Recently, I realised I don't have a "hobby", something that I enjoy doing, something to kill time with that doesn't have a clear "purpose". Everything I do is either work or has a definable (usually "good") purpose, martial arts included.

I remember my father had a hobby, which he developed soon after he came out of prison. If I think about it now, he must have been deeply traumatised by his imprisonment and he developed that hobby to balance his state of mind. His other channel of "escape" was being with the fishermen, teaching them how to breed freshwater fish artificially, how to cultivate pearls and how to increase crab yield, among other things. He used to praise the untapped intelligence of fishermen's kids and attributed their cerebral excellence to eating copious amount of fish. He was later proven right, as scientific findings indicate that there's a correlation between the intake of sufficient phosphorus, which abounds in fish, and high IQ.

His hobby, which I'm talking about, was making miniature furniture, or models of furniture, like fancy tables and chairs, on a miniscule scale. He would make small parts, fit them together (with sockets and dowels, rather than screws and nails), sand them down, paint over them (first with clear varnish, followed by coloured paint), and lay a veneer over the top surface... everything that would go into a normal piece of furniture. After it was done, he would place them on a table, scrutinise them every day to see where he could make improvements next time and make more, better ones later. He also started cooking more and he honed his culinary skills to perfection. He practically monopolised the kitchen. "Get out of my way!" was his much-repeated mantra to hound me and my mother out of the kitchen.

That's why after his death, it took mother quite a while to get used to taking care of herself.