Edith Piaf sang about having no regrets; Frank Sinatra carried the message of self-satisfaction further by proclaiming proudly that whatever he did, he did it his way.

I wish that, at my modest level, at this stage in my life, I could also proclaim a life free from regrets. Alas, they are there aplenty. Though they are small, being in no way connected with my major decisions to get out of my marriage, my religion and my job, they nevertheless leave that little twinge of sadness and guilt that must always accompany the admission beginning with ‘You know, I really regret that—’

I regret that many years ago as a young, typically kiasu Singapore mother, I made sure, aggressively, that my children were not excluded from the many enrichment programmes which were being offered for the young. So I made my little daughter take ballet lessons; being a tomboy, she squirmed in the pretty white ballet dress and the pink ballet shoes. She had to take piano lessons too, with her brother ;both of them dreaded the twice-a-week practice with the piano teacher. So there they were, being forced to do something for which they had no inclination nor talent (Years later, on their own initiative, both took up the guitar, their interest in the piano permanently killed by their mother’s misguided concern for their welfare)

I regret that when I was working in the Ministry of Education, heading a department responsible for the production of instructional materials for use in schools, I handled the case of an errant officer with far less tact and patience than I should. I should have learnt from the example of a fellow department head who once spent hours talking to a particularly recalcitrant officer, encouraging him to explain his behaviour, answering his questions honestly, and listening patiently throughout.

I regret that I had little time for an old friend who was very fond of me and enjoyed my company. Ms X who was single and living alone, was overweight and sickly, walked with a cane, and had to be helped into and out of taxis and restaurants. I suppose if I had been more generous, I would have taken her out more often on those lunches and teas she so eagerly looked forward to . In her loneliness, she moved to another country to live with a sister . When I learnt of her death, I felt sharp pangs of self-reproach.

I regret that in my mother’s last years, I hadn’t spent much time with her. She had reached an advanced stage of dementia, had lost much of her hearing, and often talked incoherently about the past, obsessively referring to happenings, whether real or imagined, that weren’t particularly pleasant to hear. On one occasion when I was alone with her, listening to her ramblings and answering her questions by repeatedly shouting into her ear, I had to admit (to my shame) that I was enormously relieved when a family member returned from a shopping trip and took over the chore of keeping her company.

If only. I should have. Now looking back, how I wish. The language of regret sometimes crops up in one’s speech, whether one is aware of it or not.

The most regrettable thing about regret is that one lives life forward, but learns backwards.

---

About Vignettes...

A continuing flow of little, readable pieces that will constitute what I feel is an important 'legacy of values' to leave behind. Read more about Vignettes...