A Week With The Big-Assed Sharan

I had a really good time with Volkswagen’s largest MPV, the 2-litre-engined Sharan.

Being a station wagon owner myself, I am partial to large movers of people and sporting equipment. My first car was called a “sports car” by my friends because of the large number of sporting equipment stashed in the rear – not because I was sporty, but because I was too lazy to clean it out.

The first task was to play a prank on my unsuspecting mother-in-law who had been away in her native Taiwan for a week. She called to inform us of her arrival time and (but) told us not to pick her up because there wouldn’t be enough space in the car for both her and half of Taiwan’s edible produce.

We told her not to worry as our car would be big enough. When it came time to load up (after the customary dinner at the airport after arrival – which is a very Singaporean thing come to think of it – where else do you dine at the airport AFTER arriving?) the mother in law was blur enough not to notice that the car had completely changed from a blue five seater max station wagon to a brand spanking new seven seater black sliding door with sun-roof big assed MPV.

Kai was in on the prank, and punked his grandma that we had traded in her German marqued sedan for another German marqued MPV.

Suspicious, the mother in law inspected the car closely, looking at the speedometer and realising that it was indeed a new car – and that it had space to contain half of Taiwan’s edible produce.

She then interrogated us at length on why we bought the car, and our answers:

Cos it’s big
Cos it’s only $208.8K before discount
Cos it’s big
Cos it’s a true MPV, not a mousy little one where people ask, “hey, is that an MPV?” And you go, “You Wish ah!”
Cos it’s big

Volkswagen’s loan was timed very well too – I had a show to put up at the Drama Centre, and so we had to load up production crew as well as costumes, props and other production paraphernalia. We made it in one go. There’s never been a time when a piano stool was transported in more glamorous circumstances.

Apart from it being really useful in theatre productions, I would seriously consider the Sharan if we needed to carry more people, and if we could really find a way to trade in my mother-in-law’s car.

Think about what your use would be, cos there’s a contest on Instagram – take a pic and tell us why you think you’d need a Sharan in 100 characters. Mine will be “I like Big VDubs and I cannot lie”. You might get to enjoy the big-assed Sharan like I did, for a whole week!


To participate, simply post a picture (on instagram or on the #INEEDASHARAN facebook app) showing why you need a Sharan, along with the has tag #ineedasharan.

The top 10 most voted will be selected and judged by the Volkswagen SG panel, and the top 5 will be selected winners.
The prize? A week drive with the Sharan.

Anyone is free to participate, but ultimately, the winners will have to be 24 and above and have a driving license.


Backing out of our parking lot with camera assist and a chirpy back seat driver
Backing out of our parking lot with camera assist and a chirpy back seat driver
Fully loaded at the Drama Centre stage door
Fully loaded at the Drama Centre stage door
Yup, that's a piano stool. And we didn't even take out the child seat!
Yup, that’s a piano stool. And we didn’t even take out the child seat!
Production crew on board too!
Production crew on board too!
Perhaps the best reason to need a Sharan for a week!
Perhaps the best reason to need a Sharan for a week!

You Never Forget Your First

The thing about being first time parents that always tugs at the heartstrings is the number of firsts you experience in a short span of time. I remember vividly the first time I mistook another person’s baby for ours, tapping at the nursery window in the hospital, promising to be the best dad ever, vowing to be a better person for five whole minutes before the maternity ward staff nurse wheeled out another bassinet with our actual son who was crying his lungs out because he was hungry.

I must have looked quite daft as I wheeled him to my wife’s hospital room, all my steely eyed, firm jawed conviction evaporated, and all I could think of was the hint of a smirk on the staff nurse’s smile.

It has come in quick succession, our son’s first solid meal, the first word (“Dog”), first unaided steps, first Halloween, first Christmas, first New Year’s, first birthday, first flight, first unaided kick-scooter ride, first ski lesson (followed by nine mountain ski descents), first first nursery class, first school bus ride, the first time he said a rude word because he heard one of the songs Papa wrote for work (Kow Peh Kow Bu).

It’s all a blur, but somehow, each one’s as memorable as the other. There’s been the anticipation, excitement, joy and pride, over and over again in the last three years and a bit, and we’re looking forward to the first skateboard ride, even though that’s a little way away while we look for a board that’s small enough for him.