Kindness and Why I Think God Had to Cover Up Adam and Eve

Perhaps I'm obtuse, but I wondered for a long time why the first thing Adam and Eve realised after eating the forbidden fruit was their nakedness. Why wasn't it something else, like "What was I thinking? I disobeyed God for a fruit!", which in my mind would've given them a bit more credit.

The probable answer dawned upon me last night when Hannah asked me the same question, except she said, "why did Adam and Eve want to wear clothes?" (because, of course, running around unfettered is much better). I asked her what she thought was the reason and she said, "Probably because they were cold!" Then I realised the fruit made them see their nakedness as something more than skin. Perversion through disobeying God brought guilt and other attendant evils. Innocence was lost forever. 

Hannah, Eve's offspring gazillion times removed, treats nakedness as just being without clothes. She knows men and women look different; she knows women have breasts and men have penises, and that breasts and penises are just like any other part of the body, every bit as funny-looking or normal as ears and eyes. 

In contrast, I remember the reaction of my niece and nephew to a picture of a breast they happened to glimpse. "Eeeee, na-na-pok!", they shrieked. Hannah looked at them baffled. "What's na-nah-pok?", she asked (she knows bodily parts by their correct anatomical names). They wouldn't (couldn't?) even bring themselves to explain to her. "Ask your mummy", was all they managed.

Our reactions to situations say more about us than the situations themselves. So, want to hold a mirror to your inner self? Review your reactions.

On the subject of soul, here's a pop quiz: what is the shortest route walking with a pram from the car park of Far East Plaza to Borders in Wheelock Place? Anyone?

I found out the hard way. I had parked my car at Far East Plaza, intending to push the pram to Borders (don't ask!). Mistake Number One. I spent the next ten minutes looking for the lift. Finding none, I pushed Hannah in the pram up the driving ramp. We squeezed as close to the wall as possible as cars went screeching down. Every driver looked at me like I was crazy. Getting to street level, I glanced longingly at the overhead bridge connecting Far East to Royal Plaza Hotel, but of course it was no use with my wheels. We walked. Reaching Marriot, I then realised that there wasn't any way to cross the road to Wheelock Place. A Marriot bellboy advised me that the only way was to use the underpass, or walk to the crossing at Paragon.  I decided to chance the underpass. Mistake Number Two. The underpass escalators run fast. I had a stone-age pram, Hannah, and Hannah's barang-barang in a huge tote bag. I stood at the top of the waterfall that was the escalator for a long time. Steep, steep, waterfall. A few people passed, politely disinterested.  Finally a kind lady offered to help with Hannah. But I still had the pram and bag. So, gathering up my courage, telling Hannah to stay well back like the thing was a people-eating monster, I pushed the pram onto the escalator. 

It tore my arm off. Well, almost. It barreled down the steps, I lurched forward, Hannah screamed, the lady said, "Aiyo!". Somewhere at midpoint, my feet caught up with my arms which caught up with the pram, and all that was left behind was my dignity. 

After witnessing that dramatic spectacle, the lady decided that she had better hang onto Hannah till we were safely on the other side. All the while, she said, "careful". Reaching Shaw, she left us and we journeyed on. And came to another escalator leading to another underpass connecting Shaw with Wheelock. This time God brought a gentleman who helped me carry the pram down the flight of stairs (why did they make an escalator and stairs but not ramp?). So we reached, finally, Wheelock. At B2 or something outside Marks and Spensers, the guard told me there was no way up to Borders except via lift which was located at the other end of Wheelock, through the car park. While I dithered, having already had one bad experience with car parks, a kindly old couple offered to help with Hannah. So I carried the pram up two sets of escalators, and they followed, all the while cooing at Hannah and chuckling in a grandparently sort of way at her. I believe they had more fun than I did, but I could be mistaken. When we reached Borders (really), they hugged her and the man insisted on carrying her and settling her comfortably back into the pram.

A friend of mine said my existence was proof of God's mercy. My husband said, "Why didn't you just go to another bookshop?"

I'm happy to act as proof, but the point I'm trying to make here is, that it's not the situation but the reaction to it. Though Singapore is most stroller-unfriendly, kindness makes up for it. 

And, I'm more like Eve than I like to admit. Eating the fruit, she committed her offspring to certain death. Parking the car, I committed my offspring to Death by Escalator. 

By the way, what's na-na-pok?