Changi Flares, but None

The plan this evening for New Year's Eve is to stay indoors and glue my eyes to the TV.

 

Yes, there shall be no partying- not that there was any to begin with, no champagne popping- because there is no champagne in the house, and no solemn Watchnight Service either- because although I used to attend one which stretched all the way for three hours until the clock turned twelve, I haven't attended one in years.

 

I guess the spirit of me being meditative and reflective on New Year's Eve faded away over time.

 

One thing though, I'm quieter this year than most.

 

 

 

For some time, if I haven't been at the Bay Area squishing and squashing with the crowds to catch sight of the fireworks display, I've been by the beaches counting the flares that get released by the ships at the stroke of midnight.

 

This year I'm doing neither.

 

I don't want to.

 

And so not only will there will be no bus trips to the east coast of the island for the flares, there will be no long walks in and out of the Bay Area for the fireworks. There will also not be any crazy crowd squeezing at Orchard Road (been there, done that) and nor will there be bus trips that take me to the northeast coast.

 

I'll be indoors.

 

Hopefully, with a can of Radler beer or a mug of makkeoli.

 

It is New Year's Eve after all. 

the Last Day of the Year

We're two hours and thirty seven minutes into what is the last day of Year 2018.

 

I should be asleep, but I'm not.

 

Instead I'm here at the desk listening to the soothing sounds of trickling water from the fountain several stories below, feeling the gentle gusts of wind that (finally) are blowing in from the Northeast, even as my fingers move cautiously over the USB keyboard.

 

Yes, several keys on the keyboard of my months-old laptop did not make past the year of 2018. It's so stupid, I tell you, how these things happen. I don't really want to reminisce about it here- I've written about the tragedy of my keyboard- but really, if there would be a symbol, or a representation of how my year has been- it would be this keyboard.

 

In summary I'd say that the keyboard, the laptop, and my year has been: Escape from Total Destruction Leaving Minor Disturbance. 

 

I won't lie- it hasn't been a perfect year.

 

Neither has it been the happiest.

In that sense, it could have been better.

But we don't live in a perfect world, and so it doesn't really matter how good or bad the year is.

 

The only thing is this: I  wish I had the mental capacity, and the alertness (I'm getting sleepy) to reminisce about the year month by month, or quarter by quarter, but I don't. I can't bring myself to think nor reflect about it, and I don't have the gumption to look through the memories either.

 

I tell myself that I'm too pooped to do so, but truth is, I'm afraid to look through the memories and see what has transpired throughout the year. And it is a real struggle between wanting to look at them hard and attempting to just leave them be.

 

I guess I'm still feeling emotional about stuff still.

Part regret, part guilt, part resentment, part confusion, part wishing things could have been better, part wishing that they didn't happen at all, part this and part that.

Yes, it does sound quite melancholic but that's how it is right now for me coming into the wee hours of the last day of the year, and so I'm anticipating a brighter, calmer, more resolute year ahead.

just one Eve of Christmas

Christmas Day this year was quiet the same way it has been quiet for the last couple of years.

 

It is not something I mind; I love the trees, the colors and the lights, but I have a spiritual appreciation for the solemnity of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and I love the calming silence that the celebration brings.

 

 

That's not to say that I don't miss the carolling sessions of years past, nor is it to say that I don't miss the boisterous, lively celebrations of my growing years.

 

Neither is it to say that I'm alienating myself from the festivities of the occasion and the celebratory atmosphere.

 

I'm just happy with what I have the same way I am happy with the memories that I own, with the new memories that I will create, with the traditions that I have today, and with the people around me.

 

This year though, I found myself unexpectedly thinking of the time when a group of us sang carols to the patients at a ward in a public hospital. That was a very long time ago, so long that the building in which the ward was located now houses a research center for Neuroscience, and the ward itself has been relocated upstairs.

 

The intention had been to bring  Christmas cheer to the patients, but now that I think about it, we might not have brought them as much cheer as we hoped- not with our first appearance at least.

 

Dressed in color coordinated outfits of white tops and black bottoms, we had entered the lights-off ward in a row of two singing Silent Night and bearing flickering candles in our hands.

 

It doesn't sound so bad when you see it from our point of view, but I suppose no one had considered how it might look like from the patients' point of view.

 

Imagine, there you are, recuperating in bed with the ceiling fan whirring above your head, and then all of a sudden, the lights are switched off, the whole ward is thrown into pitch darkness, and just at the very moment when you think you're going to panic, you see two rows of flickering candle flames come in through the door of the ward, accompanied by the solemn, almost haunting strains of a Christmas carol... and when the lights finally come on as they break into a livelier song, you see that they're all dressed in white tops and black bottoms- and the ladies are in red lipstick, even the younger ones.

 

Not the most liveliest of carollers on Christmas Eve, I should say.

 

I guess there had been so much concern about our quality of singing (we weren't choir material) to bother about our outfits and our introduction.

It's been so many years- I guess the patients would have by now forgotten. Yet, for some odd reason, I haven't. It might be due the fact that I have a picture, or it might be due the fact that I've been thinking about the same area of the hospital recently.

I don't know.

But a memory it remains, and if I would say, a pretty interesting one!
 

Mixed Grille at Collin's

What happens when you're trying to snap a very quick picture of your food after it has arrived at your table is that sometimes you end up with a shot like this:

 

 

A single slice of carrot resting atop a bed of green broccoli, a bit of cauliflower, a hint of herb at the side and some indistinguishable thing in the background.

 

Completely missing from the picture is the main of the meal- the meats.

 

This Mixed Grill dish is one of the signature dishes at Collin's, or at least, it is, to me. With a combination of Pork Chop, Pork Bratwurst, Chicken Chop, Mushroom Potato Au Gratin, and the veggies, it is arguably one of the best dishes to have at the restaurant if you're in for a bite of meat but don't feel like having steak or chicken or pork all by itself.

It is also one of the best dishes to order if you're sharing, or if you're someone like me who likes to squeeze "as much variety as possible" in her meal. 

It is all done very well- the pork and chicken. Some places tend to miss the timing such that the pork chops get tough. Not here. The texture is there. it has got that hint of burnt-burnt taste on the top, and it goes well with the sauces. 

Over here there're two kinds they serve.

You've got the familiar Black Pepper Sauce and you've got the Chimichurri Sauce, which I prefer, because there's just something cool about having grilled meats with finely chopped parsley, olive oil, chopped garlic, oregano and red wine vinegar. I think it is the vinegar that does it for me. :)

Don't skip the veggies- they're good for you- even if you happen to be served the selection of stewed onion and turnip for the day, but what you really, really, really have to go for is the mushroom potato au gratin.

I call it a potato patty, but it definitely is more than just a pancake of mashed potatoes. I don't know what precisely it is that makes it so special- maybe it is the butter, maybe it is the sauce that Collin's prepares it with, but this mushroom potato au gratin is just so, so good. And I don't say this of every whipped potato or mashed potato, but this really does melt in your mouth, it really does have the distinct salty, buttery taste, and I love that it has a slight hint of cream to it.

Sad to say, I don't have a picture of it right now, nut perhaps one day I'll order it a la carte, and then I'll dedicate the entire article to the potato patty alone. :).

Lilies in Pink

 

So I thought I was just going to post about stargazer lilies and my love for them just one time... because how often can one gush about blooms, flower arrangements, and the like?

But then comes a day when you chance upon stargazer lilies as expressive as these,  what with their huge, bright pink petals, their gentle presence, their welcoming energy and their captivating, delicate scent... and you know you just will have to take their picture, and write a paragraph or two about them here. 

beautiful Shadows

 

It was one of those afternoons in late summer where I was feeling sleepy after having had a lunch of tom yum soup and green curry chicken, and so  instead of heading to a random café in the neighbourhood #digitalnomad style, I was half-stoning by one of the campus benches along Bencoolen Street.

One eye was on the work in front of me, the other on the surrounding scenery.

Truth be told, I wasn't paying much attention.

I mean, this is Bencoolen Street- one that I am familiar with- and even though there have been some changes (hello, Circle Line and Downtown Line), the street is more or less the same.

But sometimes life reveals to you a perspective when you least expect it.

I would not have expected a cityscape as quiet, serene, reflective and contemplative as this, yet, on this very afternoon I looked up from whatever I was doing, and there in front of me, was this scene... the canvas of a smooth pavement painted over with beautifully emotional shadows, made more dramatic by the gently waving leaves hanging on the landscaped trees.

knocking on Her Daughter's door

Maybe it had been too presumptuous of her, but for much of her life, Miss Brown had assumed that should a day come where she be estranged from her daughter, it would be her daughter knocking desperately on her house door asking to be let in and begging for forgiveness.

Never had it occurred to her that it would be the other way round.

Blame it on the morals and values that had been instilled within her since her childhood by the elders, teachers and society.

Blame it even on the family type dramas that through the decades she had watched in the cinema and on the television.

The stories which she'd heard always ran in such a way that a child who lacked filial piety towards his or her parents would either suffer severe punishment meted out by the heavens, or face karma of some sort.

And in the movies and television serials, the stories ran in such a way where the estranged child would somehow come to his or her senses, realize the gravity of the sin committed, and run to the parents begging them for forgiveness, whereby, of course, there would be the happy reconciliation between child and parent, which would then be demonstrated through relieved hugs, words of endearment and tears of joy.

It was always the child running to the parent.

Never was it the parent running to the child.

And yet here she was, an old lady of nearly 80, outside a strange apartment, calling out the name of her daughter as she knocked desperately on the door.

How long she stood there, Miss Brown didn't know.
 Fifteen minutes, half an hour maybe,

Her daughter didn't come out. Neither did her boyfriend with whom she was living with. The person that eventually did open the door was the domestic helper of the (supposed) landlord who told Miss Brown that no one of that name lived here and could she please go away because all this persistent knocking and calling out was harassment and it was her entitlement to ring the police if Miss Brown continued.

So Miss Brown went away.

Back down 20 floors to the ground floor of this private apartment block in a neighbourhood that she was somewhat familiar with, because this was the neighbourhood her daughter had lived in prior to moving back to the family home, and Miss Brown had at one time lived for a couple of months with her.

Miss Brown couldn't believe that her daughter wouldn't speak to her. She couldn't believe that she would leave her mother knocking desperately and persistently outside the door and not come to greet her or speak to her. 

Maybe her daughter was afraid, Miss Brown reasoned, but really, all she wanted to do was to ask her why she'd moved out, if there was any chance of her moving back and if her daughter really wanted to stay away from her poor elderly mother, if there were any chance where they could meet up or maybe come back for a visit.

All she wanted to do was to ask her daughter to not be so abrupt with her, to not cut off communications with her, to not abandon her.

That, Miss Brown had been so sure, was what she wanted to do, and with all the years of being together as mother and daughter, with the bond that they shared, surely something like this was not so difficult for her daughter to do.

She was so unprepared for the rebuttal experienced that evening that despite what had happened, Miss Brown was inclined to believe that what the domestic helper told her was true, that her daughter really wasn't living in the apartment, and that the information she had received about her new residential dwelling was wrong.

Except that it was unlikely that the bank officers in charge of the apartment mortgage would be wrong, or the police, for she received  a phone call the next day and was informed that a police report for harassment had been made against her by her daughter.

No Medicine For You

It doesn't matter what age you are.

It doesn't matter what medical condition you have.

There are just some things that are really not pleasant to the ear.

Being asked, frequently, "why your medicine so expensive" is one of those things.

Being told, mere hours before your doctor's appointment, that there is "no more money for your medicine, go and take cheaper medicine la, anyway you recovered already" is another.

Yet this was what Miss Brown had to hear- and no less from someone who called himself her daughter's boyfriend. Someone whom had committed to look after her daughter, and whom, by the same thread, had committed to look after her as well.

It was no statement spoken out of mere financial stress.

If it were, even if the words sounded harsh and hurtful to her ears, Miss Brown could still understand.

After all, a stroke was a stroke was a stroke, she was seeing a very qualified doctor- he had appeared on one of MediaCorp's television shows- and also it would have to take a very patient, long-suffering saint to not feel stressed out from the pressures of caregiving, or a very wealthy person to not feel worried by the additional burdens acquired by her tests, treatments and medicines.

Her primary caregivers were not rich people and they were not saints.

Neither were her daughter and her daughter's boyfriend.

However, it wasn't just a mere bunch of statements that her daughter's boyfriend was making. It wasn't just a bunch of sarcastic statements spoken in a fit of anger or because they were feeling spiteful or even resentment born out of the additional pressure.

He really meant it.

They really meant it.

And they acted upon it.

Both of them.

That afternoon, after seeing her doctor at Mt. Elizabeth's Hospital, she had to very nearly go home without her medication because the supposed money transfer much earlier requested for had not been done, and frantic phone calls to him went unanswered and ignored.

She stayed there in the clinic's waiting area for over an hour and in the end had to ring her husband who then drove down to the hospital to pass her primary caregiver the much needed cash for her medication.

The saddest part of this whole matter, however, was that she never got to ask her daughter, or her daughter's boyfriend the reason behind their decision.

It had been so sudden.

It had been so unbelievable.

She never got a chance to ask them why it was that they couldn't, or didn't, want to carry on the financial contribution for her to reach an optimal condition of health.

It was true that the medication prescribed by this doctor was more expensive than elsewhere, but it was her health, and the positive results from her blood tests indicated that this medication worked well for her. If so, why then did they not want her to maintain her still-improving health with the goal of achieving a full recovery?

But there was no one  left to ask. 

They had moved out of the house by then. 

And she had no idea where they stayed.

old Charms of Sentosa

 

There is a deep sense of poignancy looking at this picture.

 

When I snapped it more than ten years ago, I did not know that a seemingly random picture of a used plastic cup would one day hold such precious memories of the Sentosa Ferry Terminal, or the Burger King outlet on whose table this cup was sitting on.

 

I also did not know that I would one day lose interest in the perfectly aligned water droplets on the plastic cup and instead be intrigued by the blurred image of the Ferry Terminal distinctly seen in the background.

 

It's long gone now- the Ferry Terminal- and it is one structure which I do feel much regret for.

 

Because it was beautiful.

 

Visitors to the island today may not give a hoot about the structure.

And maybe It might not have meant anything to some, but to many of us, the Ferry Terminal was a beautifully whitewashed structure that gleamed in the sunshine and which awaited patiently for your arrival as you sailed over from the mainland.

The sight of that building signalled a day of fun, the start of an excursion with family and friends that had been carefully planned, and prepared, for.

 

Sailing towards it meant spending a day by the beaches of Sentosa- swimming in the sea, building sandcastles and having picnics of fried bee hoon, curry puffs, stall-bought kuehs, snacks, sweets and packet drinks.

 

And putting your foot down on its firm smooth tiles meant being a  touristy local going to as many attractions as your parents, grandparents, elders or teachers deemed.

I don't quite remember what the attractions of the early 90s were on Sentosa. Our family preferred the parks of Pasir Ris and East Coast more than this "meant for tourists only la" place, which, at that time, was considered exorbitantly expensive, and oh, so far away. The NEL had not come into operation then. 

 

My best memory of that era would start from 1996, around the time of the Asian Village. This attraction was located near the side where the bridge is today facing the mainland side. It wasn't Asian- Asian per se, per se, but it had a theme park, and that, I think, was what most of us went for. Twice I went- first, with my classmates as part of a school-organized excursion, second, with a close friend of mine. It was a fairly large park, trees and rides and all. Some friends went there solely for the Viking ride.

Me, I went for the bumper car rides. :)

 

And I loved it so much that the loss of those bumper car rides made me genuinely upset when Asian Village was torn down.

 

After that came the popular but short-lived Fantasy Island.  People went for the water rides, and it was great fun for a while, floats and all, but I guess maintenance was a b**ch and there were unfortunate accidents and so they shut it down and the whole thing got demolished after a while.

 

The Butterfly Park is still there though.

 

It's been there for years, and even if the attraction doesn't have as many visitors as I presume it would like, the presence of butterflies are a great indicator of what the island is, and what it used to be.

 

I guess that's what Sentosa is to some of us.

 

See, the island may have rejuvenated itself so much that we don't really care for the alterations and additions anymore than we once used to, and yes, whilst we are excited about new attractions and Kidzania and RWS and Universal Studios and the pirate-themed water park over at Palawan plus all the beachside bars at Siloso, at the root of it, it is the natives of Sentosa Island that still matter.

And whom I believe hold as much importance as any new residential or hotel property coming up there. :)

 

Because no where else can a peacock languidly cross the road and make everyone, human or vehicle, stop and wait.

No where else can a peahen and her chicks fly up to the lower branches of an angsana tree and roost there for the night.

And no where else can a squirrel scamper happily across the road, stare up at the beach tram driver barrelling into its path(!) and have the driver jam his brakes and patiently wait... until the squirrel figures out its way, and has gotten safely over to the other side of the road.

AFF Suzuki Cup

The last time I watched thirteen men chase after a ball over a grassy pitch was way back in June during the height of the World Cup season. That was the time when I was rooting for the Japanese and Korean teams because hey, #asian but of course neither team made it to the semi finals, and in the end I decided to throw my weight behind a South American team, Uruguay, maybe, or was it Brazil...

 

Okay, I don't remember.

 

I don't have any particular team that I root for. I mean, I know a name or two, and I know a soccer star or two, but that's about it. I don't know which team they play for. I don't know their role on the pitch, I don't know who won the last season, and I definitely don't know who has moved to where or how much they are paid.

 

Some of my friends do- they support Chelsea, Manchester United or Liverpool (very often it's these three...) or they know which team they want to support when the Italian Premier League comes in.

Me, I've no inkling at all. Nothing. I'm like, ah, okay, fine, that's nice, cool. Who won? Why? What happened? I thought the ball went in? Why are they running into overtime? Oh, it's a red card. What happened? I didn't see anything. So now how?

 

Yah, I'm this kind of soccer game viewer.

 

The only time I really do pay attention is when there're events like the World Cup, the regional Games, or like the AFF Suzuki Cup which I so happened to catch on the television the other day.

 

It was a match between Vietnam and Malaysia at Bukit Jalil Stadium in Kuala Lumpur, and I'm telling you, I had absolutely no idea that the Vietnamese could play so well. Terrible of me, I know, but really, I had no idea. I mean, I don't get much opportunities to see the Vietnamese play, do I?  

But judging from the speed that they were running around at, it felt like it was a good game- and, as I checked with the soccer playing Parent a few days after, yup, it was. 

Me being me, I didn't hang around long enough to watch the entire game, and so I had no idea that the particular game I watched was the semi final, and neither did I know that the game had ended in a draw.

It was The Parent who told me, and it was also The Parent who told me who was who and what the strengths of the Vietnamese team were and about the aggregate score and that the final would be on Sunday.

Well, it's Tuesday today.

And the Vietnamese won.

Out of Touch, yes, no?

So, just the other day some of us were talking about the PR Crisis of D&G in China, and someone made a pointed comment that part of what had transpired stemmed from the fact that a good number of fashion people seemed to be deathly out of touch with the rest of the world.

 

They seemed to have built themselves a kingdom, this person said, where they were the gods and everyone else, peasants, slaves or vermin. It was a society where no one in the kingdom could get close to the gods (as they were), and if there came by such an opportunity, it were because the gods had so permitted. In return, the peasants, slaves and vermin had to be eternally grateful for the gods' kindness and magnanimity. They were expected to be loyal, of course. But as self-proclaimed gods, there was always the fear that their position could be lost, and so, to ensure their faithfulness, they brainwashed their peasants and slaves with their brand of  philosophy, their methods of thought and their "godly" wisdom, thereby building for themselves a community of worshippers who would look nowhere else for their living, dignity, and survival except to them, and them alone.

 

It wasn't entirely a society where once born a slave, you were a slave forever. Neither was it a society where vermin couldn't become slaves and slaves couldn't become peasants. Of course you could. The gods recognized intelligence, genius and talent. And if they so permitted, why, a slave could become a peasant, and a peasant could become an advisor! There would be that recognition, of course, and on rare occasion, the gods themselves would even give praise to a slave.

 

Reward and punishment came in the same form. Reward came by way of association. Punishment came by way of ostracization. Your dignity depended on whose kingdom you belonged to, your values and thoughts depended on the one-and-only philosophy that you were taught, and your self-esteem depended on which god you followed. Anyone who left the kingdom(s) would find their whole world shattered, their livelihood stripped, their dignity destroyed and their social connections in the dust.

 

The gods had done well, this person admitted, because to date, few from the kingdoms (there wasn't just one) had left, and fewer still had turned traitor. All those whom she met, she said, were so blinded to the opportunities and possibilities outside that nothing- not even hardcore evidence- would "get through their numbskull heads".

 

Out of touch?

 

Oh yeah, they definitely were.

 

They had no bloody idea what was going on in the world outside. They had no idea what others thought of them. They didn't give a shit what they were perceived as, and because it was all dignity, dignity, dignity to them, anyone who offered an alternative perspective or suggestions, anyone who didn't do the way they insisted upon, was thereby deemed to be trash, uncultured, ill-refined, and despised.

 

That, to her, was the crux of the entire D&G thing.

 

Never mind that the founders had built a reputation worldwide for being potty mouthed, hard-hitting, verbally abusive and mean.

 

Never mind that they were culturally insensitive to an extent where they compromised the significance of chopsticks in Chinese culture for a "tongue-in-cheek" approach.

 

It was a matter of them believing that they could get away with things the same way they had done with the rest of the world. It was a matter of them thinking that their personal branding would be accepted by everyone in the world, that they could say whatever they want, be recognized for such an attitude, and (still) not hurt the brand.

 

Maybe it had occurred to them that there would be a reaction- which, by most counts thus far, would have been a great thing for the brand- and maybe it had occurred to them that there might be some sort of fallout, but to what extent... to what extent the consequence of such a reaction would be... only they know.

 

We don't.

That being said, would I say that they treat themselves like gods?

Yes, and No.

Because even though the diva-queen attitude is a prevalent one in this industry, and even though I've been slighted many a time because I refuse to adapt to it with no good valid reason, in an objective way, I can see where the attitude stems from, and why it exists.

I can see why it is vital that some brands in the Luxury sector continue to make themselves appear unattainable (or luxurious).

I can see why some have to adopt the spirit of Royalty in their products and their brand message, and to strive to sustain the carefully cultivated image which they have worked so hard to create, in centuries past, and in present day.

And yes, I do understand the attached price that comes with Timelessness, Bespoke Quality, Heritage and Craftsmanship....

Except that the world of today is not the same as it used to be.

Sure, we still do appreciate the finer things in life, and we do appreciate Quality and Timelessness and Heritage, but the fact lies that many of us take a more laid back, casual, indie attitude towards life where we place Significance and Message and Cause into much of what we wear, eat and do.

No more are we only concerned with the top notch careers. These days society has become more accepting of jobs and careers- just so long as you're doing well enough, just so long that you're good at what you do, no one gives a s*** what it is you do.

If you're an engineer, be a good one. If you're a sculptor, be a good one. If you're a baker, be a good one. The world needs sculptors and bakers and engineers and scientists and doctors anyway.

This is an age where we're less concerned with excessive etiquette and behaviour. We are the people who can wear a lovely pair of heels the same way we wear a pair of bling-bling sneakers. No more are we interested in acting hoity-toity towards our friends, communities and those around us. And no more are we going to be trapped in a world where the so called norms go unchallenged.

Call us frivolous or whatever, but this is a world where we are more concerned about experience and fun and interactions and friendships and emotional attachments than trying to dumb each other down.

This is a time where we are probably less interested in the demonstration of wealth than what it is we're doing with what we've achieved. We're a people who can 'come down from the rafters', so to speak, we're a people who know what it is that we're doing, we're a bunch of souls who take things seriously, and we are more concerned with bridging gaps and building interactions than tearing them down.

Are we living in a fantasy world with such attitudes?

Maybe.

But we're balancing both sides as well as we can, we're becoming more street style and more down to earth and more entertainment-driven, we're becoming more fun and easy-going with our lives, and we're striving to make these attitudes a reality, whilst turning the excessiveness and arrogance of old into fantasy.

dinner: Paris Baguette

It would have been so lovely to come here in the afternoon for coffee and cake, but it was dinner time, I had a conference call to make, and a rushed meal of pretty cake and good coffee was just not going to cut it for me, so instead of dilly-dallying at the counter admiring and trying to decide between all of the gorgeous, pretty cakes, I decided I'd go for one of their sandwiches instead.

 

 

A most wonderful choice it turned out to be. :)

 

The order didn't take long to arrive, and when it did, here it was, slices of fresh tomatoes, slices of roast beef, fresh lettuce with really large leaves, sauce, a sort of poached egg, and some other ingredients of which I can't quite remember, all of it strategically placed between slices of perfectly toasted bread.

 

For someone who is really very simple in preparing her sandwiches- I'm the sort who slathers on a bit of butter and an even thinner spread of jam or kaya, done-- having such a deliciously stuffed sandwich like this for a meal was quite a novelty.

 

What surprised me was how filling it was.

 

See, I don't usually take sandwiches for dinner. It's a Chinese thing, maybe, but unless I want a light dinner, bread feels like a breakfast food or if not, at best, a lunch food to me. But for this evening, this all-rounded sandwich was sufficient.

 

It tasted good, it was satisfying, I felt just right after the meal, and happily too, the sandwich was so camera-worthy.

Rose and Red Rock

I don't think I ever posted a picture of the bikes my Co Rider and I had before we were riding Daffy and Blue, so here they are. Both were Treks, mine was a tad smaller in frame, and they were mountain bikes.

 

 

Mine was called Rose because of the Rose flower sticker I stuck on the frame, and which lasted through rain and shine from beginning till the end. :) My Co Rider's was called Red Rock because it sounded masculine and no other name had come to mind.

 

Seeing this picture brings back some memories. The purple water bottle was Adidas, and I bought it from Royal Sporting House (because Decalthon had not arrived on our shores at that time). 

 

We've done round island pretty frequently on both Rose and Red Rock, and frankly, I do miss them both. They were sturdy, they had their charms and they stood out when placed together, Call them basic level entry bikes but hey, it is a matter of personal preference, no? 

 

In any case, I'm what you call a leisure rider who goes on what they call "smell flower" rides.

 

In other words, I'm the kind that hates climbing up hills, brings a snack and butter sweet plus a rain parka along in the backpack, and will stop to take pictures with a camera when I want to, speed be damned.

 

I'm also the kind who will feel paisei to tell the aunty walking on the concrete pedestrian path ahead of me to "excuse please let me pass" because I can see that she is holding two big red plastic bags containing what I think are stacks of hell notes inside.

 

But, really, Rose was my first real good bike, and it was Rose who taught me to love riding.

 

It was Rose who gave this no-skill rider the pleasure of feeling the wind in her hair, the ache in her legs, the exuberance of exploring and going places, and the joy of keeping fit.

 

She brought me around places, Rose did, and I can say that I've been to more places with Rose than I have with Daffy, but of course, I've only had Daffy for a year and Rose was with me for all of five.

 

All I can say is that I hope she's with happy people and that she's making them as happy as she made me.

 

By the way, if you own a bike that looks like Rose, and if you so happen to see me hovering around curiously, please don't mind. I'm not gonna steal it. I'm just trying to ascertain if this is an old friend I want to greet and pat and say hi.

Unimpressed

So I happened to be at Chevron House in Raffles Place the other day, and if you're familiar with the ground floor retail stretch, you will know that there is a Starbucks along one side of the stretch, same side as Burger King, and there is a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on the other. 

But it didn't always use to be Coffee Bean.

 

Before the 1963 Ice Blended peeps took over, it was Costa Coffee.

 

And it was during the time of it being Costa Coffee that my colleague and I met up with this gentleman who had connected with me through LinkedIn and, after a couple of missed dates, arranged to meet.

 

I don't go into meetings blank headed.

 

But neither do I like going into meetings with preconceived notions.

 

In that sense, I like to know just a little of what the other person is doing, or has done, and I like to go and listen to what it is they do and if they're out of the same circle, why they would be interested to meet someone in media & entertainment any case. (You don't need to arrange a coffee chat if you want me to do a 2D 3D animation for you)

 

So we went, and we chatted, and it didn't take long before I realized that behind all the stories of what he was doing- something along the lines of drinking water and fish- was really an extended justification for us to do up a video for him at the lowest cost possible.

 

Meaning: Free.

 

Look, I'm fine with pro-bono. I do get the occasional request, of which to date I haven't agreed to any because we're strict like that and there are many Causes and Missions in life out of which we have not quite decided on which yet and we haven't heard a strong enough argument to share in said Cause or Mission.

 

It's so strange, but really, do people think that they can waltz up to just about any company- whichever it may be- and then with just a simple, casual chat, convince the other to salute them in their Cause with a piece of work worth five figures?

 

Am I supposed to be impressed by the figures that you tell me you have achieved, when the world is already all about sustainable farming and giving back to the farmers? Am I supposed to share in the same Mission as you do because you think I share the same faith as you? And am I supposed to be won over by your great work because over a coffee chat you said you were this, this, this, this good?

 

Oh, seriously? Do we look like morons to you?

 

And does it look like we're that out of touch with the "real" world?

 

Maybe it is my gender or something.

 

I don't know.

 

Either my gender or my colleague's youthful appearance or the assumption that we only live in a make-believe, fantasy, "creative" world and have no understanding of real world issues.

 

Where do these assumptions come from?

 

And why do people assume that we need their help to achieve certain milestones for our work? I mean, do they think we not know where we stand and that we not know from whom we need win-win partnerships, or help even? Do they think that we do not know who it is we need to impress and why? Or is it just about anyone who comes and throws a few names down? 

A few years back there was this gentleman who casually mentioned that what we were doing for them would be shown to someone who was a personality, and who knew another very well-known personality of this particular medium from the media & entertainment industry over there on the Hills- and how grateful (!) to I-don't-know-who we should be for this granted opportunity.

 

In other words, slave and slog for this project, okay, because your work might be shown to these famous dudes, and you know, there are so many people like you (!) who long to get their work eyeballed by these dudes but they can't get even sniff their coat tails, but hey, I can get your work right to them.

 

I had no heart to tell this wonderful person that right down there in our email server were certain email exchanges between the very well-known personality and a colleague of ours, and that they had been there for a couple of years.

 

Revealing it would have made us sound like a bunch of liars, and since we don't operate in a world where we can go around showing emails exchanges under the Confidentiality Act for the sake of proof...

 

Neither had I the heart to tell him that we actually know our place, we have the paperwork if we needed to show, and that really, thank you for your offer, it is generous and magnanimous of you, but some of the people we work with are already there and introducing what we do for you to them would only make you look like a fool.

 

Now, don't think of me as one cynical, arrogant person. I get excited and impressed by the smallest of things cos I can see where it is going and I can the charm of it all. But telling me stuff like what I've shared above, this achievement, that achievement, this gateway, that gateway, I know so and so, I know so and so, all I can say is, like how the song by LeAnn Rimes goes, "that don't impress me much".

lobster mayo Sushi

It's a little hard to believe, but I actually don't quite remember the actual name of this beautifully shot, Instagram-worthy, wonderfully tasting sushi roll. It is the kind of shot that looks so great when posted on social media, but alas, I don't remember the name!

 

 

I know where I had it.

 

I know what it consists of.

 

I know roughly when I had it.

 

I just don't know what it is called.

 

Blame the lapse of time- it has been a couple of months at least, or the fact that I savoured it up not too long after this picture was taken and so didn't put in effort to take note of the name.

 

Nevertheless, if you happen to be dining at Ichiban sometime and want to have a nice little slice of tempura coated sushi topped with a dollop of lobster mayonnaise, well, you know how it looks like.

 

And I can assure you it looks as bright as it does here, and tastes as good as it does here, too.