seeing the Otters Finally

It is an understood, if not common, understanding amongst many a Singaporean, that if there be a native-born creature on our sunny shores that is truly 110% native because of its mere existence and not because the tourism authorities made it so, it would be the otter.

 

One supposes that they must have had always been there, yet it is ony in the last few years that the otter families have swum and scampered their way into our hearts.

 

Straight-out win right there for the otters, for how possible is it to not to squeal and laugh and appreciate the otters who swim all around the Bishan-Toa Payoh park, who surface at points on the Kallang River, who scamper their way right across our HDB carparks, who make their appearance at places far flung (and protected) like the runway of Changi International Airport, and who pop up at unprecedented places at the Marina Barrage.

 

I'd been trying for months to catch a glimpse of them otters at all of my usual cycling destinations, but despite the fact that so, so many people seemed to have caught sight of them everywhere- at Pasir Ris and Punggol even- the popular sighting spots at Marina Barrage yielded no sight of them.

 

Until this particular afternoon when I and Daffy biked in from East Coast Park, Fort Road, part of the Kallang PCN near the National Stadium, into the Marina Barrage, across the bridge and the other side of Marina Barrage near the Gardens by the Bay.

 

I'd nearly missed them.

 

 

 

And if not for the fact that I saw the "Otters Crossing" sign and a group of people standing in a rough semicircle facing the reservoir, I might have missed seeing them entirely. As it were, I hopped off, moved quietly towards where they were, and watched them.  

 

It was quite a large family. I counted at least 15 of them. Their bodies were sleek, smooth yet muscular and strong. They were a healthy family, that was so clear. They were taking life easy too. No rushing, no responsibilities, no adulting, no pressure. The family just lay there around the tree near the rocky breakwater- some of them stretched languidly over their family members.... and snoozed.

 

The hoomans, on the other hand, were very excited. And it wasn't limited to the only the natives hanging about. The English were thrilled. So were the Japanese. There was quite a bit of whispering. And then everyone quietly tiptoed as close as they dared, snapped away, and tiptoed off.

spot the Street Cat

She's a playful one, this street cat who roams about near the officetel.

 

A couple of times she's been entranced by my glitter nail polish and tried to catch my hand. A couple of times too she's stepped on the bottom of my wide legged pants, tripped me over my slippers and scratched the (new) rubber of my colleague's sneaker shoe.

 

That's not counting the times when she contentedly perched herself on top of a pillar and observed us look into house gates, peer under cars and peek into drains whilst calling out her nickname and meowing away.

 

 

And yes, although we don't expect her to be hanging around the same old-same old area whenever we pass by- she is a free roam cat with lots and lots of friends- it is a laugh-cry thing altogether when on a fairly warm, sunny day, the cat decides to take cover beneath a pile of leaves and no amount of stroking, playful nudging or high pitched meowing will get her out.

 



an Airport; a Refuge

 

 
Many would see this as just another transportation hub, a terminal no different from any other international airport in the world, but to me, she has been, and still is, more than just a place where planes taxi, take off and land.

For many a year, whenever times come that I find myself helpless, hopeless, frightened, uncertain and afraid, it is to her terminals that I turn to for refuge, for solitude, for hope.

Much of it lies in the fact that there is always movement in this space. Never has it been that the airport halls are deathly silent with nary a soul. No, there is always someone. If there is not a person at the check-in counter, there is someone at the row of chairs. If there is not a person stepping through the glass doors of the terminal, there is someone standing around near the check in counter waiting for it to open. There is always a person. At any one time, by day or by night, there has never been a time when the lights are off, when the flight board is not rolling, or when there is no one moving around. Even in the quiet of the graveyard night, there is someone, always, pushing a lone suitcase, or stretched out at the 24-hour cafés somewhere.

Here I could get lost in the crowd. Here I could sit by myself at any seat, clutch my backpack to me, so happen to have a troubled look on my face, and I'd  still be left alone. No well meaning person would come up asking how I were because simply no one would care. And if I shed a few tears, no problem, no cause for alarm, because hey, this is the airport and at any airport anywhere there will be tears.

More than being able to be left alone amongst the crowds was seeing the giant departure board in the Departure Hall. On more pleasant days the board might have gone ignored, but in times like these, the continuous rolling of flight information served me a reminder that at this very moment someone was waiting at their boarding gate, boarding pass and passport in hand, ready to board the plane. 

It was a reminder to me that  even though at this very moment I was trapped in my circle of s*** feeling downright depressed and miserable, wondering why all this c*** was happening to me, and not knowing how to get out of it, behind those glass gates were people coming and leaving the country. 


They had nothing to do with me, yes, but more than them being people, they were circles, and as I stood there helpless and lost in my circle of s***, these very circles were happening, these very circles were taking place, right at this very moment. and I was there.  

I was being connected.

I was being connected to a circle in Singapore Airlines or Korean Air or Emirates or ANA. I was being connected to a circle on Thai Airways or Air India or KLM or United or British Airways. And those circles were going to elsewhere, other cities, other cultures, other climates, other worlds, other circles.

The World was Revolving.

And if everything was cyclical, it meant that soon it would be my turn.

When, and how, I didn't know, but one day, it would come my turn where I'd be the one entering the gates, getting my passport chopped, going through to the transit hallway, turning back, waving to loved ones, waving to the country maybe, and then making my way to wherever my gate was to board the plane that would take me to places where new experiences awaited.

If they could come here, and if they could go there, then so could I. If the world was where they had a place, then so had I. No one said I had to be confined. No one ruled that I had to be imprisoned in the circumstances and the situation.

Sure, the crap was overwhelming, the helplessness was more than I could bear, and I was damn tired of everything... but here at the airport, however I felt, however long I stayed there, the other circles were revolving around their own spheres like those spin-around cups at the amusement park, and soon one of those circles would be mine.

After all, the world was waiting, and so was I.

delving into the world of J

We're nearing the end of August, and all I have to show for this month of August are 6 blogs. Thank goodness I'm not doing this on a professional basis. If I were this month I'd have nothing to eat at all..

 

It has been quite a hectic month.

 

A month filled with meetings and getting work done.

 

A month filled with deadlines and close supervising and monitoring and thinking and planning and diagram drawing and discussing.

 

It has been a month where new lessons popped up day on day, where I found myself having to face conflict head-on, where I had to utilize skills I'd kept on the backburner and stayed on the backbencher, and where I realized that I had always had a certain aptitude, of which now really was the time to demonstrate it.

 

There have been stressful situations. 

 

There have been days when I returned to the officetel in a blur, dazed mood, flustered enough to not do anything but hug a pillow and stare out the window. 

 

I suppose everyone has had to face situations which beleaguer them, and I shouldn't be lamenting. Then again, that doesn't mean I have to love them and welcome them with open arms.

 

Has it been a terrible, terrible month?

 

Nope. Not at all.

 

It has been a long month, yes, but nope, not terrible altogether. Not even work wise, because there are things which are my forte and which I (think) I'm okay with, good at, and can swim through pretty comfortably. Sometimes it takes a bit of work, sometimes it takes a bit more thought, but there are worlds that are really special, and the world of J is one of them.

 

For that, I'm really, really glad. :)

coffee and Future Tech

 

So I was sorting out the pictures on my phone the other day, and I happened to come upon this one.

It made me smile.

Has it been more than half a year since we sat at the Starbucks outlet for a casual chat with our tech developer who had swung into town from Israel via Thailand for a C-suite level meeting with one of our financial institutions?

But pictorial documentation cannot lie, and right there, next to the iced black and the green tea latte, sits the Starbucks Thanksgiving drink of 2017. What it precisely is, or was, I can't remember, but there was peppermint. There definitely was peppermint.

It was great conversation, speaking with each other, just talking about stuff. After all, the serious stuff had been discussed in the morning prior, and it was out of our hands for now.

Future tech is an interesting thing. It can swing either way, but if you know what it means to companies, organizations and institutions, if you know how far the tech can go and what it can do, you won't look lightly upon it.

Because, far from augmented reality and virtual reality being just another gaming device or a historical learning experience, this is a tech that puts simulations and real-time reactions on the record, yet creates situations that would otherwise have serious consequences in real life. I can't say for sure the complete picture- I leave it to the right people for that- but let's just say that loss minimality is always key, and maybe VR, and AR does just that.

Anyway, this was a meeting that warranted the certified expertise of a developer who wasn't all cock and bull but who knew his programming, his modelling and rendering, his app development, his machine-learning and his artificial intelligence. This was a meeting that needed the capabilities of someone who cut no slack but met the requirements of the clientele without compromising on its applications. Anyone who has done a demo store layout for a conglomerate knows his s***.


Let's just say that it was a cool meeting on both sides that covered multiple areas, with discussions bordering on what said tech applications could be best for versus what was most likely required. It was candid, genuine and also, business-like. And I appreciated the fact that the reps respected the technology. As futuristic as it seems, as boggling as it can be, having leaders and honchos who respect technology and try figuring out solutions with it can truly make the world a much better place. :)

That's as critical as it goes, especially for any tech-related discussion, because more annoying than facing off people in execution meetings, are facing off people who brag as if they designed the tech but in fact barely skim the surface and are not keen on any solutions at all.

i Meet, you Meet, we Meet

I've been pretty busy the last couple of weeks working on a couple of stuff. Besides the panels that have thankfully been completed and which are now sent for clean-up, there've been meetings, meetings and more meetings.

There've been meetings that I've felt are constructive and useful and necessary, but there've also been meetings that I've wondered what the heck they were for.

We all hear of meetings whereby people gather and hold discussions for hours on end, but I've since discovered that there are meetings that do run overboard and yet lack even the basic quality.

Look, I don't mind sitting for hours in real discussion and clarification. I don't mind meetings where there's proper contribution in getting the work done. What I don't fancy are meetings where there's all the d**k waving and yet gets nowhere. Sure, they might be a part and parcel of everyone's working life, especially if you're in a corporation, or a start-up, but I do quietly question the validity of it if it accomplishes nothing or turns into a gossip session.

I'm not interested in gossip.

I honestly don't give a f**k if the investor is like this or like that or whether the investor has enough coming in.

That is not my problem, and listening to drivel  that does not push the work forward only wastes my time.

See, people emphasize on the productivity of meetings, but we don't often ask ourselves why we even have the meeting in the first place.

 

Productivity at the workplace isn't measured only by efficiency and effectiveness. It is also measured by logic and structure. And if both elements are missing, when one has no answer as to why the meeting even has to take place, then it borders on inefficiency and it means it is only rote and nothing more. 
 

It doesn't help that there's no definitive structure either. Who is supposed to do the collecting, the collating and the closing? Who is designated to do it, and why? It doesn't matter who does it- anyone can- but someone has to be the anchor somewhere, otherwise it is just a bunch of people sitting around sharing, which amounts to nothing when it comes to the cold, hard facts.  

The past couple of weeks have been occupied dealing with the aftermath of such a lackadaisical approach, and  trust me, it hasn't been the happiest of working times. I've questioned the validity of needing to answer, I've questioned the reason behind such an approach, and I've even wondered whether it were worth my time to be raising such issues.

I raised them anyway.

Some things just have to be said- rehearsals or no. Some things just have to be placed on a firm foothold. And some things have to be arranged in such a way that there's a clearer line of thought, and maybe more transparency altogether. I certainly don't appreciate very much to be told that there needs to be more huddles when I don't know what I'm huddling for.

It don't help nothing.

Nothing at all. 

pho Viet Nam cafe

A name as literal as this along Joo Chiat Road means that the café sells one, and just one, cuisine. What cuisine it offers is not a difficult one to figure out. One thing, thank goodness Pho Viet Nam is not as literal as it has taken itself- otherwise there'd be nothing else but pho on the menu. :)

 

Even so, they'd serve up a really good bowl. I know that for sure. And it wouldn't be just one kind of pho. On the menu they've got three kinds. Beef, Chicken and Special. I don't know what the Special is and I've not tried the Chicken pho either- I've tried just the Beef- and it is really, really good.

 

So I know that there are many other places in the area, and around town that offer beef pho, and maybe someone would say that having a bowl of rice noodles served with slices of medium-rare beef, bean sprouts and mint leaves really isn't as big a deal, but there is just that lil bit of difference here that is not anywhere else. And I don't really know what it is- I haven't asked- maybe it is the fish sauce.

 

 

They've got quite an extensive offering here at Pho Viet Nam.

 

They've got fried rice and salted fish. They've got rice served with grilled pork and egg. Then there're all the vegetables prepared different ways, meats that you can order prepared on their own, and I think there's a bit of seafood too.

 

 

There's stir-fried pho- which I had once, and was rich with a smattering of flavors- and then there's beef stew chock full with beef slices and carrots and which you can decide to have with either rice or baguette.

 

 

There's chicken curry that they also serve with the choice of rice or warm baguette. May I say that the chicken curry is as unusual a chicken curry that I've ever eaten? Let's just say that the gravy belongs to the sweet side, that it is not as spicy as Indian curries are, and is pretty different from how the Japanese curries are.

 

 

Oh, and they've got small bites like spring rolls and fish cakes and the like which could be appetizers or snacks alike. The sauce that came with the fried spring rolls was really lovely. I liked its rounded flavors, its tartness on the tongue and all of its naturally-salted peanuts.

 

It is a lovely, cosy, family-friendly, place, Pho Viet Nam, with her quiet, street-style décor, her serene environment, her hippie-friendly vibes, her soul food, and in all sincerity, I am glad for it being here.

 

 

And I won't be needing to have my clean meal beef pho fix anywhere else for hopefully a long time. :)

her first Foods

They tried to get her to eat, Miss Brown said, but none of the foods they'd chosen, she liked. It wasn't their fault. Not being able to swallow properly meant that there were very little foods she could take. And she didn't want anything pureed, so there was literally very, very little.

 

No one seemed to know for sure what it was she was supposed to eat. There had been a paper from the dietician, or the nutritionist, but in the midst of all the paperwork, that handwritten sheet had somehow gotten lost, so it was up to her caregivers to decide what was best. 

 

She took a bit of soup, thickened, of course, with the thickener, and which wasn't too bad, but it kind of made the texture a little funny. A couple of spoonfuls and Miss Brown decided she was done.

 

She took a bit of 3-in-1 sweetened brown rice cereal that her supposed caregivers had bought, and although she liked the sweetness, the cereal was rough on her throat.

 

There were even cups of organic cinnamon oatmeal porridge from Marks & Spencer and which were supposedly filling, and she tried, but oatmeal being oatmeal...

 

Nothing she consumed that first weekend tasted familiar.

 

Maybe that was the reason why her caregivers got her this. 

 

 

It had come recommended, they said, this raw meal supplement thingy, just in case she was refusing all kinds of food, and the idea was that as awful tasting as it was, better she have something in her stomach than nothing at all.  



home from The Hospital

It is one thing to welcome a patient home from the hospital. It is another thing to be truly prepared for the newly discharged patient to be ready for all the adjustments they'll have face at home.

 

To this day Miss Brown doesn't know who was more nervous about her homecoming. She doesn't know whether it was her main caregivers, her supposed caregivers, or even she herself.

 

She had anticipated some sort of change.

 

That much her still-befuddled brain could easily figure out.

 

But seeing it first hand after they opened the front door, having to adjust to it, and realizing that she had to accept it, was another matter altogether. It was not as if there was any choice either. The way she'd lived, the way she'd done up her home, was now medically unsafe for someone who was now no longer fully mobile. .

 

Still, there were just too many changes!

 

Her room was no longer the same. Gone were the belongings that she used to casually stash on the window ledge. They had all been packed into the wardrobe. Gone, too, were the lanyards and strings that used to be on the door handle. They'd been stored away lest her left hand accidentally hook onto them and cause her to fall. And her clothes- the clothes that she used to arrange on her mattress- had all been dumped into boxes that now stood at the foot of her bed. She needed the support from the mattress to swing her legs down, her caregivers said, and all those clothes would only entangle her movement and hinder her. Then there was a sturdy chair at the head of the bed placed there for her to use as support when getting up.

 

The living room also didn't look the same as she'd left it.

 

Right behind the door now was the brown sofa- for her to rest after entering the house, and for her to sit and wear her shoes before going out. The dining table had been shifted from the dining area to the living area so that she could sit there, have her meals, do whatever. She needed as much support as she could get, she was told, and the glass table was better than any other furniture in the house. Then a shelf had been shifted from somewhere in the house to the living area, on which the huge TV was placed, as were the other stuff she used to casually keep around. The tall wood shelf that once stood as a divider between the living and dining area had been removed- it was too flimsy, wobbled easily and no one, they told her, was going to risk stuff from its shelves falling down on her should she accidentally crash into it.

That wasn't all.

Mornings there would come in a trained geriatric nurse to help her bathe, dress and feed. She would have to start going for therapy, twice a week, mornings and afternoons. And she would have to go to a eldercare center twice a week, just for the mornings.

Her old life was gone.

Everything had to be re-learnt. Everything had to have new methods of doing. She would have to learn how to bathe with one hand, feed with one hand, dress with one hand. She would have to learn how to do stuff all with one hand until she regained the use of the other.

But till that happened, she had to adjust. She had to adapt. She had to figure out new ways of doing things. Step by step, she would have to find her way, and in the meantime, rely on whatever help was available.

She needed it, even in the smallest activities that once used to occur naturally. It had never been this difficult to swallow, but now her throat muscles weren't working so well. So in came this thickener that the hospital had given her. She didn't really know what it was made of, but she tried it, and it was okay. Soups became thicker. Milk became thicker. Porridge became thicker. Even water, which, honestly, was the only thing she didn't like the thickener in. It made the water have the texture of starch.
 

 

porridge @ Crystal Cafe

It is on a day, and on an evening as this, that one thinks of a bowl of warm rice porridge chock full with chunks of sweet potatoes bobbing about. It's strange, but as plain as it seems, and as simple as it sounds, it is the nondescript taste of white rice coupled with the faint sweetness of sweet potato that one craves for.

 

Perhaps there is just that special comfort at the thought of the bowl cupped in the palms of your hands, the spoon dipping into the white, translucent porridge water, and the sight of smooth, perfectly boiled rice grains.

 

There's porridge as such to be had nearly everywhere- this is Singapore- but it is here, at Crystal Café in Orchard Grant Court Hotel, that the vibe of simplicity and homecooked comfort spills over so much more.

Could it be the décor?

Maybe.

I was there one weekday evening for their dinner porridge buffet, and I felt, despite the fact that I was had my smartphone and laptop with me, that time had reversed, that I had stepped back into the late 80s, and I was once again a dorky child of eight in my dress with ribbon tied behind, Mary Jane buckled shoes with lacy socks, and spectacles.  

It was as if time had somehow stopped, that present-day trends did not exist, and that around me were diners with smoothly combed hair, neat starched shirts, frizzy hair perms, blue eyeshadow, rouged cheeks and shoulder padded jackets in colors of bright pink, sapphire blue, emerald green and flaming red.

The rattan furniture, the wooden tables, the flowers, the little plastic stand even the salt and pepper shakers, it made me all think of a time more than two decades ago.

Not that I totally drifted away in time and forgot to eat, no way.

I was hungry, and with porridge offered Taiwanese style, there were a good variety of dishes for the taking.

There was meat- stewed pork, stewed chicken, steamed pork patties, steamed pieces of fish swimming about in light gravy. There were vegetables- mostly done stir-fried- which I don't really remember what there were, but there were lots of the big leafy kind. Then there was tau pok- one whole serving dish of it- served alongside with hard boiled eggs boiled in thick, dark gravy.

I took a bowl of stewed pork. It had a bit of fat and made me think of the kind sometimes served with pigs' trotters.

I took a bowl of brinjals, because I love this vegetable prepared any way and their texture goes well with rice porridge. 

I had a bowl of soft, fluffy steamed egg, because it was uber familiar to me, plus one whole salted egg, because that seemed the thing to do, and of which I only fancied the yolk, leaving the white behind.

Then I got intrigued by the huge leaves of this one vegetable in the dish, and so I took a bit without knowing, nor caring what veggie it was. Let's just say I spent quite a bit of time feeling like a caterpillar, patiently chewing up the green leafy parts. 

Then after that I got a bit of honeyed ribs- more for the sake of curiosity than me being hungry- and which I quite liked, even if it was prepared slightly different from the usual Chinese style. They were marinated with real honey. 

 

People say that the best part of having porridge Taiwanese style is having all the condiments to go along with it. There were plenty here, really, all arranged beautifully near the big pot of porridge, but me being me, I took just the braised peanuts and left all the preserved vegetables alone. 

It was a most heart-warming meal I had that evening, not one I'd soon forget, and it was made even better with the presence of local desserts and the offering of coffee and tea. We shared a plateful of red watermelon, a couple pieces of very sweet, very fun to eat colorful kueh kueh, and three bowls of tangyuan in ginger soup.  

 

Oh, and the one who had two whole bowls of tangyuan, three balls per bowl, was me. :)