Strolling Sights: Bras Brasah

Well known the fact it is that this cluster of HDB flats right smack in the city center holds one of the best views of Downtown Singapore, the Marina Bay Area, the Central Business District, the Marina Bay Financial Center, and the colorful fireworks display during the annual National Day Parade and the Countdown on New Year.

It has long been said that if you want to catch the beautiful spectre of fireworks on these occasions, don't bother squeezing with the crowds over at Marina Bay. Come to the corridors of these public housing blocks at Bras Basah for a much better view.  

I'd been curious about the view for a while now, and since today there was a wee bit of time, I decided to do a quick hop up to the higher floors for a quick look before getting my pens, folders and correction fluids at the stationery shops below. 

I wasn't disappointed.

The view spread herself out before me.

One side looked across to Raffles City, Marina Bay Sands and Downtown, even granting me a more intimate view of the usually exclusive Raffles Hotel and her sprawling colonial grounds.  And the other side looked down onto the shop houses of Middle Road and Bugis, stretching to Andaz, Shaw Center at Beach Road and in the near distance, all the way to the Indoor Stadium over at Kallang.

 

Christmas 2018

Three months it has been since Christmas, but today seems like a good time as ever to plonk up a series of Christmas trees as a reminder that there is, and can be, Christmas throughout the year.

 

Truth be told, it was hard for me to get into a Christmas-y sort of mood last year, so much so that I didn't do my usual round robin of Christmas tree pictures at the Ritz and Mandarin Oriental and the Orchard Road area, but I'm not one to let go of an annual season no matter how moody I might be, so here's a little of what I managed to snap last year.

 

 

 



just So Tired

An experience as I have had does not leave me unscathed.

If there be someone who can take a hot shower, sleep for three days, pick themselves up in a matter of a week, and then bounce back to life as good as new, well, I sincerely take my hat off to them.

Because even though it has been close to three weeks since it all happened, there is still the clean-up, there is still the aftermath, there are still the ongoing pressures and the future pressures, and life has to go on whether one wants to dwell in the memories or not.

Herein lies the struggle, I'd say, for even as I try to move on and resume life's pace, in the last one week or so, there have been startling, shocking reminders of events that transpired, and the emotional aspects of the memories are all as fresh as the very first day when it all began 

There must be a clinical term for it, I guess, but for me, I'll just define it as having some sort of emotional shock and trauma, and just leave it there.

At this stage, definitions don't mean very much to me.

What matters to me is that I'm truly tired, and I'm not afraid to say it, for I don't recall the last time I was this tired, and maybe it might be due the fact that I am someone who tends to think too much and feel too much, but that's how it is for me right now.

One good thing is that I no longer break out in trembling tears or let out primal screams, but I still quietly cry at the semblance of the memory, and honestly, from moment to moment, there is still the fear. 

Grief in the Small Things

They say that Grief occurs in five stages.

And even though I've read about it, studied it, even taken an exam on it, I don't remember what the stages are, and I definitely don't remember in what order the stages come in.

Theory does s*** for you when you're in the midst of the storm.

No one- NO ONE- stops to cognitively assess which stage of the grieving process they are in when they are lost in the mire of the emotional turmoil.

I only knew that I was crying, day after day, hour after hour, because someone had suddenly been taken away from me, and given that neither of us had been prepared, there was no readiness whatsoever- not in the physical, mental or emotional.

There had been no expectation that when in the morning we left the officetel together, in the evening, I would come back to the same place alone. There had been no expectation that it would take me almost a week of so much uncertainty and even more heartache before the dude would come back. And to make things worse, because it had not been expected at all, no preparations had been made for the sudden departure. 

It's hard to explain, given that it is a co-worker and close friend, but the sudden loss and the terror made me feel like the dude wasn't going to come back again and it felt like he had just disappeared- forever.

I walked through the officetel, taking note of the small little things that usually slipped my eye. There was the wire left carelessly strewn across the coffee  table where he had worked the night before, there was the large tea mug left by the main network computer which the staff had bought as a present for him when he joined- the green tea bag still sitting inside. there were the gym clothes at his area, there was the glaring absence of shoes outside the officetel door, and even in the pantry, there was the loaf of Sunshine bread bought over the weekend.

But the dude wasn't here.

And that was the hardest part- seeing the smallest things- and feeling the glaring absence, the sense of abandonment.
It surprises me even now, but I can say that for the entire period of time, I was a wreck- a genuine wreck- what with trying to cope with the shock of emotional loss, the necessity for work continuity. trying to resolve issues which had hitherto not (quite) been my portfolio, and which I had not been handed the resources to handle.

It was a s***a** situation.

I liken it to that of a wife whose husband has suddenly passed on, saddling her with the debts and problems of his company, a family to take care of, personal financial issues, and with no resources to lean on simply because she had been too dependent on him.

And yet, I still had to keep up the smile. 

Because whilst I wanted to wallow in misery (which I did) and just let it all go, it didn't seem right to what it was we were doing, it didn't seem right to our clients past, present and future and it didn't seem right to let the whole thing go to rubble because of my emotional state.  After all, the dude hadn't passed on, he was coming back after being on "urgent outstation", there was work he had to do... and so I coped.. as well as I could.

Slice by slice the bread got eaten, the cup was left where it was, and in the silence of the night, when all the rest had left, I allowed myself to grieve and worry and wail and scream. Or, I sat on the floor and tried to get lost in the little blue lights twinkling on the Christmas tree.

Alone; Lonely

It is early evening and here I am, typing this at my desk back at the officetel. The neighbourhood is quiet, and so is the room where I sit, the silence broken only by the hum of the air conditioner and the music playing from my phone.

 

I relish the silence.

 

I relish the solitude.

 

But as much as I relish the silence and the solitude, it is only because I know I am not alone- and that there is someone whom I value- soon to appear at the door where we will then greet each other before heading out for dinner.

 

Being alone, and being lonely, I now realize, are two very different things.

 

I used to not understand. 

But now I do.

 

Being alone means that you've got some time where you're by yourself, and you're doing your own stuff however you want to do them, but in the very near future, there is someone waiting for you. It means that there is someone  whom you anticipate to meet- be it a loved one, a parent, a child, a friend, a relative- someone.

You can be walking on the street by yourself, you can be watching a movie or having a meal by yourself, but you know that there is someone whom you're going back to, there is someone you're talking to, there is someone whom you're going to meet- and that person is waiting for you.

That's being alone.

Being lonely, however, or Loneliness, as we call it with a capital L, is totally different. It is where you are being alone- eating, walking, shopping, running errands- but in the course of the day, or in the course of the evening, there is not only no one right by you, but there is also no one waiting happily to meet you. 

Not in the near future, not in the future of the future.  

In those few days where I was by myself, it was Loneliness with a capital L.  
I didn't realize how much the little things mattered until the day my usual companion and co-worker had to leave suddenly, and there I was, loaded with a bunch of problems that I usually didn't have to solve, as well as  issues that were of mine own.

What made it worse was not just the fact that I had to do everything alone (and not really knowing what I was doing), but the realization that today I was walking this path alone with no one up there waiting for me. I had walked this path alone many times before, but this day there was no one I was meeting, no one was waiting for me and no one would be there smiling at the sight of my arrival.

Today was the day that I'd come here alone, and I'd have to go back alone.

In the hot afternoon as I walked down that path, I realized just how many things I'd taken for granted; that there were so many moments I'd assumed would always be there. Never once during those times when I insisted I needed time on my own did it occur to me that I'd one day feel the emptiness so heavily, or that the understanding of real loneliness would dawn so strongly upon me.

But today I understood.

I grasped it all too well.

For it was no ordinary day, it was no day where things were as per normal.

No, it was not. I was all by myself. I was all alone, I felt lonely.

And I didn't like it one bit at all.

the devil Within

I posted this on Facebook just today.

 

"Let me make one thing clear. I do NOT support Satanism. There is no question. However in light of Watain, I read part of their lyrics- and can I say that I know of at least a few whom, though outwardly, appear decent and upright, could well be singing the same words inside?

 

These are the same who either year on year wish for their own loved ones to die, or a her who closed the door of her room in the middle night, and told her stroke-affected mother to sleep three days- hoping she would die.

 

So they didn't smear blood or sing stuff like "f**k your Jewish god" but if you ask me, they have evil in them all the same.

 

A Satanist is not only one who worships Lucifer. A Satanist is also one who harbours ill intent and premeditates on cruelty and murder on the inside.

 

On the same note, I know of a "Hail Satan" dude (he is not a Satanist, that I well know) who offered help to a bro when that bro had no one to turn to."

 

You know something?

 

Everything that I have written here is true. Hard as it might be to believe, you have to know that there are indeed such souls in the world who have given themselves over to the devil.

Theirs is not like demonic possession a la The Exorcist, nor is it like the terrifying sights from the horror movies. You will not see maniacal smiles, or vacant, staring, soulless eyes. Nor will there be strands of wet, hanging hair, dismembered limbs, or rotting, decomposing flesh and skin. 

They are normal people- human beings who look just like you and I.

Oh, they have no make up too. So if you were expecting them to be dressed in funereal black and aggressive silver studs with  bloodstained lips, mascara-lashed eyes and a face painted goth white, I'm sorry, they probably use skin toned face powder and regular lip stick the same brand that you use.

Yet their tongues are lying, their souls are black and their hearts are full of evil and malicious intent.

How else can it be that a person can continue to celebrate the birthday of a loved one year after year after year when it is whispered that it is the person's hope for each birthday cake to be the last, and each birthday song to  be the final?  

And how else can it be that a person would deliberately shut the door of her room in the middle of the night after having heard her mother call, and then later tell her to sleep off her stroke, in three days she would be well.  

I should know.

I've met them.

They are the ones who betray their own families, who sell out their parents and siblings for the sake of bringing about destruction to the whole family- except themselves.

They are also the ones with the crocodile tears, who lie, who manipulate, who pretend, who control and who have such a foul smell about them that even the walls where they live in crack in extrme self-destruction.

You want to talk Satanism and the devil within?

That's them.

Even if they don't look the part- for remember, the devil is not only about satanic symbols and seances and oujia boards and the spilling of blood. Those are obvious. You know to stay away from them with the wide, staring eyes and man's voice in the girl.

But it is those that aren't obvious that I think are the scariest. Because we can never see the heart. We don't know the heart. Nor do we know the intentions. The devil is about lies, manipulation, hypocrisy, lies and dark, dark, fearsome cruelty and evil.

And they are there.

They sure are there.

 

pretty foods: Ice Kachang

There are only two pictures of this local dessert from the entire collection of last year. What it means is that for the whole length of twelve months, the only occasions that I had ice kachang stand at the glorious number of two.  

It's embarrassing. 

I really should have it more.
 

Because if the Taiwanese have their snow ice, and the Koreans have their bingsoo, I should say that ours is just as charming too.

Should it not be?

As the successor of the now-very-retro ice ball, ice kachang is one dessert that can be found in every hawker centre, every major food court, and there is nothing more appealing in our hot, humid climate than to have a bowl of grated ice doused liberally with colourful syrups, condensed milk, the ubiquitous gula melaka and with agar agar, red beans and atap chee swimming underneath.

The argument from certain quarters has been that unlike bingsoo and snow ice that use milk, fruits and natural ingredients with lots of crispy, crunchy bits, ours is more of syrupy, sugary sweet. 

But consider that we have the distinct taste of gula melaka, plus the wonderful addition of red beans and atap chee, and I think we have that little hint of natural, healthy goodness too. ;)

Bus Ride Sights: Serangoon

 

It was a fairly long ride of an hour over that I took on the bus this day, and honestly, it was a break that I deeply cherished, for after all, I'd never snapped pictures of this route before, and so now I happily relished in the opportunity.

 

The route was straightforward. From somewhere around Serangoon Central, it went along the length of Upper Serangoon Road, trundling past the Bartley-Braddell exit, the former Bidadari cemetery, the stretch that makes up Potong Pasir, before turning into Bendeemer, Boon Keng and Jalan Besar.

 

What made the whole experience better was that it was around 3pm on a weekday afternoon, the double decker bus was nearly empty and the light was pretty good.



Newstead and (old) Funan

There was a press article about Newstead earlier this year, saying that the household name electronics retailer was heading into liquidation, with creditors, rent and staff salaries owing.

 

Now, I don't wish to speak of its liquidation, nor of its hows and whys, for this is not an article of business discussion nor is it intended to be a case study for Business Administration. There will be those, I'm sure, casual or formal, but no, I don't wish to look at the facts, and neither do I wish to analyse.

 

Everything has its season, and whether this be good or bad, I should only like to say that whatever it might be, it is, unfortunately, business, which though we wish it never to come to pass, it sadly does, and as much as we don't seek it, we can only hope for the best that might come out of it.

If there's one thing about this whole business of Newstead, it is that it made me think of Funan the IT Mall.

Not the mall that stands now nearly finished, but the mall that once stood in her place, the mall that once used to be, with her pink façade, her seven floors, her IT shops, and her McDonalds on the ground floor.

This was the mall we went to if we wanted to purchase a computer, a laptop, a printer or a scanner. This was also the mall we went to for all the accompanying paraphernalia- hard drive, flash drive, thumb drive, SD card etc etc.

But Funan wasn't only about the IT.

Even though Challenger occupied the top floor, Harvey Norman occupied the basement, and there were numerous IT shops scattered all over the different floors, there was  also a food court on one of the upper floors, there was a Royal Sporting House on the second floor, and you got a KFC, a Subway, a Pastamania, Qi Ji and a Guardian Pharmacy on the first floor,

These are memories now, for we don't know what the new retail mix in the new Funan will be, but if there's one thing I am sure, it is that our experiences in the old Funan won't go away.

Whether it be buying a computer from the Challenger, whether it be sharing a muffin with The Parents at the McDonalds, or even, accompanying an elderly lady as she had fish soup in the food court above, I guess, these are the scenes that will certainly remain.  

Garlic Butter by Hungerlust

So I like garlic butter, and I know of many who like the same, but here's the funny thing- for all the benefits there are in garlic, and for all the varieties of butter out there in the market, it is incredibly hard to find good garlic butter in the regular supermarkets! 

Maybe there are some in the special grocery stores, but save for the Irish Kerrygold that I've found on the shelves of Cold Storage and Mustafa, variety of brands there just aren't.
 

And so when I found out that a friend of mine was offering homemade garlic butter as a sort of hobby under her personal Hungerlust brand, I ordered two.  

 

The plan was to have it with slabs of steak during the Christmas season and as a spread to go with breakfast breads. Sad to say I still haven't had a chance to try it with steak- we totally didn't cook beef at all during the holidays- but the garlic butter was fantastic with bread.

 

We finished a whole jar in less than two weeks. And that was because we did a very thick layer over store-bought milk bread each morning for the rich garlicky taste, the salt of *real* butter, and the loads and loads of chopped garlic found inside. 

a cosy little Christmas Tree

She has stood here for three years now, this little Christmas tree, and although she does not have the trimmings of a glamourous, golden, glittery tall tree, her décor, her sweetness and her homely vibes make me proud of the message that she has been sending loud and clear.

The message she sends, with every blinking blue light, is more than just  that of seasonal Christmas peace, joy and hope, and if there would be a symbol of restoration, stewardship, spiritual possession, and even quiet rebellion, it would be she.

For in this space, she is a symbol of victory. 

Whether it be in the realms of the spiritual or the realms of the physical, by her presence alone, with her toys and all her Daiso décor, the time where anger, resentment, stubbornness, fear, malice, destruction, and even, evil intention, has been conquered.

And may those times to this space never ever, ever return.

pretty foods: Kampong Chicken

 

The nicest thing about this sort of chicken rice is not just the chicken. It is also the rice. And so good is it that I could come down here any day just for a bowl of their plain steamed rice.

 

But that would be a very silly thing to do, as the second nicest thing about this kampong chicken rice place at Tiong Bahru is, of course, the chicken. Served white (they don't do roast), with very tender, skilfully sliced meat, there are no bones, there are no funny parts, the meat does not have icky reddish blood, and the skin of the white chicken has to be the nicest I have ever eaten.

pretty foods: Teochew Porridge

 

Chinese cuisine can be said to be one of the most varied cuisines in the world. True that the Cantonese may have made their mark with roast goose and roast duck and Cantonese-style dim sum, but the flavors of all the different dialects found in South China alone each have their distinguishing charms. 

Now, I don't profess to be very familiar with Teochew cuisine. In fact I can safely say that I don't know anything about it at all. But if you were to ask me to describe their cuisine in three words, I would say that their foods seem to be focused on the healthy, light and clean.

That is precisely what I thought, standing at the counter  of the Teochew porridge stall, trying to choose a couple of dishes to go with bowls of sweet potato porridge for my late night supper.

Because at elsewhere I would have gone straight for the sweet sour pork, salted egg fried chicken, sambal kangkong and sambal brinjal, here I decided on a slab of steamed egg, a portion of steamed pork, a portion of stewed chicken and a whole dish of stewed brinjal.