I had a Birthday

The Parents gifted me a bagful of Chupa Chups this year.

 

No special reason, other than the fact that they thought cola and strawberry cream lollipops were just what I needed for more sugar, sweetness and fun vibes. 

 

They also gifted me a box of chocolates.

 

I was encouraged to see them as therapy, they said. Every time I unwrapped the gold foil and ate through the different layers of chocolate, I was to be reminded that Life was not meant to be rushed through, hurried about or gobbled. It was meant to be savoured, experienced, and appreciated.

I suppose it is only The Parents who can turn Fun, Lively presents for your birthday into Life Lessons for you.

 

Not that I minded it one bit at all. 

It simply showed just how much they had been listening to me (and all my lamentations) over the course of the entire year, and just how much they wanted to do something about it for me.

I have never been one for loud, boisterous parties with balloons, trays of party food and huge, frosted cakes. 

In fact, for my whole life, save for the year that I turned twenty-one, I don't think I have had more than eight persons celebrating my birthday at the same place at the same time. 

The gatherings have gotten quieter as the years have passed. These days, the way I do a birthday is to dwell happily amongst all the well wishes I receive from friends and loved ones, and enjoy whatever small intimate celebrations that come my way with them. 

 

It was just The Parents and I this evening.

  

On the table there was a charming birthday cake, surrounded by little skewers of fluffy, pastel colored marshmallows. The cake was a butter pound cake, chosen by The Parents, who had once again decided that we would forgo the traditional, cream filled ones from the likes of Jack's Place and Bengawan Solo for this lighter, cream-less one.

On the table too was a dish filled to the brim with cherry tomatoes, honey tomatoes, fresh green lettuce, home made fish cakes and siew mais. These siew mais weren't the kind that you got from the dim sum places. These were the kind that you bought by the pack from the NTUC downstairs, brought back home, and steamed with the rice cooker.

They were exactly the kind of siew mais that I liked, and they were the kind that I had been particularly asking for.

And, the entire plate was mine. 

pretty foods: Salted Egg Yolk Sotong

This dish has to be my new all-time favorite at the zichar stall.
Yes, we have had salted egg yolk crabs, salted egg yolk prawns, and salted egg yolk sotongs for quite a while now, but it is the sauce, I think, that pushes the flavour of these dishes up a few notches more.
The sauce makes the seafood creamier, rounder, and overall, nicer.

What's funny though, is that you can never know where the good dishes of the zichar repertoire are until you actually get down  to the stall and try them out for yourself.
 
Mind, it doesn't necessarily have to be at the restaurants of favourable repute. They're a safe bet, for sure, and they've got all the great vibes, but some of the best zichar dishes I've had have actually been found at a random stall in a random coffee shop in some random neighbourhood.

It would not have occurred to me that this small, cramped coffee shop on the second storey of a tiny plaza somewhere in Choa Chu Kang would have a stall serve up this good a salted egg yolk sotong.

But it was good, and it took us all quite by surprise.

The portions were huge, the sauce was creamy, rich and plentiful, and every piece of the battered calamari, completely covered with the sauce, was crispy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside.

It has been a while since we have been there, but maybe I can convince my Co-Diner to make a special trip there again- even if it means we got to take that long bus ride.

Hilton's Garden Inn

 

 

 

I had a little bit of a challenge finding my way to this hotel. 

 

See, the Hilton Garden Inn sits right in the center of Little India, and Little India is made up of little streets, little lanes, and all kinds of roads big and small. 

 

And so, whilst directions on the website instructed me to take Exit E from the Little India station and walk all along the shop houses on the same side until I got to Belilios Road, Google Maps, however, directed me to take the walking route on the other side- which was Race Course Road.

 

I didn't know which route to take, but the Xennial in me put my trust in Google, so along Race Course Road I went. Halfway down,  however, I realized that the Maps didn't show me where the turn of Belilios Road exactly was, so I did what any practical first-time visitor would do.

  

Looked up the picture of the hotel with my phone and continued on my merry way, with one eye on the phone, and the other in the sky. 

 

Turned out, of course, that this hotel really wasn't that difficult to find.

  

I reached there just after two, did a quick check-in at their bright, spacious, sunny lobby, then popped upstairs to my room. The Hilton efficiency, demonstrated over their neat check-in counters was strangely delightful. There was no need for lengthy explanations, nor was there a need for long-winded directions.

 

This was a property devoid of gleaming floors, heavy furniture, imposing check-in counters, and even the gift shop.  

 

In place of the gift shop instead was a pantry stocked with reasonably priced potato chips, cup noodles, chocolates, beer, ice cream, soft drinks, cornflakes, and cereal bars.

 

My room was on one of the lower floors.

 

Bright, sunny and cheerful, the space held the usual amenities of open wardrobe, hot water kettle, fridge, bedroom slippers, coffee and tea. There was a television mounted onto the wall. Below it was  a small orange desk in the shape of a quadrant and a full sized office chair.

 

There was no armchair- the room had no space- but there was one of those window seat things running along the window affixed to the wall. 

 

That seat granted me an interesting view. 

 

From where I was, I could see the shop houses of Serangoon Road, the flats of Tekka Market, the flats of Selegie, Selegie House, and in the distance, the skyscrapers of South Beach, Suntec City and MBFC

 

I could also look straight down into the backyard of the Sri Veeramakaliamman Temple right next door.

 

Can I say that I considered the opportunity of such a view a privilege?

 

See, I have never stepped through the doors of a Hindu Temple, much less ventured into the back of one, and yet, here I was, three floors (or so) up looking right down into their backyard.

 

What would I see?

 

Perhaps someone would come through the door and sit on the bench with a cup of tea.

 

Perhaps someone, a child, maybe, dressed in his or her Temple best, would take a restless gander into the backyard and try to overturn the flower pots for a curious peek. 

 

Neither of that happened. I sat for a good long while by the window, but the backyard remained empty all afternoon. 

 

Still, one does not come to the enclave of Little India and stay cooped up in the room all day.

 

And so, as evening came, and as her skies turned a twilight grey, I went out, heading for the neighborhoods of Buffalo Road, Kerbau Road and Race Course Road. 

 

Now, Little India is never not busy, but come the weekend, and she gets busier still. The streets were packed with cars coming in one after another, the lanes were occupied with bicycles whizzing in all directions, and the pavements were filled with people just milling about..

 

There were locals here for a bout of weekend shopping. There were foreign workers speaking animatedly into their mobile phones. And there were tourists armed with cameras, backpacks, maps and huge bottles of water.

 

I was two out of three.

 

Not only did I get intrigued by the shops that were in fact found in any regular housing board neighbourhood, I was also stopping to take pictures of anything cultural that caught my eye.

 

It is amazing how one gets to see things one usually doesn't see until one slows down and looks around.

 

At another time I would not have noticed the reflection of several trees on the glass window façade beside. Neither would I have stopped to admire the nostalgic old-school charm of biscuit tins on a shelf in the five foot way outside a provision store.

 

There was so much to see that I didn't get to see everything.

  

And so, next day, after a hearty buffet breakfast of mifen-mian fried kuay teow, pancakes, scrambled eggs, coffee, watermelon fruit and juice, I went out again.

 

This time I didn't linger downstairs.

 

I went straight to Buffalo Road for the textile and jewelry stores that a friend had introduced to me once before. I went up the second floor of Tekka Market to window-shop for palazzo pants, and I went across the road for colourful bangles, dangly earrings, flea market basket bags, cheap funky sunglasses and beautiful handsewn patchwork bags.

 

I'm afraid I didn't buy any of the pretty stuff.

 

But I liked the funky sunglasses so much I got myself a pair.

Village @ Changi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is often said that travel begins not from the point of arrival at your destination, but from the journey that you take to get there.

Changi Village may not be a distant destination for us locals, nor may it be an exotic must-see place in the tourist books, but it is a place where those of us living in the city scape of Singapore do head to whenever we need a rustic getaway.
 
Sitting at a corner of the island where the east and the northeast meet, this is a place ubiquitous with Fairy Point bungalows, British rooming style chalets, outdoor barbecues, retreats, Old Changi Hospital and the only Civil Service Club built by the bay.  

I stayed at the far end of Netheravon Road last time.

I decided to stay at the near end of Netheravon Road this time.

Village @ Changi is a property that at one time was the Le Meridian Changi.  A spacious, sunny place that has purple orchids greeting you from the valet counter at the driveway, she is a five minute walk from the bus station, and the nearby shops just a hop and skip away. 

I got in around lunch, arriving there just in time to do a quick check-in at the bright, cheerful lobby, then headed right up via the bubble lifts to the room.

Their rooms are fine, functional and lively, accented with colors of orange, green, brown, and splashes of blue. There was the usual presence of comfortable mattress, comforter, fluffy pillows, bathrobes, bedroom slippers, ironing board and hot water kettle. There was also a wide wardrobe, a little fridge, coffee, tea, a television, and a huge desk with proper office chair.

No armchair, but there was a narrow sofa just below the window, which I thought looked like a nice cushioned bench suited to spread out the clothes, and maybe to double up as a very narrow daybed.

I was  pretty glad for the spacious bathroom. It had a cute (and these days rare) stretch-out tub, and an array of toiletries scented with white tea.

There was just one thing about the view.

 

Maybe it was the floor I was on, maybe it was the rate that I paid, but it would have been so lovely to gaze upon the scenery of Pulau Ubin and the blue sea from my window instead of an in-your-face view of narrow branches and green leaves from a tree planted so close to the walls that it gave me just that view, and nothing more.
 
Not that I let it affect me very much- I simply went up to the rooftop pool on Level 9 where I spent a good while lounging on the deck chair, soaking my feet in the cool pool water, and taking pictures of blue skies, blue seas, green hills and pretty pink frangipani. 
 
As evening rolled around, I sighed, waved goodbye to the hills, headed back down and out it was we went for dinner.

It was a choice between nasi lemak at the hawker center, kuay teow goreng, zichar, mutton briyani, fish and chips, or Thai street food at this little café along the main road called Pranakorn.

The process of decision making took a while, what with the usual what-to-eat deliberation, and the typical haggle of alternatives, but at the end, Pranakorn won.

We sat alfresco, studied the menu and ordered ourselves a pot of non-spicy coconut milk soup, a dish of basil chicken accompanied with rice and a cup of thick, cold, sweet Thai green tea.

The food was good, so much so that we returned the next day for lunch, where my Co-Diner had a plate of basil chicken rice topped with fried egg, and I had a bowl of dry wanton noodles generously scattered with fried onions, minced meat and chopped basil.

It was a great stay, all in all, and I am definitely going to drop in again.

After all, I still have yet to take that lazy, idyllic late evening stroll around Changi Beach Park. I have yet to wander languidly around the provision shops, the bakeries, the dessert cafes and the camping goods stores.

 

And I most certainly would not mind having more than one bowl of very authentic $1.50 gula melaka chendol.

business Chats by the Pool

 

Does anyone remember a time when "being able to work by the pool", complete with laptop, poolside cocktail and deck chair was considered to have reached the epitome of work-life balance?

I'm sure some of us can recollect the pictures of beautiful, glamorous people clad in poolside wear lounging on deck chairs wearing sunglasses with their hands poised gracefully over their laptops, and a drink- usually a margherita or mai tai- on the table by the side.

And then the copy would always be along the lines of "sick and tired of a 9-5?" or "tired of the boring humdrum in the office?" or "want freedom?" which would inevitably lead to "typing an email by the pool with a relaxing drink by my side".

But guess what?

It was all a lie.

A big f**king fat lie.

Office or no office, tie or no tie, the s*** that you got to face isn't going anywhere.

The work isn't getting easier simply because you get to work by the pool on a nice wooden slat table instead of a gray work desk with partitions in front of you.

And neither will your callers become more chilled even though you're surrounded by plants, deck chairs, sunshine and chlorinated pool water instead of files, cabinets and office blinds.

The s*** is all the same.

Okay, I didn't buy into the bulls*** then, and it really wouldn't have made a difference to me because I can only read, sleep and eat by the pool and nothing more, but, thanks to a meeting which I went for not too long ago, I'm 200% convinced now.

You see, it doesn't matter where the meeting is held. Whether it be held in a office or it be held at a café or a poolside, if the meeting is a s***ty one, it is a s***ty one. The place doesn't matter.

That's true.

But what matters is that location does play a part in creating the atmosphere, and as much as one wishes to make the meeting appear casual, uncommitted, or laid back in a pathetic attempt to 'tone it down', the whole thing is a pretence and makes no difference to your desired outcome anyway.

This meeting didn't become more casual as a result of the pool.

Neither did people become more easy going and friendly because of the free flow ice cream.

Nope, didn't happen.

Fear, greed, deceit, thievery and desperation stayed dominant in the essence of everything that was discussed. It didn't make them any less aggressive. Neither did it make us any more or less than how we were already were.

I guess I'm someone who prefers to be in a proper working space to get proper work done, and if I have to be in a meeting whereby the interaction is rife with so much politics and I don't know what else, I'd rather be in a conference room in an enclosed space than on a cushioned armchair by a pool with sunshine rays and happy, screaming kids.

At least I don't insult the pool, her fengshui, and neither do I jam up the breezy tropical winds blustering through the cool, open air space with negativity, tension and sour tastes in the mouth. 

flower Memories

 

 

We can get all nostalgic about film cameras, rolls of film and film negatives, but if there is one thing I love about digital photography, it is that I can keep the picture for a long time, and not have to worry about it fading, yellowing away, or disappearing into a gray canvas altogether.

 

These pictures were taken more than ten years ago at the Lunar New Year Flower Festival on Imbiah Hill at Sentosa.

 

We had gone there, The Parents and I, on the third day of the Lunar New Year holiday, because they had seen the advertisement on television, and decided that it would be very good thing for all of us to take a stroll amongst the little plots of flowers instead of lounging lazily at home watching Cantonese comedy movies on the DVD.

 

They didn't know I'd brought along the Nikon 4M Camera.

 

And it was not until we were walking amongst the sun-kissed marigolds, the colourful daisies, the trailing pussy willows and the cheerful chrysanthemums that they realized I had the camera with me.

 

They were delighted.

 

So was I.

 

It was a happy day we spent on Imbiah Hill. I experimented with the camera, taking pictures of flowers as many as the memory card would let me, whilst The Parents admired the blossoms, the butterflies, and the pixie figurines before posing for photographs at the Welcome Banner, the bright pink peonies, and the little plots of daisies.  

I've not been back to Sentosa for the Lunar New Year Flower Festival for a few years now.

And I don't even know if they still organize it these days, but having seen these pictures, having dwelt in these beautiful memories, I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, I should drop in for a quick visit once again.

first post of the Year

We are four days into the brand new year, this is the first blogpost of the year, and even though I think I should be writing poetically about my goals, dreams and hopes for the months ahead, instead I'm obsessing about the font color for this post- and I am wondering if I should be using a brand new font color for all of my posts in 2019. 

 

It sounds shallow, I know, but these are just some of the random, trivial thoughts that pop up in my mind from time to time.

 

And no matter how hard I try to shove them away to the side, they don't go away.

 

I used to be embarrassed by their triviality and their childishness.

 

I used to be ashamed by my form of expression and the way I tend to ramble on in unfocused directions.

 

But in the year past I have come to realize that the best thing I can do for myself is to learn to embrace myself, my style, my thoughts, my emotions and my expressions.

 

And that the best thing I can do for my own life is to accept how these odd observations and quirks are in fact part of my personality and my character.

 

That being said, if last year this blog was transformed into a diary of sorts, this year I hope that it will be a platform with better written content and more focus on narrative, sentence structure, paragraph, voice, color and tone.