SEPTEMBER 28 — Wood. Not stone. Not metal. Not plastic. Not char siew pau. But wood.

You gotta touch it. Not lick it. Not punch it. Not sit on it. Not throw it at red-shirted racists. But touch it.

I suppose I could’ve Wiki-ed “touch wood” before writing this, but where’s the fun in that?

First, it’s cute when you think of the occasions that people usually use that phrase. It always comes AFTER saying something hopeful.

“Look, I’ve taken Singapore Airlines a million times and I haven’t had any problems — touch wood.”

“Don’t worry, just go for the free medical check-up, there shouldn’t be any problem — touch wood.”

“The economy’s difficult, but I’m thankful that our jobs are relatively secure — touch wood.”

What’s going on here? What do we think is going happen if I say my lungs have been healthy thus far and I DON’T say that “Touch Wood”? Will some eaves-dropping deity who’s got a thing for oak direct one of his angels to inner-spacialize itself into my chest cavity, invade my bronchioles and carve a message on my windpipe that goes, “This happened because you failed to say ‘Touch Wood’, you loser! Now, die!”?

What is going to befall me if I talk about good airline safety standards but later FORGET to physically tap my desk (which, strangely enough, doesn’t have to be wooden) and say the magic phrase? 

Is some cosmic Spruce Zeus going to throw a customized lightning bolt at my next FireFly to Penang, timing it such that it becomes a water-landing (it’s a landing, mind you, never a crashing) and I survive the plunge, I get out of the plane but my body gets chewed up by three sharks with patterns on their fins which read, “Utter the words Touch Wood, all ye imbeciles! Or die like one of those sorry bastards in a Final Destination movie!!”?

That sounds more like it, doesn’t it? It’s like we’re worried that some intelligent force will punish us for sounding too optimistic. This invisible cosmic persona is SUCH a party-crasher, it/he/she/they are always on the look-out for cheerful jokers who take their life and safety for granted. 

Like a devilish Santa Claus, this spiritual “Skynet” figure has absolutely nothing better to do than to strike down naively positive individuals who speak as if life isn’t so bad after all.

Secondly, however, there’s an (open) secret to escaping the bad shite coming your way if you sound overly encouraging. Are you ready? Here it is: Simply tap the nearest table or platform you can find and speak the magic-ass words: Touch…Wood.

But there are some rules:

You have to say it such that the words can be heard — you can’t be like one of those embarrassed Christians who want to say grace for their food, but are so shy to do so in public so they simply “say it” in their minds

You have to actually do the tapping thingy — it’s true that some “liberal” wood-touchers can touch wood without touching wood but, hey, don’t mess with this stuff, okay? You arriving back in your home town in one piece could depend on it. If you have to, walk to a table somewhere and tap the surface with at least two fingers, which brings me to my third point…

You are not allowed to use just one finger nor your palm nor the back of your hand—the gods of justice will take it as an abominable insult if you do! You need at least two fingers, but use all five if you can. And you need to tap it like you’re playing a piano i.e. touch with your fingers tips.

Also, this ritual is so spiritually flexible, it’s open to all faith communities. It don’t matter if you’re Buddhist, Christian or Barisan. You’ll touch the damn wood, regardless. 

It’s as if this pro-mahogany anti-good news watcher is some universalistic “All Faiths Included” dude who somehow commands the allegiance of anybody, no matter which “religion” box they tick on the form.

The whole thing always reminds me of one of my distant grand-aunts in Singapore. It was almost 20 years ago. Chinese New Year. We visited her house, ate the cookies, shared the greetings. But lo and behold: My parents forgot to give her son an ang pow.

The next morning? My family received a call from this grand-aunt who said that she couldn’t sleep the entire night. She was worried that a GRAND DISASTER would befall her family because her son didn’t get an ang pow from my family.

Okay, so you think my Singapore relative is a little weird, right? I think so, too. I mean, c’mon, since when can the act of exchanging fancy-looking red packets with cash inside be of ANY significance to our safety, health and wealth?

Surely money, vitality and friendships are going to be with me no matter how many ang pows I get or don’t get. Uh… touch wood?

* This is a personal opinion of the columnist.