what do They Dream...?

It has been some time, but they've come close to me once again.

 

The last time was two years ago when I put some serious contemplation about them. Yet closer to me they are this time. No longer are they at a distance on the television screen. No more in the distance of memory are they.

 

But one afternoon they were right next to me.. a class in their neat school uniforms walking on the narrow pedestrian path to the bus stop, and two children at McDonalds. 

 

And instead of wondering openly about their behaviors as most of us naturally do, this time I caught myself wondering about their dreams.

 

Here this child was, with his pack of fries, dipping one into ketchup, then kicking off his shoes and climbing into a crouch position on the chair, laughing all the time. Here this child was rocking his body to and fro, and there the other child calling out and making sounds as he looked out of the glass that separated him from the world outside.

 

It takes special attention to understand their sounds and their behaviors, and sometimes tiring it can be to repeat over and over and over again the necessary guidelines for behaving in society, yet I found myself wondering what this boy with the Minions backpack liked. What did he enjoy doing, this boy with his shoes lying haphazardly on the ground? And the boy with his bus pass on a lanyard over his neck, did he have any role models and who were they? And did each of them have a favorite superhero?

 

symmetry in self

Because is it not possible that the boy with the unintelligible sounds coming out from his throat actually dreamed of becoming a lawyer or a doctor like his much elder cousin was studying to be? And is it not possible too that the other boy wanted to become a singer or a dancer and dreamt of belting out his hits at a concert venue filled with fans like Justin Bieber or Andy Lau? Or that he dreamed of being a well muscled fireman saving people from fires because he really, really liked their uniforms? Or even, to be able to go to school like everyone else, graduate with certificates and earn diplomas and degrees and experience campus life like he'd seen so many others do?

 

 

I have to say, though, that these wonderings are relatively new to me. 

 

Because not too long ago I watched this K-drama. 

 

And in this drama, I realized that whilst for most of us it is expected that we live our lives the way society expects us to, the very same expectations (that we sometimes loathe) for them might be a yearning. To achieve something in life, to have a job, to have a home, to have friends, to date a 'normal' girl and to be able to fall in love with her, to be able to protect the girl that he has fallen in love with, to play basketball together and share an ice cream cone together, to hold hands and chat and impress her with his looks and manliness, to be on the same competitive playing field as any other man for her heart... 

 

That's all he wishes to be.

 

And now, seeing the young children- they who are the future- I have to ask... is it really impossible? Can we reach to a stage where their pronounced handicap becomes a strength? Can we make that pronounced handicap less pronounced to the rest of us? Can we redefine the rules that govern society and transform the differences into normalcy?

 

Like... what if all of us talked to each other with expressive looks on our faces? We have invented a whole new language altogether with the introduction of emojis- would we go a step further with the use of technology? Is it possible for us to communicate to them in the language that they understand, instead of making them communicate to us in the language that we understand?

 

It is a great beginning to understand them and speak to them. It is a wonderful start to let them have a place on a stage and do what they are instructed to do and then have everyone join in even, but what happens beyond that? Where do they go? What do they do? How do they live? Through what will they discover their purpose and meaning for their living? And how will they contribute to the very society that they themselves live in?

 

It is no handicap to dream. 

It is no handicap to work hard at something and push boundaries.

A better world it becomes when they celebrate their victory as a result from their own skillsets forged by their own personal strengths,

And an inclusive world it becomes that when they speak- through whatever language it is that they communicate- that we listen, we understand, and we connect.

two games Table Tennis

I managed to watch just two games.

One game was played between Singapore and Luxembourg and the other game was between Japan and another country which I suddenly cannot recall. And I know I'll sound completely off-track if I say that what I do remember were the gorgeously colored shoes of both players. Japan wore the sweetest bright pink and the rival country wore bright lemon yellow.

The game between Singapore and Luxembourg was... interesting. Not just because both players were *obviously* from the PRC, but because it was a spectacularly noisy game, helped no less by the spectators in the stands, of whom I'm not sure whether they were supporters of this game, or the other games carrying on simultaneously nearby. There was just so much indistinguishable yelling.

The player from Singapore had a cute little ring on her finger and she did okay, the commentator said. What he meant was that she did well enough... because the Luxembourg player was a worthy competitor. A veteran who had won previous games, and which you would never believe was an Olympic medalist had she changed out of her competitive gear, thrown on a gaudy floral blouse, a pair of shapeless slacks, slung a messenger bag over her shoulder and started yakking loudly.

Never assume, really, never assume. You won't know if the person you think is an uncouth peasant from the farmlands of mainland China is in fact a world class Olympic table tennis star.

Archery in the Sun

He wore a blue hat- this tanned looking competitor from Chinese Taipei- the very first representative I'd seen from Taiwan thus far in Rio. He was there competing with the representative from Thailand who wore a very cool pair of sunglasses that I thought looked like Oakleys. The winds were high, the commentator said, which I've no idea what it actually means but perhaps would mean something like them needing to correct their angles.

It's all guesswork for me.

The only time I ever touched a full sized bow and arrow was at a holiday resort long, long time ago and which produced results too embarrassing to be mentioned.

The competitors wore hats too. I had a glimpse of it on the TV highlights this morning where the all-female team from Chinese Taipei with white hats on their heads and bows in their hands.

There was also the all-female team from South Korea, whom, post-competition, in a close-up interview broadcasted to millions around the world, demonstrated the 'look' that has become synonymous with the Hallyu movement... namely, CC creams, BB creams, Magic Cushions, water-based Cushions and lip graduation tints. :)

the Swimmers

Out of all the events that are shown during Olympic season, the swim events are one of those that I keep on. Because I am a leisure swimmer, and because swimming is a sporting strength where I come from. Of course, these days my laps have fallen to almost zero and frankly... it has been quite some time since I entered the water. 

Still, it's an exhilarating sport to watch. 

Right now it is the Ladies 100m freestyle, 200m medley and the 100m backstroke Finals. We're shown the competitors waiting in the wings where on white foldable chairs they sit, dressed in their jackets, their windbreakers, their long coats, their swim caps, their goggles and their track pants. Headphones cup some of their ears, earbuds plug the ears of others. No one speaks. 

And then the cameras cut to the poolside and we see them appear one by one as their supporters in the spectator stands applaud. Their track suits come off, they do their warm ups and then they move into starting position.

This race I watched was won by a swimmer from Hungary. Another race had one Chinese and two Americans in the top three. Lilly King took the gold, her fellow American took the bronze and the Chinese took the silver. Then there was the race with the Russian swimmer who took the silver. She had her country's flag draped around her shoulders as she took the victory walk round the pool.

But I don't think she smiled.

Not very much anyway.

I suppose it was because she didn't take the gold. But you know, I've kind of noticed that Russian competitors tend not to smile very much when they're at the Olympics.. although sometimes they do.

I've seen them.

Pre-race, they are pretty focused, stern and determined. Like when they are in the waiting areas and when they take their starting positions. Nary a smile. They're out there to win. They're out there to break a personal best. They're out there to set world records. And they're pretty d*** fierce about it.

Post-race they're different. They're smiles then. When they take the winners' stand, their hair is hanging down over their shoulders, they're back in their track suits and.. they're smiling. Sweet, pretty smiles that reflect who they really are beyond the competition.

We would do well to have the pre-race attitude, for Life presents its versions of challenges and competitions in Itself and there's only one way to live it. Either you cut no slack when you're on the field and you live to win and conquer it and do what you set out to do and be d*** good at it, or you don't.

There's no in between.

Yet, we would do well to have the post-race smiley attitude too. Because, more than the winning, it is about the Living and the Inspiring. It is the Living that forms our personalities and makes us whom we believe we should be. It is the Living that makes winning the gold medal a side of us. It is the Living that makes focus and determination and fierceness a side of us.

Which means that there're other sides, and as long as they don't interfere with our performance, as long as they don't weaken us, it's all great and fine. 

Nowhere have I seen this spirit more alive in Rio 2016 than in any other sporting events thus far.

Because this time, I'm seeing them decked out in National Colors everywhere. I'm seeing lots of bright, neon shades of sports shoes on the track, on the field, in the stadium and by the pool. I'm seeing bling bling accessories adorning the hair of the Ladies.  And best of all, I'm seeing perfectly manicured nails on their hands. 



sparkly Glittery Gymnastics

There was Italy. There was Russia. There was Sweden. There was Hungary. There was Colombia and oh, there was Armenia too.

I've always liked watching the gymnastics. It is such a difficult sport- not everyone can simply do that vaulting thing- and yet it is so pretty to look at. And though they've got such well toned muscles, they're strong and graceful at the same time. I can't comprehend how one actually achieves all those twists and leaps. Neither can I comprehend how one vaults off, twists and lands on their feet in that gravity-defying motion. I mean, how does one even leap AND land on their feet on that bar 10cm wide?

They're showing the gymnastics on the telly now, and I'm keeping the program on. I won't be able to watch it for another four years, or at least another two before the ASIAN or ASEAN Games swing by, so I'm not missing this chance. It doesn't matter that I do not understand their techniques, nor do I understand their criteria. What I see is from a layman's eyes... and out of all the segments that they do, it is the mat performances that I love the most.

Maybe because of the music. It makes it so dance-like, you know? :)

I'm seeing something different about their makeup this year.

It's literally HD, like, stage makeup for the HD cam. All of them are wearing it- the Russians, the Swedish, the Armenian, the Italians... The Italians have their dark red lipstick and cat-eye liner and mascara for that sultry, sexy look. The Armenian has her dark red lipstick. The Hungarian and the Swedish have their foundations on and the Russians have their eyeliner and bright lipstick.

Their leotards look brighter this year too.

They've got absolutely gorgeous leotards.. each team is wearing their national colors with sparkly designs, and it totally sparkles beneath the bright stadium lights. The sparkles carry to their hair accessories too. Whilst they're doing their routines, I'm finding my eyes drawn to the scrunchies and hair clips and really, it is quite funny how some of them have like, eight of those pinned in their 'do.

All this dress doesn't distract me from the sport though. Oh no. Of course not. I'm here to watch the sport, aren't I? :)

PS: Here's what happened:
The Colombian pulled out prematurely because of an ankle turn.
The Swedish and the Hungarians did pretty strong.
The Italians had this girl on their team with the cutest of smiles.
And the Russians just do not smile.

Rio 2016

Quiet... so quiet was the publicity for the Olympics this year that for a while I actually wondered what was going on. It's highly unusual for such a universal sporting event as this to remain almost silent on their publicity. Of course, there was the usual stuff about the Games Village being unsuitable for living, and then a week before there was the announcement that Katy Perry's F.I.R.E. would be the Olympics anthem.

But then that was generally it.

 

 

If there had been any further news then I must have completely missed it out, because suddenly there was the opening ceremony and by the time I actually got to watch it, it was over.

Bummer.

I'd thought it was happening on a Saturday. Nope. It was taking place on a Friday.

And so I missed watching it live.

I missed out watching the carnival, the celebratory atmosphere of the opening ceremony. I missed out on the gorgeous light play of riotous colors. I missed out on the dances, which I'm sure would have been pretty amazing, cos you know, it is Brazil. I missed out too on the significance of the global nature conservation message which I'm sure would have taken place because AMAZON JUNGLE. And I missed out on the bright green streamers.

I'd have loved to see the competitors try their best at dancing out- country by country. I'd have loved to see the fireworks display. I'd have loved to see the refugee team walk out with their heads held high. And I'd have so loved to see Gisele Bundchen strut down the longest runway ever.

After all, controversy or no, there's something about mixing couture and high-end fashion and glamor mixing with competitive sport on the same stage that makes this a first for Sport. And why not, I ask, she's sporty, she's pretty well known around the world as a Brazilian who must have her steak, and who knows, the gap can grow narrower than we think.

美乐加油 Mei Le Go

Right on, if you ask me now what I immediately (offhandedly) remember from 美乐加油, it is simply two lines sung by Cyndi Wang who plays the main female lead together with Mike He who plays the first male lead.
 

忍着不哭我要忍着不哭
 望上天空不让眼泪流出

I sounded almost fan-girl right there. *giggles*

Well... I am a fan-girl when it comes to dramas, and why should I not be, when it is a market worth billions and spans international audiences ranging from Turkey to America and Asia?

Truth be told though, I'd not seen dramas for a long, long time. During the years of the Japanese dramas and the Korean dramas and the Taiwanese dramas- we're talking the Tokyo Tower show, the Meteor Garden show and Winter Sonata- I was unfortunately busily engaged elsewhere.

Which makes this show significant, for it catapulted me directly into dramaland- and I've not looked back since.

Was it the script?
Was it the plot?
Was it the acting?
Was it the characters?
Was it the style of dialogue?

All of the above.

With a good looking first lead thrown into the mix. "Whaaaat?"

You know it's a significant show when four years on, you continue to gush at first mention of it and you can still remember significant scenes in various episodes despite NOT having re-watched it on Viki.

Maybe it's the way 美乐 endears herself to you with her quirkiness and cutesy ways and the way she puts her heart to do even the smallest tasks and manages to charm the gruffiest of characters. Maybe it is the way she's dressed in jeans and T-shirts and sneakers and glasses and ponytail and side bangs as she drives around in her little white car.

But the whole show is about Toast.

I never heard so much about Toast as much as I did in this show.

Whether it was about the flour,  getting the flour all over their clothes, entering a baking competition for the price money, whether it was about the survival of small bakeries, the competition between the small bakeries and the franchise chains, whether it was about the sincerity placed in making the sides of the Toast, or the need for fresh spring water to make the Toast taste different, or the way the Toast provided inspiration to a musical arranger, or the script that the Toast separated one couple but brought together another...

It was all about the Toast.

Which you know you're hearing and seeing but you're not really hearing and seeing- because (besides the handsome male lead)- you're looking at the beautifully-shot frames, the immersive and contemplative light, the peaceful scenery of Hangzhou and the idyllic scenery of their 民宿 in the mountains.
 

是美乐笨笨却可爱的那一面吗?
或是剧本里头所写的闽南语?
无论如何
好多简简单单的词好多简简单单却少用的词终于顺耳了.
投入。疯狂。无所谓。
还有好多好多。
但最熟悉应该是。。土司的土司边..
永不忘记..
永不忘记多年对中文华语国语的恐惧感慢慢消失了..



i like my Fonts too much, SO THERE

It's possible to become obsessed with fonts. And when I mean obsessed, I mean seriously obsessed.

I'm the sort that can spend an entire day downloading and amending and changing and alternating fonts until I get the 'feel' right. I'm the sort that will keep doing it until I can live with it and stare at it and feel comfortable and at ease working with it. After all, if I'm the one who is going to be staring at it and think about it and bang on the keyboard, shouldn't I have the right to do just that?

The funny thing is....

I didn't even know I could change fonts until 10 years of personal computer usage had gone by. It had always been Times New Roman all the way until one day I changed it to Arial. Then I decided on Georgia and I stuck with it for awhile until I decided that Garamond looked nicer and off to Garamond I went. Then I changed the gear and because I changed the gear, it seemed that Segoe UI looked nicer so I went along with that.. after which I headed to Lucida Grande and Lucida Sans and right now I'm in the Kristen ITC phase.

Yeah, I know that it's a kiddy, babyish font. I know that it reflects me in a certain way, and that  technically, it can only be used for children below a certain age, but truth is, I don't care. Firstly, I'm in the Media & Entertainment business where my work and my visuals can move from toddlers to geriatric. I'm in a line where I can be serious whilst expressing it otherwise. More importantly, I'm the one looking at it on my screen, and if I'm happy seeing it appear as my fingers over the keyboard whilst getting work done, why not?

It's not as if I'm using it for official documentation or legal representation or submissions or whatever that's official. I change it back to Arial or Times New Roman for that.

Hey, as personalities and quirks go, common sense still prevails! :)

yeah i Felt like S***

sadako audition shot

Yes, I looked like this that day. I felt like this too. And I'm making no excuses for it.

It wasn't intended that I'd take this picture- I didn't even pose for it. I just dragged out the phone and snapped. I knew I'd look like s*** but honestly I already felt like a piece of s*** and since the washroom lighting made the selfie look the way I felt, I decided I wasn't going to prettify it further.

A selfie can either reveal the best of ourselves, or it can be a mirror memory of what's really happening that day and though it might seem depressive and frightening and fearful and angry and everything, that's what it is.

It was a mode where one had had restless sleep, where showers had been hurried (whilst being thankful for), where one stayed still hungry despite having had a filling meal, where one's life was in its down-down mode and although I knew that tis' a season that will pass, tis' also a season that I didn't bloody want to have.

It was a season that scared the s*** out of me and forced me to re-look at my present beliefs and adapt new ones that challenged my own thought processes and long-held principles. In this season alone, I re-examined two long-held theories and tossed them inside out and upside down. The circumstances alone made me invert the Maslow's pyramid theory (to the level that I know it) and made me reframe what I'd been taught of Satir's theory.

Conclusion: The current two theories are s*** when it comes to real-life survival.

Perhaps some would disagree with me. But I'm one of those who feel a lot, I'm one of those who don't give a f**k about theories and applications of inner strength and coping mechanisms and whatnot. I've heard them before, I've joined others to encourage others to apply it in their lives before and today I repent of whatever it was that I said all those years ago. The believers can just take the theory and go screw themselves. I'm not being harsh. You don't have time to be kind when you're just trying to live, and I  just go for what works for me and I'm making no excuses for it.

Maybe I'll write another post about what I think of those two theories. But I'll wait till I'm less mad. Being mad gets you nowhere when trying to rationalize. Ha. There'll be other theories, I surmise, but I'm not keen on them- for now- and may I never have to use them too. :)

On another perspective, I still stick to the fact that I don't have to like it, nor cherish it, nor be thankful for the s***. And when it's over, it's over. So, GOODBYE, DON"T COME BACK and I don't ever f**king want to look nor feel this way again.  



action Action time

Got it there, finally, I'm glad to say, despite the fact that whatever is banged in still remains as it is- a draft- one that needs to be amended and corrected and revised and amended and revised again and added upon and taken away until the final copy is completed and ready to meet the world.

I've changed it a few times.

Because each time there is this nagging suspicion that it isn't good enough and sure, it really isn't good enough when you sit down and ponder on it and chew on it.

You don't stop thinking of what you're doing. You don't quit leaving where you left the poor elderly lady, even if she's been going backwards and forward through the corridors and courtyards and sat on the same bench and rehashed through her "traumatic" scenario over and over and over again whilst talking to the same person over and over and over again.

I'm feeling so bad about this that I feel like I've gotta apologize to her for putting her through this s***. And hopefully she'll look at me with kind, understanding eyes when I tell her that I'm getting there. 

to The gate, And back

I'm screwed, I'm telling you.

She is supposed to move forward, but I keep sending her back.

Not that I want to, but I have to, and every time I do it, it's so embarrassing. But that's how it is when I'm in the middle of a narrative and I attempt, and attempt, and attempt to get it right.

In the meantime...

More than once she's reached the gate, and one time she actually stepped out of the gate but whilst she stood there searching for her sense of direction, she had to be sent back to the beginning where she was still wandering.

It's become sort of a playback, like how we used to play our movies in reverse on the VCR, and honestly, as unprofessional as it sounds, it can be really quite comedic...

I'm glad she hasn't gone quiet on me completely.
I'm glad that she's still speaking to me and hasn't decided to shut up for good on me.

That would be a disaster.

A total nightmare.



the national gallery Exterior

 

an upclimb

I haven't been here in a very, very long time.

The last time I actually climbed up these steps, I was still wearing my dorky glasses and sporting short, short hair. *thanks, no thanks, school rules* There was never an opportunity for me to go in. See, to get past its doors you needed a purpose, and since I never got one, I never went in. And because I never went in, I never bothered to ascend the steps either.

Except for one time.

We were on a group excursion, all of us, kids 7 to 18 years old. I was one of the older ones. We were here because we wanted to see the City and because some of the younger ones didn't seem to get out of their own neighborhoods much. We didn't pass through those doors either back then but it didn't matter. Kids weren't allowed in anyway. What we did was to take a picture so somewhere there's a photograph of us kids standing and sitting on the steps smiling at the camera.

Today, the doors are open wide. Today anybody can enter. You no longer need to be of age. And even if you're of age, you no longer need a certain criteria to pass through those doors. There's no more need to be part of an exclusive clique to enter. 

I'm glad for the societal progression.

I'm gladder still that the façade looks the same.

Because whilst many a structure in this area has been torn down and nearly forgotten, with this structure, they took great pains to renovate it from inside out, so much so that at one time, standing at The Adelphi, I was able to look past the outside walls, perceive the cavernous space of its interior and even stare at the sky right through a hole in the roof made specially for the industrial crane.

There're the same windows, the same balconies, the same pillars, the same sculptures up on the roof. Here, right now, I'm feeling like time has stood still, whilst I'm also being very much aware that time has passed. It is like I'm drifting between two different eras, being here yet not being here. 

Very surreal, very magical, one that I can't well describe.
 

lines reflections lines

But it's there.

In the shadows that whisper so softly on the floors and the walls. In the geometric shapes that create patterns on the walls and shuttered windows.

Or maybe in the very fact that this Structure stands as a Symbol on her own, a monument of timelessness, a representation of international trade and global movement, a visible, tangible object of times past- in Europe, America and Singapore.  

You could place your hand on the stone and realize that the same type of stone could be in New York City or San Francisco. You could look up at the awnings and realize that you've seen it somewhere in the streets of New York City before. And it doesn't matter whether you're wearing a leather brogue or a casual flip flop.

It is still the same floor. It is still the same door. It is still the same stone.

 

the tiny opening at the end

 

sushiiiii Supermarket

wasabi and soy sauce so good

So we had just four dollars between us and that was all we had for dinner. And because we had to stick to the diet for the day, fried noodles and economic mixed rice and wanton noodles were out of the menu.

So we popped over to Cold Storage and bought sushi because it was already past eight and prices get slashed by more than half by that time just so they can push out the remaining stock and still earn and not get slapped with a food safety thingy whatever.  

There's still plenty of variety available at that time. There were hand rolls and onigiri and umami and lobster salad and corn and tuna salad and loads of salmon stuff. We wanted the salmon, but they were either $6 or $8 and we had only $4, so we stared really hard at the counter, trying to make the most out of the two $2 dollar notes in hand, and we whittled down our choices to cucumber, umami, tuna, crabstick and tamago.

Tamago and umami won.

12 on 12 @ Ah Hoi

fooooood

To put it as plainly as possible, this is basically twelve dishes on your dining table. Twelve dishes for Twelve dollars, starting from Twelve noon. It's a popular, if not quiet, offering.

 

They've been serving this at Ah Hoi's at Hotel Jen Tanglin- it's seasonal- and so we've gotten ourselves there whenever time and meeting locations permit.

Having a meal here is a little outdoorsy, a little alfresco, a little formal, a little casual all at once. It's a place where polo tees and knee-length shorts with belts would sit most comfortably. It's a place for hats and sundresses and sandals. It's also a place for maxi dresses thrown over your bikini. You don't get the chirpy, cheery, office party one gets at the buffets. (They've got J65 for that) Here, it's an ambience that borders between half-relaxed, half-formal that generates conversation, discussions and everything else. It's a place to appreciate a staff, meet a prospect, have a small-team gathering. It's a nice place for an afternoon date, a rendezvous, a space-out, if one might say, in the middle of a hectic day.

I think of it as a plantation house. You know, that sort where there're verandahs with cane chairs and ferns and foilage and bougainvillea flowers.

 

I think of it too as a very big hut on stilts standing over the shallow waters of the seashore, like how seafood restaurants are in this part of the world, and where you don't know what the catch of the day is until they tell you, and where sunrises and sunsets are breathtaking and you get all-round breezes from the sea around you.

 

Except that at Ah Hoi's, you get more than seafood.

 

Even for their 12 on 12. 

 

You get pork, chicken, fish and beef. You get soup and rice and vegetables. But you also get a menu that's kept afresh. One day you might get stewed pork with egg. Another day you might get steamed pork with salted vegetables. One day there might be pig's trotters bubbling in a clay pot. Another day there would be pork slices with spring onions. There're little surprises. One day you could get chicken drumlets stewed in some sort of herbal brew but the next day you could be presented with fried chicken in sambal sauce. One day you could get a whole chunk of sardine fish. Another day you could get fish slices. It's the same for the vegetables. One day you could have stir fried cabbage but cai xin and kangkong on the next.

Yet it's all very charming. 

Especially if you're someone who loves variety, and if you want to get to know your fellow diners better. Personal preferences speak plenty for one who prefers sambal fish balls over kung po chicken, or someone who will dig around the little dish for long beans but eschew the stewed cabbage.

And when you have fruit infused water on the side with vegetable crackers (a particular favorite of mine) for the taking, when you have fans whirring above your head and you're seated on lovely cushioned garden chairs with the sparkling surface of the swimming pool in sight, it is a great lunch indeed.

loving The greeeeens

yes i do ballet

i am the star, lily.

fullest. emotions.

I wanted to look at a lot of green.

For some reason, just for today, I wanted to look at a lot, a lot of green. There's just something about the greeny green green that comforts and refreshes me at the same time. And it's funny, cos though I didn't realize it, I took a quick glance, and at once, immediately, the lively, soothing embrace of textured green slowed me down, silenced me, and left me in surreal meditative peace. 

hello santa monica i Wish

palm trees

There's this song that goes, "You are always on my mind..."

The same I could say for Los Angeles and Santa Monica and San Francisco, and today I could more say for Santa Monica.

Because there I am, sitting at the Starbucks in Bugis Junction at the alfresco seats near the fountain side on this very warm afternoon and I look up and there these three tall palm trees are and all I can think of is going back to the Pacific and Wilshire Boulevard.

fear the Indifference

I read a book not too long ago.

It was a book of short stories written by a renowned author from China. He lived in the early twentieth century, and in the introduction, there were excerpts from an interview conducted with him.

He said that the worst thing that can happen to any thinker, writer, artist, thought leader, or anyone for that matter, is not whether one's opinions get overwhelming support, or overwhelming criticism, but complete indifference.

By that, it means a lost voice in the mire of voices. It means that whatever opinion that you have formulated, regardless expressed or not, is simply non-existent. It means that no one pays attention, no one reacts, no one gives a s***, no one cares. It's merely unseen, unheard, unfelt.

Never has it been more greatly felt than in today's world of technology. It is an age of information abundance. It is an age where nearly everyone can be granted a voice in one form or another and thereby be granted the ever-present element of choice and variety amidst all the offerings in our commercial world today.

It is easy to have an idea. It is easy to put thought to it and go around the groups and push through the social media channels or even go straight to the ground with physical surveys. In the sense, it is doable. Likewise it is doable- despite the competition- to get seed funding and incubator funding for the ideas and the processes and solutions that you have. 

But let's be candid here.

Nothing ever prepares you for the moment for debut. Imagine, you've been there preparing for months, years even. You've sat there looking at your material and interacted daily with your team and your investors. And you think you've got some good dope there. You think this dope is exactly what people outside your circle need. You think that this dope is gonna save the world's issues.

So you debut.

And..... NOTHING.

Complete silence. Astounding silence.

It's one of the worst situations to be in. It's like... you stepping out onto a stage for your very first show. Now, by then you've gone through hours and hours of practice and your routine is perfect and you've worked out the kinks and you believe that everything is perfect and that right out there seated in the auditorium are people who are going to enjoy your performance and give you the applause and present you flowers after that. But then you step out, and to your horror, the auditorium is empty!

Devoid of a soul. No one in the audience, no one even from the janitorial crew. So you turn around and go backstage and check with your poster people, your marketing people, your event managers, your agency, your makeup and costume people, even your venue sponsors and venue reps and they're all scratching their heads there. They're telling you that they've gone through the motions and all... but..

There's always a reason, isn't it, when situations happen this way. Perhaps something else was going on. Perhaps people were too busy or they had other necessities. But let's say that there were fifteen auditoriums and there were fourteen other performers all debuting at the same time as you and with all the posters and advertisements going on, yours had got lost in the midst. Either they had simply ignored yours, or if they did see it, they let it slip away from their minds. In other words, with all the excitement of what was going on around them, there was simply indifference towards your painstakingly prepared, painstakingly rehearsed performance.

This is not a situation that anthropomorphic branding wants to land you in. 
 

wynne: with wings

Because we don't create the what. That's your product, your job. We create the Who. And the Who we create isn't you. The Who that is you is someone you can create for yourself. We create the Who and we place it in a Where and have it be involved in a How and Why and When- a story arc in a place and a setting and where there's a mission and purpose. Because if your product is meant to solve something, our Who is also meant to solve the same thing with the distinctive method that your product is using.

He or She IS your product, your service. He or She personifies your solution. He or She represents the solution that your product or service provides. He or She becomes the one your market will recognize, follow, watch and emote which leads to a call to action.

Your product ceases to be something that people don't understand. Your product grows a heart- one that is a person just like themselves and whom they can identify with and who, like them, faces limitations and has strengths and weaknesses. But there's just one distinctive exception. He exists for a very specific problem. And he is a very specific solution.

It doesn't apply with the first glance. But what it does is to create an impact, a response, and where He or She becomes your spokesperson and has the potential to be anywhere and everywhere at the same time, reaching out to different peoples with different likes and dislikes and all kinds of interests because simply, He or She is designed to be a Person.

There will be emotive responses. There will be criticism. There will be support. Or there may be none. There may be time lapse before they support. Or there may be time lapse before they change their minds. But whether they decide now or later, what is pretty clear is that because of this guy or girl, there won't be a nonchalant, cant-care-less attitude that merely increases the risk of your product and service being swept to the gutter.

Prose versus Point: a WIP

I think I might have overdone it a little.

Looking at everything else that I've written thus far on this blog, I confess, it's become nearly unreadable and admittedly, incomprehensible.

It's embarrassing.... but I guess what's done already done and there's no other route about it but to go back to the drawing board, or the keyboard, in this case.

See, here's what happened:

I thought I would try writing the style that's advocated by social media. We all know that the advance of Tumblr and Twitter and Instagram has made our sentences crispier, shorter, wittier and neater. Instead of elaborate, descriptive vocabulary and longish grammatical sentence arrangements, we're all encouraged to use acronyms, letters, and keep everything we want to say to a maximum of 160 letters. Technology allows it. Technology embraces it. Where once I got a bunch of red lines alerting me to a fragmented sentence in MS Word, now they cease to exist. Where once short sentences were highlighted by the software, now they're accepted as proper forms of expression.

And so down the quest for short sentences and witty lines I went. Emotive words, thought words, whatever description that came into my mind all translated into my fingers and the screen. One-liners, two-liners, they all went down. I thought it would be easier for the writer, and the reader. I thought it was more... honest, more relevant. I thought that by doing so, I would be keeping up with the current trend of writing where my readers would be granted an insight into the thought-flow of fluid succession presented the way it was.

Until I realized that I too was not understanding what the frig I'd written.. and if I could confuse even myself, what more my poor readers?

So there goes the (poorly-attempted) wit and in comes the lengthier descriptions. After all... it's not as if I can't write in prose!

sweet, Sweet ❤ ❤ ❤

ivory roses

❤ wildflowers ❤

leaves are beautiful

cocooned lovingly

a dramatic moment

a pose for the camera

i am a budding lily and i am my own

petals of ivory white

whiteness. purity. strength. delicacy. fragrance.

Ask me what florals represent me and I can honestly tell you that there're quite a few. In other words, I'm sometimes either one, or the other, or both, or all together. It really depends...

 

I could be a peony or a wisteria. I could be a rose or a baby's breath. I could even be a wildflower! But I like being a lavender all calming and soothing and sleepy and gentle and fragrant and comforting. Or a gerbera sunny and cheerful and lively and vibrant and fun. Or a stargazer lily strong and delicate and bright and unique. :)

advent children: Cloud and Tifa

I was supposed to go sleep but for some reason, this night I was wide awake. It had been a long day. Lots of discussions, lots of analysis, lots of brainstorming, lots of thinking, and I suppose an overly-activated brain left me insomniac.

So I sat there in the living room and in the silence of the wee morning hours, I tapped away.

And watched, and watched, and watched.

One video after another. First a trailer, then a fan-made video, then this, then that..

Eighteen years have passed since this first appeared and since I first sighted the poster at a LAN shop and  seeing this now, I'm stoked still, to be this close to the expressive eyes and physique of Cloud and to the digitally created, physically-rebonded hair of Tifa.

coffee From vietnam

i love the filter

I'll be straight out about it.

The best thing about this coffee is the price. For SGD $2.50 this is one of the most attractive prices around for a filtered cup of coffee. It's more expensive than the kopi or the kopi-o or the kopi-gao we get in our coffee shops, but you're paying for the experience- and the tools that make up the experience.

I had mine at this Vietnamese cafe along Joo Chiat Road. There're plenty of Vietnamese cafes here and where I am, they've given me a spoonful of hot water in a little glass cup along with the apparatus that reminds me of some sort of chemical experiment. Beneath the lid is a filter and beneath the filter is the cup where my drink's dropping into.

It's quite mesmerizing, honestly, even therapeutic, just sitting quietly and watching the coffee seep through the mesh and a couple of minutes later, you get your cup of full-bodied, rich coffee.

I asked the lady what the hot water was for. She told me I could use it in case the coffee was too strong. I didn't dilute mine.

But I asked for condensed milk instead. :)

claypot full of Curry

coconut coconut

You may have noticed this restaurant. You may have not.
You may have wondered what they serve. You may have not.

This is a restaurant that's in fact not quite difficult to miss when you're traveling along this road. It sits along the road leading to Tiong Bahru and it's in this club-house type of building that's right after Block 9 of the Singapore General Hospital.

 

I'd passed by here a couple of times before but I didn't have the chance to step in until a year or so ago. That was the time when we trotted downhill from the main hospital building after visiting hours were over. That was the time when we were hungry and tired after having spent nearly the whole day in the ward. That was the time when we were feeling lost and helpless and uncertain and unsure.

It wasn't the happiest of times. Happier we are now, I'm glad to say. :) 

We ordered the same claypot curry dish that we had the last time we came. Not because we particularly wanted to reminisce, but because the curry is really, really good. See, there're curries that are dry. There're curries that are like sauces. And there're curries that are rich like broths.

This is one of those.

It comes to you fresh off the fire, still bubbling and simmering in its pot. At once you're struck with an aroma that wafts towards you, and if you weren't hungry before, you're feeling the pangs now, and though you're not really sure whether it is the spices or the coconut that's creating the aroma, you simply dig in.

In between the spoonfuls of rice and tender slices of beef, I got a multitude of sensations that jumbled themselves up together. I had the sensation that tickled the tip and back of my tongue, I had the rounded palate of flavors that smoothly rolled around and then finally, this distinct warmth that settled herself snugly over me.

Evocative memories started flooding in.

I remembered the events of a year ago. I remembered how it had been for us then. I remembered myself sitting on an armchair in the visitors' area, with papers upon my lap, writing furiously away, hoping to block out the fear and uncertainty. I remembered the daily trips to another hospital as a companion for her therapy. I remembered all the words of encouragement and the adjustments made for her benefit. I remembered the resistance to the adjustments.

It came back, much of it.

But even now, as I chewed on the beef and slurped down the curry broth, even as I dug around the pot for any meat escapees, and ladled out the carrots and the cabbage to munch them down, I realized just how far on the recovery journey we'd come.

Today we no longer stood at a loss, wondering which direction we had to take. Today we could tell ourselves that as unconventional as our decision had been, it had been a right one. Because today, it would mark 9 months since she could take a bus and go around and buy juice and milk and take care of her needs unassisted. And today, she could enjoy foods that previously she had stubbornly declined.

Suddenly it struck me. This very dish had been more than  just a simple, everyday dish. It had actually been a comfort, a boost. Because back then, it had been a reminder that there was life beyond illness- and that even as we numbly ate our very late dinner here, we had surreptitiously been sent a life-is-beyond-illness message from people no less than the good doctors from the Singapore Medical Council.  

And because in that moment I'd realized that this was what I wanted for her. That it was possible for enjoyment and great-tasting meals to co-exist with diet and health, I forgot about the worries, I forgot about the uncertainties that lay ahead, I forgot how tired I was.

I simply carried on.

126 One Two Six

I'm one of those peeps that prefers to spend her nocturnal hours holed up in the safety and comfort of her room. Seldom; very, very seldom do I venture beyond my door to see what the city offers during her wee hours, and so when late one night I was feeling peckish and didn't want fast food, someone suggested going to 126 for dim sum.

I thought he meant the address.

After all, It IS located at 126 Sims Avenue, but the name itself is in fact a play on words, numerals and what the restaurant really is, because if you're hungry late at night, finding this restaurant after having passed Lavender and the Kallang River and the Merdeka Bridge, will be how the numerals 126 describe so aptly in Cantonese- "I've 'found food!'

126 creates an impression on you the very moment you step in. Many places tend to have wide entrances and lots of space. Not this place. The entrance is narrow, so narrow that you have to squeeze your way past a cashier counter on the left, huge steamers on the right and wait staff in between who're waiting to take out the steamed dishes. And then you're greeted- not with a polite welcome so typical of Chinese restaurants- but plastic flaps that you push through to get to where the tables are.

Here they treat you as if you just came here for a meal a couple of hours ago. Basically, you're so familiar that they don't even bother to greet you. Instead, you're immediately directed to whichever table is available. If you've got a party of five, well, you've got to wait. If you're a party of two, well, there's a table right there at the back, so go on ahead. And in their hands they're balancing a tray or three plates whilst they direct you with a jerk of their head or a dramatic gesture.

This is not a place to be isolated. Neither is this a place for huge tote bags, gym bags or backpacks. If someone is seated outside, and there's an empty table inside, to that empty table you go, even if it means squishing past more diners, tip-toeing your way in and asking to be excused for your impertinence.

This is a place for random conversations about the food with strangers, because more often than not, even after you've placed your orders, you'll find yourself ogling at the food that they've ordered. Which, of course, leads to a discussion about the merits of one dish over the other and whether you should add to the order, or wait till the next time.

As rapidly as we were seated, as rapidly we placed our orders, and as rapidly our drinks came. I got the barley and winter melon. It came in a round plastic takeaway container (that's how they serve drinks here) with lots and lots of little pieces of winter melon cutely hidden amongst crushed pieces of ice. I had great fun digging around for them.

The cheong fun (腸粉) came- all thick and floury and chewy with ingredients popping up delicately in the middle of all the rolls and a most surprising sauce. Thick, salty and sweet, making the cheong fun differently flavored from any others that I've tried.

 

cheong fun and its sauce



char siew paus

The char siew paus followed up next. 

We'd made a deliberate order on this one, because no first time visit to a dim sum place is complete without trying out its paus. You could call the order an ordinary one, but they're not done the same style that you find sold in the coffee shop steamers. Here they were soft and fluffy and light and airy at the same time, and they were the sort that you could easily eat with chopsticks. No need to worry about the char siew dropping all over. :)

We also had the oysters and scallops.

I didn't get a picture, but trust me, they're really good. The fried oysters were huge and fresh and juicy. And the scallops were just as good. Tender, soft with the distinct texture and taste one gets with scallops, made all the more lovely by the fact that scallops aren't a frequent staple on most dim sum menus.

That's pretty much what we ordered this time. (I prefer my suppers light, filling and fun.) But we'll order more when we come again.

Come here again, we will, because here it isn't just the food that charms you. It isn't just the fact that you're out having a late night dim sum supper that creates the novelty.

It's the whole atmosphere.

See, one could go anywhere to have dim sum. That's not uncommon.

But to have a place in Singapore that exudes the energy, decor and experience of quaint yum cha places in Hong Kong, now, that's new to me. You can literally see the whole place as it would be in Hong Kong. You can feel the energy amongst the staff as they meander busily amongst the packed tables, multi-tasking along the way. You can see it in the lights, the exclusive room at the back with its own sliding doors. You can feel it with your fellow diners who are packed in such close proximity to you.

I thought about Tsimshatsui. Really, I did. I thought about how amazing it was that I could feel the atmosphere and energy of Hong Kong in my surroundings, in my food, in the staff, in the presence of my fellow diners, as if I were eating in Kowloon at 0023 hours with Mandarin, Cantonese and Singlish spoken by my side.

That's what 126 does to you. And no wonder too, because right above my head was a plaque of black wood, and on this plaque of black wood were the carved Chinese characters of "Kowloon" painted in gold.