in Busan and continue to do well. 

Like his older sister, Alex opened his eyes on the first day and took his first panning view of a room. While he couldn't see us, we hoped that our voices would have sounded somewhat familiar and reassuring. 

Watching Baengy grow up has been profoundly rewarding beyond anything we could have expected. Her birth was a somewhat difficult affair, however. Heather was in labour for 36 hours without food, as our limited options dwindled to the decision to undergo c-section. 

This time around, the doctor's first recommendation for Alex's birth was c-section as a result of the previous delivery. While the surgery was an uneasy time of waiting for all of us, the event overall was easier to prepare for.

We arrived at the hospital at 6:30am on Wednesday. Heather received her local anaesthesia at around 9:40am, and Alex was out breathing air in the real world at 10:35am. Although in relative terms the procedure went fairly swiftly, birthing wards are strange places where time itself follows exclusive rules. The wall clock transforms into a stoic guardian of time, allowing only tiny sippets to flow past in excruciating suspense, so as to magnify the significance of the event. The only option for those in wait is to attempt to address the quiet storm of worrying thoughts, self-reassurances and uncommon reflections circulating in the mind.

Then after what seemed like a short eternity, out popped Alex in all of his newborn glory. Considering his nine months in the womb, he was looking pretty good. The first thing I noticed was that he cried a little less than Baengy did, as the nurse proceeded to check his ears and count his fingers and toes. Then he was whisked away to a safer part of the hospital, out of our sight with his mother. Korean Mother-in-Law and I walked out into the foyer area, beaming and utterly relieved. The feeling lingered for many rewarding minutes, before we started worrying about Heather again. My lack of Korean proficiency comes back to punish me on occasions such as these, as I attempted to lighten the mood and reassure Mother-in-Law using the vocabulary of a Korean pre-schooler.

But it soon turned out that Heather was wide awake, could answer our questions and thankfully seemed okay. C-section will never be an easy event, but fine and strong ladies like Heather make the experience less terrifying for husbands like me.

Heather and I have been sleeping in one of the recovery rooms at the hospital here, where we have easy access to view our little Alex downstairs. Heather will stay here for a few more nights before transferring to joriwon accommodation, which is in the same building but with more privacy. Baengy is staying in the care of her grandparents nearby, while I'll be returning from Seoul each weekend. We plan to reunite as the all-new Farrand Family of Korea back in Seoul in around three weeks.

Fatherhood is a great thing. For me, the instinctive feelings to nurture and protect grow slowly and steadily rather than rapidly, but the change persists with unmatched longevity. The biologist in me finds it rather fascinating.

It's not possible to fully prepare for the arrival of a new child. Parenthood is a colossal privilege suddenly bestowed, to be properly earned in the years to come. I imagine that with every birth, a divine debt is abruptly incurred. And the stakes for non-repayment are sufficiently high that dutiful responsibility manifests itself as quiet undertones of influence that permeate into all facets of life from that point onwards.

Heather and I are looking forward to our future together with our two wonderful kids. And as it was for Baengy's birth, we can't help but feel deeply indebted to the medical staff for their professionalism, as well as to those around us who have been offering their kindness and support.

Our Second Little One

At 10:35am on March 13th, Heather gave birth to our second child, a son. He weighed in at 3.4kg and opened his eyes a little on the first day.

We've named him Alex, and his Korean name is Seo-jin (서진). His mother is recovering well. Overall the birth went quite smoothly, and we're relieved and excited. 

We greatly appreciate everyone's support. 

More details coming soon!

The Wonder Years

Baengy started attending daycare around the time of her first birthday. While she seemed very young, we thought it best for her to interact with others of her species as early as possible. And by that I mean chubby, drooling, like-minded and often hairier-headed Korean babies. We hoped it would help give her a headstart on such important lessons as Social Norms 101 and Introduction to Different Toys.

She has been attending the Geumbit ("sun ray") Daycare Center, a small but cosy place in Nakseongdae. These photos were recently given to us by the Geumbit staff, as it's now time for Baengy to move to a much larger daycare center.

We were a little worried about how she might settle in, and Mother Farrand stayed with her all day during her first visits.

We get filled in on the day's events every time we pick her up. It's fun to imagine what went on during the days passed by looking through the photos. 

One can speculate that during those crucial beginning months, much of her surroundings elicited mixed baby feelings of confusion and curiousity.

"...but where's Mum?"

Eventually the surroundings became less menacing, as food could be accepted from familiar strangers.

While barley water of our own was preferably drunk in private.

Birthdays were celebrated, despite obliviousness to the occasion.

And bridges were built. And crossed.

New friendships were formed, although no one can quite remember how.

And the wild outdoors were explored in fantastic detail.

Shapes, colours and sensations all coalesced into an educational experience that would somehow become meaningful in future.

While energy levels cycled through periods of depletion and replenishment. Somehow, our daycare mummies were uncannily tuned to the instant when our tiny bodies were exhausted from a morning of play.

And when we awake, those same friends remain.

New items invite endless new experiences.

And then we suddenly realise that we are no longer the youngest or the smallest.

As the sun sets on the first episode of Baengy's experiences amongst peers, we remain cognisant of the fact that she'll be leaving friends and familiar faces behind. But every ending is a new beginning, and we are very much looking forward to the next patter of baby steps forward.

All in all, we've found the quality of daycare in Korea to be excellent.

Here's hoping that the next center will be as good as the last!

What We're Eating in Seoul

Unless I'm vastly mistaken, our small family of three remain the only representation of the Farrand tribe residing on the Korean peninsula. However, a non-zero possibility also exists that we are the initial flashpoint of a future mighty Farrand empire that will eventually spread from Busan to Northern Manchuria, enslaving all members of the Lee, Kim and Park families. As such, I thought it timely to create this recording of our daily degustations.

Just in case our descendants of the future find pertinent to ask: "Which nutritional substances fuelled our imperialistic origins?"

To which I answer: Strawberries.

If indeed a substance in strawberries is later identified that leads to imperialistic behaviour, let the record state that I'm not to blame. Both Baengy and Mother Farrand eat them quite often. Their modus operandi is to rinse a bowl of strawberries, sit on a chair together, and consume them slowly and savouringly.

I'm more of a banana man myself.

This old cook once new a trick or two, but now he only remembers one. That's to find out what's in the fridge, chop it into sections and fry it with whatever condiments can be redeemed from our aging collection beneath the stove. Luckily the Farrand ladies are not fussy eaters.

In the photo above is an impromptu eggplant stirfry, an old lentil curry, and a bowl of makkeolli with a cinnamon stick in it. Not too bad for a household that spends the majority of its budget on babywear.

Our allies of the Lim tribe joined us for an expedition to Ansan quite some time ago. James is a self-described fan of food and his heartbeat quickens with any mention of deliciousness. For James, trains of deep thought can be quickly corrupted with a simple mention of the words "large juicy burger."

Hypothetical conversation

James: "So that's why I was having a dilemma about whether to invest my savings in a balanced portfolio or put them towards a comprehensive life insurance plan."

Lee: "That's fascinating. Nearly as fascinating as large juicy burgers."

James: "But you know, insurance can be.... mmm... burrrrgers."

We stopped by at the trusty Dieu Hien Quan, one of few locations in the Republic that serve Vietnamese food without pickled onions. In the photo above is the lemongrass duck, which we ingested along with cold rolls and the mandatory phở.

After that it was time for a walk in the park. Which, as the idiom quite rightly suggests, was a very easy thing to do.

Baengy had a nice time sitting on James's lap. Brings a whole new perspective to the word 'chairman'.

After milling around lazily in our fine food-induced digestive delirium, I went shopping for the Ansan Essentials: tumeric, and those shrimp-flavoured instant noodles from Thailand.

Back in Seoul we've been keeping to our bi-annual scheduled visits to Chili King. The burgers here fulfill the two requirements of every respectable burger:

1) Big, and

2) Good

To avoid burger dismay, I now lurk within the shadows of burger veterans on Facebook's Burger Lovers Seoul group. I gorge myself on the endlessly fascinating conjecture about what makes a burger deserving of praise. 

Little did I know that some burgers are worthy of knighthood.

We also tried something new at Steve's house, a cookoff with couples and children. On the way there, Baengy was staring at me like this while sitting in her babyseat. Sometimes she does that.

I hope she's thinking productively.

Most people would be wary of hosting any kind of event that simultaneously involves couples and babies, and exceeds 6 pax. However, such people are not likely to be in possession of the largest house in the Korean hemisphere. Which Steve is.

The luxuriousness of Steve's aircraft hangar can be summarised by mentioning a single feature in the bathroom: Magnetic Soap.

It hangs from a rod above the sink and can be pulled down, as opposed to the pesky soaps that we barbarian folk use, which requires us to pick up the soap.

Within the masterchef kitchen, amenities previously unheard of quickly highlighted the unsophisticated among us. For instance, many seconds I spent trying to operate the faucet, only to be kindly told that the faucet is operated by the hidden foot pedal. But of course.

I didn't dare mention that I had never seen a household yoghurt maker.

These sorts of gatherings are a good opportunity for our wives to catch up and pour forth their deluges of chatting, carefully stored since last meeting.

Steve has single-handedly created a dish I call the Cardiologist's Nightmare, consisting solely of fried asparagus and bacon. Luckily we had enough red wine to hopefully invoke the French Paradox.

That's Steve sitting on the right. The man of the house, deliberating on the day's earnings. 

After slowly sampling each dish and chewing carefully, he emitted a number of happy grunts, and we all breathed a sigh of relief as the night turned out to be a modest success.

Many years ago, the first dish I ever cooked for Heather was a noodle soup. It must have been fairly good, because we eventually got married. Back in those days, I was fresh out of the kitchens of the Casuarina Malaysian Restaurant, and could whip one up in ten seconds flat. These days my hands are a little slower off the mark, and I sometimes forget to add important things. Like water. 

But the ones in the photo above turned out pretty good.

Here's a laksa I made on the following weekend. Laksa is quite possibly my favourite dish.

Itaewon holds an annual international food festival, and this year we chose to brave the masses. Into the thick of it we went, with me pushing Baengy out in front with the stroller, and Heather following immediately behind.

We, the Farrand Tribe of Korea, like to travel in single file - so as to hide our numbers when walking in the sand.

As always, it was a good chance for the mothers to catch up and share the stories that mothers like to share. I like seeing them happily chatting together like this. 

Even though we fathers are pretty sure they're chatting about us when we're not looking.

At the end of a long day out, we ended up at Vatos, a nearby Mexican place. Vatos is fairly good, a little oversalted and overpriced perhaps. What I like is how they dunk their Corona bottles in the cocktails like that. A couple of them are sure to put you in a jolly mood. In which I was.

As for the future of Farrand dining, I can't see too many drastic changes on the horizon. We'll continue to eat what the seasons bring, while the Farrand ladies are sure to dine on strawberries whenever they drop below W5,000 per kilo.

See you next time!